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The Afflicted Ch. 13

By: ShyChiWriter



Hello wonderful readers.

Thanks for your patience on this. As you know, this is a re-post of this story. As I'm re-posting I am editing and proofreading. This chapter, in particular, was surprising for its number of errors and lack of clarity. Frankly, I'm surprised I didn't get scores of complaints the first time I posted this.

However, I've spent a lot of time on it, hence the delay. I hope it reads a lot better for you and that you enjoy this installment.

Please do vote, comment, and add the story or me to your favorites if you are so inclined.

* * * *

Palo's hunch had been correct. The tunnel they found led straight to the underground mansion where he and Frederique had been living. It was the perfect headquarters. It was opulent, well-stocked, and a nearly impregnable fortification.

Scaurus had actually been consulted on a few of the security components. In normal times, the sprawling underground mansion was the ultimate in hospitality. The parties that had taken place there in decades past were legendary. Everything about the mansion was welcoming.

Locked and armed, it was completely the opposite. The prior tenants had lived through the past war and had built the home with every possible security measure. The dwelling was surrounded by false passageways, traps, and snares of every imaginable variety. Once they were inside, Scaurus activated the security. The place had deplaceur alarms as well as shields against jumpers created by Franz. Scaurus was certain that only Aimée could find her way in if she had Abby with her and a person to fix on.

In the deep basement of the mansion there were over fifty large cells. Akin to the design of the dorms, each cell locked with a timer and delivered blood and supplies on a regular basis. The locks could be set for various intervals and could not be tampered with once they were set. In the worst case scenario, if they were besieged and the mansion was somehow compromised, they could lock themselves in and wait indefinitely.

"Why these?" asked Palo. "Why would any private home need such an elaborate dungeon?"

"A private home wouldn't," said Scaurus. "But the owners of the home were not private, they were part of the upper circle. The council funded these dungeons for just such a time as the one we are in. There are two others in New York that I know of, but I would wager they are already held by the enemy. I know that at least one owner was in the courtroom."

Once the security around the mansion was activated - Palo, Scaurus and Hypatia took care of their daily 'dose' of blood and then it was time to take care of one another sexually. They needed to make sure their minds were unclouded with lust, if at all possible. They had no idea how long it might be once they joined the battle.

Scaurus and Hypatia were old friends and lovers. She met Scaurus in the gymnasium and they had a quick but athletic lovemaking session. Next, she went with Palo to a guest bedroom where they had quick, perfunctory sex. Palo certainly stretched her to the limit and she gave thanks for the rapid healing powers of her kind. Had she been mortal, she would have been sore for days.

When they were done, they met in the study and mused on what they should do.

Hypatia spoke first. "At the bare minimum, we need to venture out to get at least one other woman in here. You two are both handsome specimens, but I don't fancy having to satiate the both of you for more than a couple of days. However, I suspect you'll want to muster the troops, yes General?"

"Indeed," said Scaurus. "My suggestion is this: I will instruct Palo here in guerilla tactics and we start a two-man campaign. We capture where we can, recruit where possible, and maim if necessary. Hypatia, you can help when you want, but we need your brains more than your battle skills."

Scaurus took Palo to the training gymnasium and gave him a crash course in the type of battle they would be engaging in. This was somewhat different than the lessons he gave at the Academy.

"Collar, cut, then kill," he explained. "If we can, we want to take the best fighters completely out of commission with collars and bring them back to our dungeon here where we will keep them until we find a cure. Barring that, a well-placed slash helps to take them out of the mix for a while. I prefer to hamstring. The Achilles tendon is famous for a reason. It is terribly hard to heal and the Affliction puts all of its energies into rebuilding those tissues. One snipped tendon at the heel knocks out an Afflicted warrior for three days minimum."

"As for kill, we will doubtless come into situations where that is our only choice. Yet, avoid killing someone whenever possible. If you take the life of an Afflicted, you are taking away many mortal lives they have already lived as well as the promise of what they might have done. The only reason to kill someone is if it comes down to a choice between you or them."

Scaurus taught Palo several moves that were surprising in their simplicity. If Palo had been impressed before, it was nothing compared to his newfound admiration of the warrior whose years outnumbered his own by more than twenty-fold. Scaurus was a keen student of combat and he had never forgotten a single thing in his eighteen centuries of fighting.

They trained for nearly four hours until night fell. Hypatia met them at the hidden entrance.

"What are your plans?" asked Scaurus.

"Oh, I thought I might fight with you for a while until Palo gets his feet wet, then I'll head off for some reconnaissance and research."

"Excellent, it will be good to have you along."

They ventured out into the city to begin their 'hunt'.

Palo wondered what sort of fighting Hypatia might do. She had no sword or weapon, and only carried a satchel over her shoulder, plus a stack of notecards in one hand.

One of their primary concerns was differentiating between friend and foe, but their first encounter didn't pose such a problem. In the warehouse district of western Manhattan, they spied a group of ten people. Four were on the ground and six were in the air. Even from their hidden vantage point they could smell the mortal blood of those on the ground.

Hypatia started pulling notecards out of her stack and looked comically like a card dealer preparing a game. They were hiding on a rooftop and she laid ten cards out carefully on the ground.

"What are you doing?" whispered Palo.

"You've heard the pen is mightier than the sword?" said Hypatia with a grin. "My motto is; the page is mightier than the pistol."

There was nothing comical about what happened next. The notecards shot up in the air and flew to a spot several yards in front of the party they had spotted. They began to fall, fluttering around the group. The people looked at them curiously, but paid them little mind.

"Get ready," muttered Scaurus.

He had dampeners draped over one arm, as did Palo.

"Now!" whispered Hypatia.

Palo and Scaurus sailed silently and rapidly toward the group. At the same moment, the notecards flew suddenly toward the faces of their enemies. The cards flapped flat against their eyes, pulling in tight like a mask. In the confusion, Palo and Scaurus had five of the flyers dampened within seconds. Their helpless bodies fell up to twenty feet to the cobblestones below, crippling three of their cohorts on the ground. The one remaining flyer was able to pull the card from his face and quickly took flight with Scaurus in pursuit. Palo sensed something and instinctively dodged just in time as a dart went whizzing past his head. He swooped down and bashed feet first into the man who had shot the dart.

He quickly hogtied the man and then went after the other injured mortals to subdue them. He removed all weapons and was rather pleased with the mass of bound bodies he had accumulated. Looking up, he saw the most unusual sight. More notecards appeared and formed a stair-like pattern descending down from the rooftop where they had been hiding. Hypatia stepped off the edge of the building and onto the first card -- which bore her full weight. She calmly, but quickly, descended the improbable stairway, each card returning to the stack in her hand once she had used it.

She crossed to the pile of weapons Palo had compiled and examined them closely. Her keen mind immediately noticed a difference in the ammunition that had been loaded. There were darts with blue rings and others with red rings. Both contained clear liquid, but there was surely a difference. She crossed to the mortal Palo had tied up who looked at her with hateful eyes.

"Red and blue, what do they mean?" she asked.

"Master said not to tell," said the man.

"Red and blue. What do they mean?" she said again. "Red darts and blue darts. What's the difference?"

The man pressed his lips tightly shut and looked away from her.

Hypatia reached into her satchel and removed a sheaf of papers. She pulled a single sheet out and examined it lovingly.

"As you know, most paper is made from wood these days," she said. "It is lovely in its own right, but I still remember the days when papyrus was the only paper. My it was expensive, but so lovely. I have become quite the paper aficionado. I happen to know the finest paper maker in all the world. He lives in Alexandria and descends from generations of paper makers. I actually used to buy paper from his great, great, great, great grandfather. Imagine that. Point being, this man has perfected this paper I hold. It combines rags, wood and papyrus. It is more suited for flat sheets. You see, full papyrus tends to roll. My favorite thing about this is how crisp it is. Crisp is good, don't you think?"

There was something in her tone that was frightening the man -- and for good reason. Hypatia let the sheet of paper fall from her hand but it stayed suspended in the air. The man's eyes grew wider and wider in panic as the paper began to slowly fall toward him.

Around this time, Scaurus arrived back with the final prisoner in tow.

Hypatia spoke in a disarmingly calm way, keeping her eyes on the prisoner all the while. "Scaurus, do you remember Tomonari?"

"Of course," said Scaurus. "He was the best swordsmith I've ever known. I carry one of his blades today, as a matter of fact."

Hypatia continued to speak with measured tones. "Do you know, he once told me he wished he could forge a blade out of paper? That was how he measured the edges of his swords, against the thinnest paper. I even saw him kill a man once with a blade he had shaped from paper. The paper blade was useless afterward, of course, but for that first slash it was marvelous."

The sheet of paper was now resting on its edge against the side of the man's neck. One flick of Hypatia's wrist and the blank page slid across the man's neck. He cried out and a line of red appeared on the side of his neck and began to slowly drip blood.

"That was just the first few layers of your dermis," said Hypatia in a threatening tone, "and I've got three more good edges on this piece of paper alone. Imagine what it might do to a vein or a windpipe."

The paper floated above the man's face and then rotated so that a fresh edge was now against his forehead.

"Interesting," said Hypatia. "You know, I don't think that paper could cut bone, but it can certainly cut down to it. Shall we find out?

"It's for your kind!" the prisoner cried out. "Please, I'll tell you, but I beg of you, no more with the paper."

"Our kind? What do you mean?" asked Hypatia.

"The blue bands are God's Strength. Anyone who is injected by a blue dart is bound to the master. It doesn't matter if you are a normal person or someone of your kind. The red banded darts have something more in them. I overheard the Master say it had two parts, one that would bind your mind to him, but it would also bind your body to him as well. He said it will turn one of you devils to the Master's will forever."

"There now, was that so hard?" said Hypatia.

The paper hovered back up into the air.

"Successful first mission, I'd say," said Palo, looking about at the bodies which were tied up around them.

"Absolutely," said Scaurus. "How about you and I go do some more damage?"

"Sounds perfect," said Palo.

"I'll go do some fact-finding," said Hypatia. "Let's meet back here at 4:00 a.m."

"What do we do with these?" asked Palo.

"Easy," said Hypatia. "Just bring them over there."

Palo and Scaurus lined up the prisoners in a pile, and with a wave of her hand Hypatia summoned the broadsheets and other papers in the alley. Moments later, their quarry was buried beneath what looked like nothing more than another pile of garbage in the grimy streets of New York.

"Let's hunt," said Scaurus.

Within the hour they had subdued another fifteen Afflicted. During that time, the only close call they had was when Scaurus suddenly found himself facing a pistol. The mortal bearing it even pulled the trigger but the hammer came down with an empty thump.

"I thought I was going to the Elysian fields for certain," said Scaurus. "The gods were with me."

They were doing so well that they eventually grew careless. They flew down to capture two Afflicted women who had just entered a train tunnel. They were just about to attack when they heard the rush of feet.

At the entrance were several flyers and at least twenty people on the ground. In the darkness beyond the women, they also heard the approach of a large group.

"Remember, dodge the darts first," said Scaurus. "You can fight through an arrow in the leg, but not through being infected by the little man's injections."

They hovered up to mid-height in the tunnel, buying themselves the most possible directions of maneuverability. Looking beyond the group at the tunnel's entrance in the street beyond, Palo saw a tiny figure in the darkness a good thirty paces behind the people approaching them. The figure raised a sword in its hand and slashed. The back row of people cried out in pain and fell to the ground.

Another swipe of the figure's sword and the next row of enemies fell, all of them grasping at their heels. Another slash, another row.

Not having time to discover who their unknown benefactor was, Palo and Scaurus swooped into action. A flurry of darts flew out of the darkness beyond them and Scaurus willed a blast of air that caused every one of the projectiles to swoop straight up and go rattling off the ceiling of the tunnel. Scaurus gave an ancient battle cry and soared into the darkness of the tunnel.

Palo swooped in on the group in front who were also firing. Several of the dart guns failed to fire and Palo was able to avoid the rest of the projectiles with some fancy flying.

Once the darts were dispatched, Palo's arm sought out victims. There were no ankles for him to target, but his blade stabbed downward, severing shoulder muscles and shattering collar bones, crippling mortal and Afflicted alike.

It was a fierce battle and the clattering of swords rang for several minutes. At last, Palo and the diminutive figure who had come to their rescue were standing alone among unconscious and moaning bodies. Scaurus came flying back from the darkness.

Having survived the last war, Scaurus knew the simple test to administer each other upon meeting to assure they hadn't been caught by a dart.

"What do you think of Arnet?" asked Palo.

"He's the son of a weasel and a rat himself," said Palo. "You?"

"I'd feed him to the dogs of Hades sooner than lay eyes on him."

The angry groans around them affirmed the undying love the serums instilled in Arnet's followers.

"What of you?" said Scaurus to tiny figure. "What is your name and how much do you love Arnet?"

The figure was wearing a mask which looked to be Asian in origin. It was a theatrical mask of a fox, used in kabuki theater. Their helper removed it to reveal a lovely woman's face with shimmering green eyes.

"My name is Seiko," she said. "I hate Arnet and would sooner throw him to the wolves than look upon him. I am pleased to be of service. "

"Of service?" laughed Scaurus. "By god that was some of the most amazing fighting I've ever seen, rivaling even a deplaceur. Where have you been hiding?"

"I was the mate of the Samurai Haru Morimoto," she said quietly. "He did not approve of me fighting, but I learned much in my time with him. While I am a talented healer, especially with the art of massage, my true gift is to create blades of wind."

"This Affliction will never cease to amaze me," mused Palo. "Can you show us your gift once more now that we aren't under attack?"

"Of course," said Seiko.

They walked to the entrance of the tunnel.

Seiko pointed to a young tree with a trunk that was perhaps four inches in diameter.

"There is my target," she said. "I can do this without a blade, but I find that a real sword helps to focus the blow."

Her sword had been sheathed across her back. Scaurus saw that it was a wakizashi, the shorter of the blades a Samurai would carry. He surmised, correctly, that the blade had belonged to her former husband. Given her tiny frame, it made sense that she would choose the smaller blade as opposed to the katana.

Seiko focused and then made a downward diagonal stroke. She looked like someone at sword practice rehearsing their moves but there was no rehearsal about what happened to the tree. Seconds later, the top of the tree slipped to the ground and went toppling over. All that was left was a slender trunk, with a diagonal slash at waist height.

"Can you strike, too?" asked Scaurus. "With an open palm, can you send a blow of air?"

"I don't know," said Seiko. "I've only ever played with the sword. Let me try."

Seiko focused on a potted chrysanthemum not far from the tree she had slashed. She opened her palm, focused and then gave a forward thrust. The heads of the flower bent and then the pot went flying off of the divider it was on and went crashing to the ground.

"Interesting," said Seiko. "I must use that in the future."

They debated over what to do with the mortal prisoners, but realized that even with fifty cells in the dungeon below the mansion they would fill up too rapidly. So, they patched up the mortals and left them tied up to be found in the morning. Then, they gathered the Afflicted victims they had restrained.

Morning was drawing near and they had quite a chore ahead of them. They gathered up the wounded and tied them together in a chain. They flew slowly through the streets, gathering wounded bodies as they went. By the time they arrived back at the first site, Scaurus and Palo were pulling a chain of over 20 people behind them in the air.

"Oh thank god," said Hypatia upon seeing Seiko. "Another woman to help service these two. I'll survive a few more nights. I'm still sore from last night -- god help you, girl."

Seiko simply blushed as she started helping tie the wounded Afflicted who had been obscured below the garbage and papers.

Keeping a vigilant eye out, their trip back to the mansion was thankfully uneventful. They floated their captives into the dungeons and placed them four to a room (two men, two women). If future evenings proved as successful, they would have to double the occupancy of each room before long.

Back in the kitchen, they became better acquainted and Hypatia briefed them on her findings.

"If there is any good news," she said, "Arnet at least moved his headquarters out of the city. He has found a castle or something 30 miles north on the river, near a place called Tarrytown. That will keep this conflict out of mortals' eyes to a certain extent."

"What news do you have from any others?" asked Palo.

"Very little," said Hypatia. "The dorms are locked down tight which means the cadets are safe. It certainly seems like all deplaceurs are captured, which is a disadvantage. I overheard mixed news about Reykjavik, that most of the Council has been taken, but that a few had escaped."


The Afflicted Ch. 13



"This all happened so fast," said Palo.

"Yes," agreed Hypatia. "The fact that this enemy has been able to work so quickly speaks to his preparation, but it also points out a flaw. As long as we can eliminate the darts -- we eliminate the threat. I wish I could find out how he creates so much serum, though."

"Any news of Galen?" asked Scaurus.

"None," said Hypatia, sadly. "I suppose that is good news, though. I would have heard something if Arnet had captured him. The same can be said of Frederique and your children. If Arnet caught them, he would be crowing the news to the skies. Wherever they are, they are safe."

Scaurus pulled at his shoulder, wincing.

"Sore?" asked Seiko.

"Afflicted or not," said Scaurus, "These old bones still feel it after a night of battle. I'll be right as rain tomorrow, not to worry."

"I can help things along," said Seiko. "Come, let me attend to you. I've cared for many warriors after battle."

"If you insist," said Scaurus.

He gave Palo a knowing wink as they departed for the gymnasium.

The air hung heavy with anticipation between Hypatia and Palo.

"Come on then," she finally said. "I suppose I have to attend to you as well. Not that I wouldn't mind some attending myself."

* * * *

Aimée and Abby were just beginning to grow restless. Aimée was still healing, and Abby was offloading as much of the pain and discomfort as she could into her own system which also repressed her desires. The wakneturst in them was not as strong as in the boys -- but as Aimée recovered, it would soon grow to full force.

They might have been able to go another full day, but it didn't help that Louis and Jeanne were newly mated. The entirely transformed Louis Pasteur was now the equivalent of an insatiable nineteen-year-old.

The two scientists were currently examining a sample of Aimée's blood, Jeanne seated on Pasteur's lap, his cock buried deeply inside of her.

"I'm fairly certain he has spent fewer moments outside of her body than in since she took him to mate," Abby communicated to Aimée.

"Patience," said Aimée, even her internal voice weary. "When this is past, we will also know what it is like to be newly mated. If it is worse than simply being Awakened, imagine how fierce our desires will be."

Still, it was growing increasingly difficult to be in close quarters with the two lovers. Pasteur and Jeanne had at least created a small room with a dressing screen and a mattress in the corner of the attic. The sounds were no less intense, but it spared them the visual elements.

The day continued and after several more of their lovemaking sessions, Abby pulled Jeanne aside.

"Jeannie," she said. "I think we need to find some more of our kind."

"But why?" asked Jeanne, naively. The lust was fogging her thought processes a bit.

"Because you are newly mated," explained Abby patiently. "We find ourselves caught with wakneturst. As I understand it, fresh mates should only lie with each other until the bonding is complete -- which takes many days -- so Louis isn't an option for us."

"Oh, I see," said Jeanne, blushing. "Of course, I knew that. I just..."

"You don't need to explain yourself," said Abby. "Besides, I think Aimée needs to get out for a walk. The exercise will help stimulate her system to complete the healing. Won't you take us for a walk around Paris? Neither one of us has ever seen it and both of our mothers were from here. I assure you, I can provide quite enough protection for us all with my gift, even if Aimée can't jump yet."

"That is a lovely idea," said Madame Villepreux-Power, who now seemed to be leaning more and more toward wishing to simply be called Jeannie. "It is a bit stuffy in here and evening is coming on."

"Yes," said Abby drily, "stuffy."

"Louis," said Jeannie, "get dressed. We're going for a walk."

When the sun set, they descended from the attic and were able to find clothes for the two girls in abandoned trunks. After the battle, Aimée's clothing had been cut away and Abby's were badly stained. The clothes they found were somewhat ill-fitting but they would do for a casual walk in the darkness.

They stepped out onto the street and breathed in the fresh air with happiness. They were in the Montmartre district and Jeannie and Louis pointed out their favorite spots excitedly. Louis, especially was almost like a young child. The renewed energy of youth had infected him entirely and the slow methodical scientist he had just recently been fell away. He pointed out favorite haunts from his childhood and stopped in several cafés to buy bread, which he swore tasted differently with his newly awakened senses.

Their travels took them past countless shops and restaurants. One, in particular, caught Aimée's eye.

It was a clock shop. Though it was closed, a streetlight was right outside its window. The light shone in on clocks of every shape and variety. There were pocket watches and mantle clocks, grand brass clocks and tiny ones meant for a dressing table.

Aimée stood transfixed, staring at all of them. She stood for so long that Abby urged Jeanne and Louis to take a seat in the café across the street.

"What are you thinking Aimée?" asked Abby.

"Shouldn't you know that?" asked Aimée.

"Not really," said Abby, "there are a million emotions in your head."

It was true. The top emotion, perhaps, was fear. For the first time in her life, Aimée had come to know what it was like to be mortal. She had been one step away from discovering that death was indeed possible. She was also roiling with emotion. She loved Jacob, but she also loved Claude. There had been a small part of her that had felt... unfaithful? She hadn't thought of it at the time, but when the three from the council had announced she was to be mated to Jacob, her heart had soared. Now, looking back, she wondered how she could have turned so quickly from Claude.

Above all, Aimée realized that she missed her mother. Less than a quarter of a year ago, Aimée had been swimming carefree in the underground pool of their home in Morocco. In those times, boys had been a playful daydream and her mother had been her closest confidant. Now she was half a world away from her mother and she wanted nothing more than to talk to her, to lay with her head in Frederique's lap.

Looking at the clocks, Aimée was also reminded of her mother's stunning legacy. Her mother was the savior of their kind. Yet, Frederique had never spoken a word of her romantic, yet haunting past.

Aimée realized that her mother had also once been an uncertain young girl. Looking at the clocks made Aimée think of the handsome young clockmaker her mother had once loved in the very same city where Aimée now stood.

As if on cue, the door of the shop creaked open. A man stepped out. He was not as young as them, but he certainly hadn't reached thirty yet. He looked up with surprise upon seeing the two lovely young women. He was not the sort to notice that their clothes were not of the current fashion, or of the right fit. What he saw was their faces and their undeniable beauty.

"Bonsoir ladies," he said with a tip of his cap. "Do you like clocks?"

"Yes, we do," said Abby before Aimée could say anything. "I'm guessing you like clocks, too."

"Oh yes," said the man. "But where are my manners. My name is Martin Lepine."

"I am Aimée," said the taller girl, introducing herself. "And this is Abby."

"Pleased to meet you," said Martin. "You are lovely, both of you."

"Merci, Monsieur," said Aimée.

"You are unusual," he said, looking at Abby. "I could swear your eyes are blind, but you still see things. None of my business, I suppose, but I wonder how you do it, all the same. But clocks, yes, I do love clocks. My great grandfather made them and though I was a bastard child, my mother insisted I take his last name."

"And you," he said, turning to Aimée. "You seem to have been hurt but are on the mend. The way you hold yourself is cautious in a way. It's like when Old Isabella across the street broke her hip. She's never carried herself quite the same -- she always guards that side. You, you're guarding your chest."

He suddenly blushed.

"Not that I was looking at your chest, though I'm sure it is lovely, but where was I... Oh, yes. Clocks. I love clocks. Would you like to play a game?"

The girls wore bemused smiles as he rambled on. It took them a little while to realize he had stopped talking and had actually asked them a question.

"Oh, a game?" said Abby. "I suppose we could."

"Certainly," said Aimée. "What sort of game?"

"Here is the game," said Martin. "What is the best clock you can see? Look in the window and pick out the best one."

"Best?" said Aimée, "Isn't that a matter of opinion."

"It is, but I'm judging by clockmaker's standards. Using that gauge, there are three criteria. Length, Longevity, and above all accuracy. Length means, how long can it run between windings. Longevity, how long it can go between repairs. As for accuracy... well, that's fairly self-explanatory."

"Very well," said Aimée. "We shall play your game. What is the prize?"

"If you guess correctly, I give you the clock," said Martin.

"And what if we don't?" asked Abby.

"Oh, I don't care," said Martin. "It's just a game I like to play."

"How about if we don't guess the right clock, you get a kiss from two lovely young women?" suggested Abby.

Martin blushed furiously and stammered out a response.

"I suppose that would be reasonable stakes."

"Let the game begin, then," said Aimée.

She stepped up to the window and began peering intently at the clocks.

To make a show of it, even though he knew something about Abby's vision, Abby also stepped up to the window and placed her hands on the glass in the same fashion as Aimée.

"I could pick it out of his brain," suggested Abby in Aimée's mind.

"Don't you dare," came Aimée's response. "That would be so unfair, and what do we need with a clock, anyway?"

Aimée peered intently into the window. The clocks were mostly made of brass. The majority of them had at least some exposed gears. Such open cases were the clockmaker's way of bragging. By exposing the interior of the clock, he let the world see his finely wrought handiwork.

Aimée felt a curious buzzing at the back of her neck. The clocks suddenly seemed to be living and breathing things to her. She stared more intently and became aware of each gear and each spring. She mused that she might take up clockmaking herself someday.

As for Abby, she was too curious to stay neutral. She reached into the clockmaker's mind and tried to find his answer. Surprisingly, she couldn't find it. As he waited patiently for Aimée's decision his mind flitted in many different directions. His primary focus was on a new wishbone-shaped escapement that he'd been working on for a new line of clocks. His mind flipped back now and again to the pretty features of the two girls, but he somehow cleared his mind any thoughts about the actual clock in question. Finally, Abby gave up trying to pry and simply enjoyed the simple-yet-complex workings of his mind.

"That one!" cried Aimée suddenly. "The small one in the back that has some wooden gears!"

"Upon my word!" said Martin. "You are the first person who has ever guessed after hundreds of people have tried? How did you know?"

"I don't know," said Aimée. "It just seemed... shinier, I guess you would say. Even with the wooden gears, it was more slick."

"Exactly so," said Martin.

He was already opening the door to his shop again and was walking in to retrieve the clock. He lifted it carefully into his hands and delivered it proudly into Aimée's arms.

"It's a trick I learned from studying John Harrison's work. The gears are made of a wood called lignum vitae. It is a very hard wood, but it is full of oil. The natural lubrication it provides keeps the clock maintained naturally. It never needs to be stopped for maintenance, or at least it hasn't for five years. I only need to wind it once a year, but my guess is it could go three years if needed. I hope you enjoy it."

"But, I couldn't," said Aimée. "It is too fine a gift for a mere game."

"Young lady," said Martin, "it is the fondest hope of a clockmaker that each of his creations finds a good home. The fact that you knew which was my finest work means you deserve it. Please, stop in again sometime so I can show you more of my work."

With a tip of his hat, he was gone. Aimée stood cradling the clock in wonder.

"I have a clock," she said with a smile. "What an odd thing? To be in the middle of all that's going on and 'win' a clock on the streets of Paris."

"It is odd, isn't it?" agreed Abby.

Aimée continued to be contemplative. "Abby, what do you think it means? This man, this mortal -- why did our paths cross?"

Abby considered the question carefully. "I think, in the simplest form -- this just means that we have that much more reason to fight. If there are mortals like this in the world, it is our responsibility to be sure they stay safe and are assured of a normal life. What a shame it would be for Martin to be enslaved by Arnet."

"Could it mean more?" asked Aimée. "Could there be a reason we met him?"

"I wonder," mused Abby. "For now, let's just enjoy it for what it is."

They crossed the street and retrieved Louise and Jeannie.

"I have a clock," repeated Aimée with a smile.

They wandered a bit further through the streets, and then Abby discovered what she was looking for.

"Oh my," she said with a giggle.

"What's that?" asked Jeannie.

"There's a safe house just down the next street. Inside are six men... and two women."

"Oh my, indeed," said Aimée. "Just the thought makes me... hungry."

The fresh air had had the exact effects Abby and Jeannie had been hoping for. A near-mortally wounded Afflicted was always slow to heal, but there was always a point when the Affliction revived fully and the healing was accelerated to its usual phenomenal pace. That was just what had happened to Aimée in the past few hours, and her system was quickly surging toward recovery.

Abby retrieved the secrets to the safe house from the mind of one of the occupants. They stepped down the steps to the garden entrance and Abby rapped out a secret pattern on the door. A panel slid open and a lovely pair of eyes looked out.

"What do you think of Arnet?" asked a woman's voice.

Ironically, none of the four were old enough to know of the trick from the last war. They looked to each other in confusion.

"I... we hate him!" said Abby, sensing the required answer. "He is a scourge on our kind."

"Thank god, please come in!" said the woman.

The door opened and they were let quickly in. Instead of a garden apartment, the stairway led down a spiral staircase to a great 'below.' It was opulent and spoke of great comfort. As they descended the stairs, they felt the hungry eyes of six confined Afflicted men on them. Since it had been some time, those lustful looks were actually welcome and quite stimulating. Aimée and Abby's senses perked up and they returned the men's stares with equal hunger. The two women looked at each other with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. So many men, so much fun to be had.

"One moment," said Pasteur -- wanting to head off any overexuberance. "This girl needs to be treated gently and we need to examine her once more before anything happens."

Louis and Jeannie sat Aimée down on a sofa and put their hands on her skin, examining her interior down to the minutest detail.

"So, docteurs, how am I?" asked Aimée.

"You are doing wonderfully," said Jeannie. "Better than I could have imagined. I think, in large part, because of Louis' efforts. Had it just been me, you would have another three days at least. As it is, I think you will be fighting ready by tomorrow night."

"I will be able to deplace, too?"

"But of course," said Louis. "What your system needs now, is a certain sort of attention, the kind only these men can provide."

Louis and Jeanne excused themselves, wanting a full day of privacy in their attic domicile. Abby reached out through the minds of the six men and could sense who had received the least amount of attention from their willing, but weary companions.

"You... and you," she said, pointing to the two men who looked at the girls with happy relief. "You first."

They took the men's hands and led them to a single bedroom. With both of the girls' hunger and Abby's empathic link to Aimée, the men in the hidden apartment were in for a very fun time.

* * * *

Glennis felt like a great, clumsy child. The Elders, as they called themselves, were all about patience and grace. Having been raised among mortals, Glennis felt like she was always clomping around like a bull in a china shop. The thinly veiled looks of disapproval she often received let her know she was constantly speaking too loudly or walking too heavily, or something.

She was not happy, not with anything. She was clumsy and loud, she could barely speak the musical language of her people, and she did not like her name. Shoenweil was how it might be spelled, but there were musical elements to it as well. Though she could pronounce it, she didn't like to hear it. Just the sound of her real name dredged up suppressed memories that she preferred not to visit.

Her parents, if that was what one called them, were a frustrating mixture of loving and aloof. Her father Loenshellen, was one the most respected philosophers of their kind. For all his studiousness, he was actually the most outwardly expressive of the three. Her birth mother, Sheireh, was courteous for lack of a better word, and her egg-mother, Monshellen, seemed to want to have as little to do with her as possible.

New Valley, as their home was called, was a feast of wonders. The old home, as she had been told, had been nestled snugly in the hills of Wales. It had also been lovely, but it had evolved over time. New Valley was a chance for their very long-lived builders and craftsmen to start over. The homes were wondrous to behold, some built from stone and wood, others built from glass and suspended seemingly in mid-air.

Glennis's days were her own. Her parents were always preoccupied with their own affairs and it was only at the evening meal that they spoke.

One day, she saw a young man who seemed to be following her. As with the Afflicted, youth was a relative term and it was more in the eyes that one could tell someone's age. This young man's eyes were bright and excited... not calm or jaded.

"Do I know you?" she said, after seeing him peek around a tree at her for the fourth time.

"I... hello Shoenweil, it is good to see you. I am Kenloen. We are... we were friends in the time before."

"Oh," she said. "Please, call me Glennis. I would be happy to walk with you for a while, if you are agreeable to that."

"Of course, of course," he said with a smile.

He fell into step beside her and she spared him a sidelong glance. He was, as all of the Elders were, beautiful. His skin was a rich brown, which made his piercing blue eyes stand out all the more. He was more broad of chest than many of the Elders, but it suited him.

"How are you fitting in?" he asked after they had walked for a while.

"Not well," said Glennis. "Everyone seems to hate me. They glare at me and seem to loathe every move I make."

"Is that what you think?" asked Kenloen. "You mustn't think that. You are beloved to all of us. You have no idea how much we care for you."

"You have funny ways of showing it," she said softly.

"This is true," he said. "We aren't good at showing our feelings. However, what you are mistaking for loathing is shyness. When you live as long as we do, in such a small community of only a thousand or so, it takes a great deal of time to gather up the courage to say anything. You are noisy, but in a good way. The looks people give you... they are surprised and pleased by your boisterous nature, but they are too shy to tell you so."




The Afflicted Ch. 13



Glennis stopped and turned to face him.

"Is that really the case?" she said in disbelief. "You won't speak to me because you are shy?"

"I'm afraid it is," he said. "It's taken me a full day to gather the courage just to allow you to see me, Shoenweil... I mean, Glennis"

"I see," she said.

There was something in his face which suddenly stirred a memory. She had a quick glimpse of him as a young child of three or four.

"Oh my, Kenloen. I know you now! You were a boy, just slightly older than me. I know you! I remember."

She pulled him into a fierce embrace and though he was slow to respond, he eventually did and she found herself basking in the comfort of his strong arms.

She wasn't surprised to find that her cheeks were wet. She looked up to find that his were the same and she tenderly brushed the tears from his cheeks.

"Why didn't you come to me right away?" she asked.

"It... it's difficult," he said.

"Kenloen! What was the game we played? There were marbles... and a grid, or something."

"Oh yes!" he cried. "The game does not have a name, but it was created by your father. Come along, I'm certain it is still in his possession."

They dashed back to her home, laughing as they went. There were quite a few stares following them, but Glennis didn't take any notice.

They dashed into the house and her father looked up from his meditation at the excited pair bursting into the house.

"Why hello Kenloen," he said. "To what do we owe the honor?"

"The game," said the young man. "The game you made for us. Do you still have it?"

"Oh, the marbles? Of course."

Loenshellen went to a cabinet pulled out a medium-sized wooden box.

"I don't know why I didn't bring these to you before," he said. "These were all yours."

Glennis gasped upon opening the box. If remembering Kenloen had triggered a trickle of memories, the box opened the floodgates. Inside were childhood trinkets: rocks, feathers, games, hair combs. She had to wipe away a few tears.

"Well," said her father, "why don't you play?"

"I think we should," said Kenloen. "Right here."

They sat on the comfortable, backless couch and laid out the board.

The game was akin to what would later be called Connect Four, but it worked in three dimensions and it was necessary to put five marbles in a row either vertically, horizontally, or diagonally. There was also not the requirement of stacking the marbles. As soon as they put the game board down, a three-dimensional grid appeared in the air. As soon as one put a marble into a position, it remained floating there. When someone won, the five connected marbles even lit up with different colors. One trick to the game was that you could not touch another marble. If you did, you lost the game.

The game began, and Glennis was soon laughing happily with Kenloen. She won the first game and looked to him suspiciously.

"Did you let me win?" she said.

"Of course not," he said, but his blushing cheeks belied otherwise.

"Don't do it again," she admonished him.

"I won't. Now, let's play."

They were fairly evenly matched. Where Kenloen was a perhaps a bit more logical, he also had an impetuous streak and would sometimes let his emotions get the better of him. They played for nearly two hours. Their last game was particularly tense, and the entire grid was filled -- with one extreme complication. There were two spots left, in the exact center of the board and it was Kenloen's turn. If he could get the marble to one of the spots, he would block one route, but that would leave her a win if she could reach the final opening.

That was the problem. With the board so closed, Glennis couldn't imagine how he would get a marble in. His hands were much larger than hers and she knew he wouldn't be able to reach it.

Then came the surprise. Kenloen's face took on a fierce look of concentration and he focused on one of his marbles. It slowly lifted up into the air and then slid gracefully into the slot. All that remained now was to fill the final hole -- and Glennis would win.

"That's not fair!" she cried. "You can't use your mind!"

"Actually, that is allowable."

Her father's voice brought her out of the intense concentration she'd been in. She looked up to see that not only was her father watching, but so were both of her mothers. There were several other people gathered around as well -- including two who Glennis now knew to be Kenloen's parents. They were all watching with smiles on their faces -- clearly relishing their memories of when they'd last seen the two youths playing together.

"But that's not fair," said Glennis, once she had recovered from seeing all of the people. "I can't do that."

"Who is to say you can't," argued Kenloen. "You are one of our kind. There's no reason why you wouldn't be able to."

"But I've never been taught," she argued.

She detected a hint of movement out of the corner of her eye. It had seemed like Monshellen, her egg-mother, had started to say something, but stopped.

"What is it, mother," said Glennis. "Do you have something to say?"

Monshellen said nothing and simply shook her head.

"Come on then," said Glennis. She crossed to her mother and took her hand tenderly. "Teach me, mother. We never had the chance for you to teach me so many things. Teach me this, now."

Still, Monshellen hesitated.

"Please mother," said Glennis. "Think of all of the things you never were able to teach me. Let's start again, show me how this works."

Monshellen squeezed Glennis's hand and nodded. They went back over to the game board and the mother held a marble in her hand. Reaching out with the inner speech of the Elders, she linked up with Glennis and sent the 'how' into her mind. The method of communication was somewhat similar to how Abby had communicated the crisis out to the Afflicted. It was a mixture of images, but feelings and sensations, too.

The marble floated into the air, and Glennis suddenly understood.

"Oh!" said Glennis, playfully clapping her hands in childlike fashion. "How easy that was!"

She took over control of the marble and sent it spiraling playfully around the room before hovering it over the game board. It descended, weaving between the many marbles suspended above the board. When it settled into the final spot, five of her marbles lit up with a blue nimbus around them.

"You win," said Kenloen.

"Indeed I do," said Glennis, squeezing her mother's hand.

Trumpets sounded and a very official looking woman walked into the room.

"It has been decided," she said. "Tonight will be the feast of welcoming."

"Oh," said her Monshellen. "That is simply wonderful."

Yet again, Glennis sensed the odd feeling of hesitation among her newly-found people. Her mothers' next words soon made her forget that, though.

"Come daughter," said Monshellen. "We will prepare you."

"Yes," said Sheireh. "We have created many gowns over the years in hopes of your return. I'm sure we will find one to your liking."

Off they went, to bathe and prepare for a great feast.

* * * *

Oppo waited with his cohorts around a corner. He was very excited to be donning the 'decoy suit', as they had dubbed it.

It was quite ingenious, created from tightly wound rolls of paper and cloth perhaps a half inch in diameter. It was jointed with metal at the knees and elbows, and even came with a lifelike wooden mask, complete with hard glass goggles.

"Are you sure about this?" asked Yolanda, a newer cadet.

"Of course I am, why shouldn't I be?" he asked.

"Because you're our best flyer," she said. "You should let me take the risk. If there's anything wrong with the suit and I'm infected, I won't be nearly as great a loss."

"The armor will hold," said Oppo. "We tried it again and again. It is perfect."

The idea had come from Jackie. They had survived several skirmishes with metal armor which they had salvaged from the armory. The problem was that as soon as Arnet's people saw the glistening metal, they dropped their guns and attacked. They wanted to reduce as much of their dart supply as possible, and so they had come up with the suit.

Once Oppo had it on, they put clothes on over the top. Once he put on the mask, he looked odd, but life-like enough.

"No time like the present," he said once he was dressed.

He flew high up and then descended directly into the middle of a large contingent of Arnet's followers. As one, they gave out a cry and shot at him.

His flinches were actually quite lifelike. Armored or not, the sight of the darts shooting at him made him cringe -- realizing what would happen to him if even one needle made it through.

Yet, he felt no prick. Upon seeing him stay in the air and continue to resist, more and more darts flew out until gun barrels and crossbows were clicking emptily.

There were at least three hundred darts in him, but he was unscathed.

"Now!" cried Oppo.

With the darts gone, the Cadets poured out and fought with joyful abandon. They did not fear injury for they were Afflicted and would heal. They did not fear death. They would rather die fighting for their cause. The only thing they feared was becoming enslaved to Arnet, and Oppo had eliminated that threat.

The battle was heated, and frightening. Two pairs of flyers and apportaires skirted the periphery and their sole job was to eliminate any darts people were trying to load. Apportaires were not as common as flyers, but there were enough of them among the cadets to be dreadfully useful. An apportaire could transfer objects from one place to another, but not people. These teams focused their powers and dart after dart disappeared to be shattered on the streets below or the walls of surrounding buildings.

In a brief lull, one of the apportaires relieved Oppo of his worries. The needles, all of them, flew out of his padded armor and were sent shattering to the pavement below. He was transformed from porcupine to padded warrior and began attacking with a vengeance.

It was a shame Scaurus did not get to see the Cadets in the battle, because they did more than right by their drill instructor. The Afflicted among the group who had seen them were relaxed upon seeing it was only cadets -- and that was their mistake. The cadets fought with a frightening determination in the name of their four friends, and of their kind. It was less than twenty minutes later when a full fifty Afflicted lay moaning upon the ground. The Cadets had only suffered three injuries, only had to kill four Afflicted, and none of them had been hit by a dart.

"I am so proud," said Brana. "Let's round up the wounded and bring them back to the dorms. We are filling up rapidly."

* * * *

Frederique was hunting. She shouldn't have been, and she knew that. She knew she should be in the mine, keeping an eye over the boys -- making sure they didn't harm themselves or either of the girls.

Bullet had proven very useful. It was good that she needed to be restrained. Having Bullet bound helped to quell any response that she might have to the boys' condition. Being bound to Arnet helped even more -- though she submitted willingly enough the sexual attentions of Claude and Jacob, her mind was strongly bound to Arnet so her emotions did not lean easily toward the boys. Bullet had proved to be a good sexual partner without resonance growing between her and either of the boys. Having an extra sexual partner who was afflicted was a god-send and had kept Frederique from temptation for at least a little while.

Jessamine was already proving to be very promising. Her skin had not only recovered, but the Affliction had done marvels for her complexion. Her breasts were very full and round for one her age and her legs were long and sensuous.

It was with the newly turned young woman that Frederique had left the boys. Yes, yes, she should have stayed, but she could not bear to be near them, especially her own son.

Frederique could not trust herself.

Bullet had arrived just in time -- truly. Frederique had been within moments of biting her son Claude and taking him to mate.

Frederique's mind kept mind had kept returning to their aerial exertions. All she needed to do was close her eyes and the sensations returned. She could feel her son's hot cock sliding into her, splitting her open. She could smell Clause's musky scent made rich from exertion. She longed to feel his cum again... and the longing to taste his endless spray sizzling down her throat was growing by the hour.

She knew it was the biological effects of matelust. She knew, just as dogs and wolves were susceptible to the biological signs of mating season -- her own system was responding to the primal scent and aura that Claude was emitting.

Her mind knew that this was resonance, plain and simple.

Her body didn't care. She needed him... wanted him... lusted for him. Jacob, too, was looking more and more appealing to her as new bloodmate.

Her logical mind, trained with centuries of Afflicted discipline, was the only thing keeping her from her son and his friend.

So, to distract herself she hunted. In the desert night, she flew with sword and bow from the mine cabinet over the landscape. Two antelope had fallen to her sword as she swooped from above. Now, she decided to set herself a true target.

There was a white-tail deer, a buck, over a mile away. For a mortal, it was an impossible shot because of distance. Frederique was not a mortal. She was Afflicted, and the daughter of the greatest archer her kind had ever known.

Plus, she had one other advantage.

It was a trick her mother had taught her, one which she believed was unique to her family.

As she pulled back the steel bow, she gathered her will and poured it into the arrow.

The secret was the wind and the trick was to attach it to the arrow.

She tipped the bow up, crossed her eyes, then let them separate again, and as the speck of a deer came back into focus she let loose.

Just as a good flyer cleared the air in front of them, with Frederique's powers, the arrow suddenly had a clear path. The inches ahead of the projectile and the air surrounding it were emptied. The arrow sped through the night unencumbered by friction from the air. It was encapsulated in an envelope of silent perfection. Only the slightest hiss escaped from the arrow's assisted flight. The deer looked up, hearing the curious sound.

It was the last noise the buck ever heard. The arrow buried itself in his heart and he fell down dead within seconds.

Frederique had left the antelope where they lay, but she was in the mood for venison. She flew to the carcass, quickly cleaned it, and flew back to the mine office, letting gravity naturally drain the body of blood as she flew.

When she reached the mine office, she quickly carved out the best cuts and left the rest to hang on a beam. She fired up the stove in the small kitchen and began to cook.

She tried focusing on the task at hand. There were a few spices, simple salt and pepper was the best she could do.

But always, her mind drifted to the occupants back down the tunnel and what they might be doing. How much she wished she might join them.

She finished the meat and put it on five plates. She went first to Bullet and fed her by hand. The naked warrior lay calmly chained to a bed. The sheets were covered in white stains from the two boys pleasuring themselves (and Bullet) feeding the hungers in their body. Frederique retrieved a basin and cloth and carefully washed the white crust from Bullet's belly and face, and between her legs.

The other three were not in the other room. Frederique knew where they must be. She took the other four plates and walked slowly toward the pool Jacob had found.

Upon hearing the sounds echoing up the gently sloping tunnel, her footsteps grew slower. Again, she knew the wisest path would be to turn around but her lust-clouded mind wouldn't let her.

She stood in the shadows watching them. They stood just above knee deep in the water. Jacob's cock was buried in Jessamine's throat...and Claude. Claude was taking Jessamine from behind. His great and beautiful cock was spearing her with long, elegant strokes. With each plunge into her, a high-pitched squeal escaped from her mouth gurgling around Jacob's cock.

Frederique still stayed in the darkness beyond the light of the lamp near the pool. Fearing she might drop it, she set the tray holding the plates down on the tunnel floor.

Something unusual was happening, too. The water was forming the oddest shapes; not waves, but bulges. Frederique peered more intently and noticed that the bulges grew with each of Claude's thrusts and as the intensity of the three-way sexual union grew, the water raised higher and higher.

She wondered if it could be Claude. With his flying skills he could be shape the water -- but the way the water was moving didn't look like something a flyer would do. A flyer shaped water from the outside. These shapes seemed to be coming from within.

She soon had her answer. The water began to form tendrils and shapes that began working their way up the boys' legs, caressing them. Jessamine's eyes flew wide when she saw the first tendrils reaching Jacob's hips.

"Wait," she said, pulling her mouth off of Jacob. Claude stopped, looking down at her curiously from his rear vantage point.

The water went splashing down to settle into stillness again.

"Was that..." she paused and looked at the water intently. Squinting her eyes Jessamine held out her hand and looked to the surface of the water. Magically, like the lady of the lake, a translucent hand emerged from the water.

"Oh boys, look," she cried excitedly. "I'm doing that. Me!"

The boys expressed their amazement, and Frederique had to suppress a giggle. It truly was a comical sight. Jessamine was still bent over with Claude buried deep inside of her. Jacob was still sporting his long erection, now free of Jessamine's mouth. The three of them remained like that as Jessamine explored her savant-like gift, forming shapes with water ranging from flowers to faces.

"Goodness!" Jessamine cried, suddenly remembering what they had been up to. "Where were we? Hmm, Jacob, I think I have a nice surprise for you."

She made a gesture and a hand snaked out of the water, arm attached, and wrapped itself firmly around Jacob's 'javelin'.

"How does that feel?" she asked.

The watery hand was stroking him.

"So good," said Jacob. "It's like... with a woman, she's wet and slick in most places. This is wet and slick in all places."

"I'm glad you like it," she said.

"Oh, and watch this," said Jacob.

He started to disappear, but he kept the slightest amount of visibility and he looked like water himself, the dim light shining through his translucent shape.

"Now I match my mermaid lover in looks," he said.

"I'm glad," said Jessamine, "Ah!"

Claude had been waiting quite long enough. He had pulled back and slammed into Jessamine with a thrust that let her know he would wait no longer.

Surprisingly, the hand Jessamine had formed kept its shape, even with Claude's thrusting.

Frederique mused that yes, she had chosen well. To see one transform so beautifully, and then be so adept with their gift -- Jessamine would truly be an asset to their kind and would have no problem getting formal approval to join the Afflicted when the time came.

Frederique could not muse on the situation much longer though, because the lust-driven part of her mind eagerly and hungrily took control.

The sight of Claude pounding into Jessamine had her practically drooling with envy, wishing it were her. She could not help herself and her hand found its way downward. She lifted her dress and stepped out of her knickers. Dipping her finger into her moist folds, she used her own juices as lubrication and began rubbing the wonderful nub that she hoped would bring her some relief.




The Afflicted Ch. 13



'Relief' however, was a relative term. As she watched Claude pummel Jessamine, she found herself gasping in time with each one of the young girl's moans. Surprisingly fast, an orgasm exploded in Frederique's body. She leaned against the side of the tunnel and closed her eyes, barely able to stand as the paroxysms shook her body.

When it finished, though, she felt more empty and hungry than she had before. She looked back to the young lovers. Jacob was no longer being serviced by a hand, but now a water doppelganger of Jessamine's face was wrapped around his cock and Frederique could see him pushing his way into the back of the liquid head's transparent throat -- and still Claude pummeled.

Claude pulled off of Jessamine and flipped her around... still, Jessamine was able to keep the watery figure intact for Jacob.

Claude held Jessamine by the hips and dropped her slowly down onto his shaft. She wrapped her arms around him and cried out with pleasure at the way his monstrous cock split her open from a new angle.

With Claude's abilities as a flyer, Jessamine was nothing more than a ragdoll, a weightless fucktoy. He lifted her weightless form up and down on his cock with rugged force and Jessamine screamed with pleasure as an orgasm ripped through her body though Claude showed no signs of slowing. By now Frederique was not surprised to see tender, watery hands reaching up to caress Claude's thighs as the two lovers fucked incessantly

A motion caught the corner of her eye. Jacob now seemed to be pistoning his hips, and Frederique saw that Jessamine had formed an entire watery doppelganger and it was bent over while the Jacob took her aqueous double from behind.

Frederique's hand began its efforts again...but it was not enough. She had the perfect angle to see her son's turgid member sliding into the young woman's dripping slit and the unreasonable biological forces were overriding any sensible notion in her head.

She slipped a finger into herself.

It wasn't enough.

She slipped in two.

Still, she yearned for more.

Now three, now four; she pushed her fingers into herself and moaned quietly. It was almost enough, the sharp sensation of her vagina being pulled wide. She started to fuck herself with all four digits, still timing it with her son's thrusts into his young lover.

She lifted her hand to her mouth and tasted her own juices. Her hand was now slick from her own lubrication and her saliva. She moved her hand back down, forming a sturdy knob with all four fingers and her thumb.

She had never done this. Not in six centuries of life and endless sex. She'd had friends who could take an entire hand, but even with the many well-endowed lovers she had accommodated (including her husband and her son); she had never been able to fit an entire hand into herself.

Now, she needed it. She pushed her hand in further. She gasped from the pain...but also from the pleasure. The pang of sensation as her hand stretched her impossibly wide was just the thing she needed... to make her forget.

Her tight muscles resisted a she pushed harder and harder. She gritted her teeth as the blissful agony grew and then --

"Mon dieu," she moaned quietly as the fullness of her hand inside of her rocked her senses.

Her hand was now completely inside of her and the sensation was overwhelming. With her other hand she began rubbing furiously at her clit as she moved her whole hand within her inner chamber, fisting herself into a haze of pleasure.

Even with the fierce and stupefying feelings her body was experiencing, she could not shake Claude from her mind. As she fucked herself with her balled up fist, she could only fantasize that it was his cock, grown to even larger proportions inside of her.

It still wasn't enough. Clinging to her last vestige of reason, she pushed for even more intensity. Now, she balled her fist and pulled slowly out until the knuckles of her elegant hand were rubbing against the painfully stretched outer regions.

Yet it wasn't painful, it was welcome. She was already stretched wide and the added sensation of her fist seemed to almost make her labia suck down on her hand.

Claude and Jessamine seemed near completion. Frederique sank to the dusty floor and started rubbing at her clit with a violent motion. Soon, she lifted her hand and started slapping her clit rhythmically as her fist moved ever so slightly.

For the piece de resistance she had one more trick up her sleeve. When Claude began to roar with his orgasm, she began twisting her hand. The ridges of her knuckles rippled over her taut nerves and she couldn't help but cry out as well. Her pussy clamped tighter and her glistening fist popped out.

She didn't need it any more. She fell completely over onto the ground and shook with uncontrollable spasms. Her moans went unnoticed as her voice mingled with the orgasmic cries of Claude and Jessamine.

Eventually, her orgasm subsided and she lay gasping on the floor, still moaning softly as the pain and pleasure of her self-induced encounter dwindled.

It was quite possible that she would have been discovered were it not for Jacob. He was still engaged with his watery lover, sliding with fluid motions in and out of its translucent cavern.

Claude and Jessamine were collapsed in the water.

"Oh finish, Jacob," purred Jessamine. "Finish yourself with my creation."

Jacob renewed his efforts and began thrusting faster and further into his watery lover. He benefited from Jessamine's full attention as well. Now that she could concentrate entirely on him, her aqueous creation took on even more lifelike attributes. The water in the cave was naturally warm. Not hot, but comfortable. Jacob felt the water around his cock grow warmer and it was as if there were more natural flesh-like ridges within which began massaging his cock as only the most skilled lover could do. He was even more surprised when two more watery lovers appeared and rose from the water to caress and kiss him. The trio of naiad creations soon proved too much for him and he gasped as his orgasm began.

His watery partner looked over her shoulder with loving smile as he pumped ounce after ounce of his enhanced system into her water chamber. It seemed there would be no end to his ejaculation... but there was also no end to the capacity of the water woman he'd been fucking. Within the watery form the white fluid pooled into a larger and larger ball. He finally finished, and while the two additional girls returned to the pool - his unique partner did not. Instead, she turned to give Jacob a (truly) wet kiss before walking seductively over to Jessamine.

"You know," she mused. "Before, my dreadful husband and the men in the whorehouse would want me to take their seed in my mouth. I always found it disgusting. Now, with these new skills, I am fascinated with everything to do with water or liquid in general. How thirsty I am right now."

She stepped up to her watery creation and pressed her lips to hers. A throat-like tube appeared in the creature's body and Jacob's white seed began streaming up into the mouth. Jessamine's kiss with her living statue deepened and she sucked deeply, letting his milky ejaculate flow into her own mouth and she drank deeply until she could handle no more. It was certainly one of the most unique cum-swapping experiences the world would ever see.

"Dinner!" cried Frederique's voice from the darkness.

In the interim, she had dusted herself off as best as she could and put herself into some sort of order.

"I'm sorry that it's cold," she said as she walked into view. "I had some things to attend to, but it should be quite tasty. Oh my goodness, look what you've done. That's quite a gift Jessamine."

"I certainly am pleased," said the young girl.

The four ate in relative silence. Frederique felt as if she was in a trance as she willed herself to constantly avert her eyes from Claude's still-naked form.

"Are you feeling well, mother?" he asked with concern, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"I'm fine," she said -- not wanting to admit how even that touch inflamed her senses.

"Please Aimée," she said in silent prayer. "Please get well and rescue me."

The problem was, she did not truly mean those words. All she could think of was herself and Claude stranded in the mine forever. Jessamine could have Jacob, she could have Claude, and the rest of their kind could be damned. He was all she needed.

"No," she chastised herself. "You have a husband and another child. You have saved your kind once and you will do so again. Focus!"

Yet, she needed something. Her well-exerted pussy was now fully recovered from her fisting pleasure and she was desperately longing for more.

"How," she wondered. "How will I get through this? I must have something."

At last, she decided on a plan.

Jessamine, would you come with me?" she asked.

"Of course," said Jessamine.

"You boys wait here," said Frederique.

When they were out of earshot of the boys, Jessamine began to babble on excitedly.

"Oh, they are both so wonderful, Frederique," she said. "Jacob is tall and... adorable. And Claude! Claude is just handsome beyond belief. And his thing! How wonderful it feels inside of me. When he's inside of me I can't even tell where I end and he begins. Is it wrong of me to hope? Is it wrong to hope that the others will be too late in reaching us and I can take one of them for my own?"

"Of course not," said Frederique. "It is... natural. Quite natural."

"Frederique, is it possible... no, that's selfish."

"What is it, my dear," asked Frederique.

"Is it possible that I could mate with them both? I just can't decide who I would rather have."

"Not very likely, dear," said Frederique. "The way Galen once explained it to me, the first mate is the strongest bond and it is very powerful in the first few days. Say, for example, if Jacob exchanged blood with you first. Your system would instantly start replicating his cells and they would fight off any others for the first few days. So, if Claude bit you even a minute later, your cells would reject them because Jacob's would already be winning. Of course, if you were to take another mate in a few months' time, it would be a different story. The problem is, we don't have months."

"I see," said Jessamine. "But listen to me babble on, what is it you needed?"

"My dear, let me tell you a story," said Frederique. "I once had a friend -- Nicole was her name. Nicole Rosé. She was the most genteel, well-mannered woman one could ever meet. Well, at least until she was recruited by the Afflicted. Once Nikki joined us, she was still the model of propriety, except in the bedroom. As soon as she allowed herself to be taken by lust, she was an animal. Truly, she was almost impossible to control. Her lovers would emerge from their sessions happy, but cut and bruised. Eventually, it even became too expensive because her chambers would be in tatters by the time she was done. Steps had to be taken."

"What steps?" asked Jessamine, her eyes wide.

"Effective steps," said Frederique. "I need you to help me with such steps now. I need relief so desperately, but I also have to be contained. You will help me, won't you?"

"Of course," said the young woman.

* * * *

Aimée was on man number four, and she was back. Her first lover had been gentle and caring. She had taken him into her arms, with Abby riding another lover beside them. That first lover had finished and Aimée had purred as he filled her up with his warmth.

That lovemaking had begun the last of the healing. By the time she called the next lover in, she was beginning to feel her true energy return -- as well as her true hunger.

With her second lover she had chosen to be on top. She loved the feeling of control it gave her and she rode him with a furious pace. It was in that session that she felt the first true pangs begin. His name was Gerard, and she found her mind focusing on him.

"He would be a good mate," she'd thought. "If I take him now, all of this nonsense will be out of the way. We'll be happy together."

"Aimée!" had come Abby's mental warning. "Slowly. No mates today."

Aimée had opted to switch positions at that point, with Gerard on top of her, he was more in control and she was better able to surrender to his lust.

With the third, she and Abby had decided to take turns. Abby, too, had felt the frightening urges overwhelming her. With the two of them supporting each other, they were able to keep themselves in check. They would fuck one partner for perhaps a minute or so, and then switch to the other as soon as they felt bloodmating urges beginning.

Now she was mounting her fourth lover of the day. They had fucked through the daylight hours, feeding their hungry bodies. It did not help that this one, Klaus, was a strong, muscular flyer with a darker complexion. His biceps, especially, she mused, were much like Claude's.

He took her into the air. Any thought of going easy was over. Like a sexual circus act in the air, she and Klaus put on a remarkable show in the vaulted bedchamber that had been built for a nobleman during the renaissance. Aimée had ridden his cock for a while, but had eventually decided to flip around. The two lovers pleasured themselves with each other's mouths in mid-air sixty-nine and when Aimée felt the red haze begin again Abby tripped Klaus's orgasm early. The salty fluid shooting down her throat brought her back to awareness and she gratefully descended to Abby's side.

"This is getting almost impossible," she murmured to Abby.

"Tell me about it," agreed the lovely redhead. "Let's pray that Jeannie and Louis return soon. Sundown will be here shortly."

* * * *

In the year 1860, a young woman had emerged from the slums of London. She was not the most beautiful in face or body, but within months of her appearance, she quickly became the most desirable courtesan in all of England. Her skill was in sensing and fulfilling the needs of her lovers soon had her entertaining princes and dukes among her clientele. From England to the courts of Europe, the woman named Cora had conquered the hearts and bodies of the wealthiest of the elite.

However, she grew tired of the old world and decided to follow the trail of money to the new world. The Civil War and the burgeoning industrial revolution had created a new breed of millionaires who had fewer manners, which Cora found exciting.

When she first heard of Arnet, through a wealthy banker who had been bound to him, she had done her research, and had actually approached Arnet with the agreement that if he would bind him to her, he would also take her to mate and imbue her with the powers of the Afflicted. As she put it, she had always been a woman of the night, so to become Afflicted was no great leap for her.

Arnet had found her irresistible. She had been one of the first mortals he had bound to her with his full blood.

Cora's conversion to the Affliction had been quick and painless. Within moments she felt the power surging through her body. When she kissed Arnet in gratitude, she discovered her power as she morphed into the shape of a waifish girl of 18 or 19 with blonde hair and piercing green eyes. It was the shape of a girl who Arnet had once loved. Later that night when he bedded her, she had changed to the form of a dusky skinned beauty who Arnet had yearned for during time he had spent in Persia.

Cora had become a shapeshifter, or perhaps human chameleon was a better term. She could not shift into the form of a lion or other animal, nor could she change her form to be male. However, within the female shape, she could transform into the shape most desired by the man she was with. For Arnet, she was quite the plaything, changing shapes at the whim of his mind. However, a bit to her dismay, she had soon become a plaything and a tool for him. He would lend her out to his most valued lieutenants, allowing them to spend the evening with their first crush, or the daughter of a rival, or a serving maid, or the shape of whatever woman they most lusted for.

Though she loved 'The Master', and she willingly did whatever he asked her out of the blind obedience created by his gift, her heart still ached at times. She had hoped, in giving herself to Arnet, that she would become a person of value, of worth. Instead, she had simply become another version of herself... simply a whore. Certainly, she was someone with a unique power, but she was a whore nonetheless.

* * * *

After decades of waiting, Arnet's patience was finally beginning to wear thin. He was nearly ready to take New York, but he needed the full strength of the Afflicted to do so and hence move from there to Europe. Yet, every day, newly captured members of the Afflicted trickled in, bound to him. While the number of his mortal followers was growing exponentially, the size of his Afflicted army was growing much slower than he hoped due to the surprising resistance offered by those who had escaped the courtroom, those they had recruited, and the cadets.

The inventor, Franz, was a tortured man. He had long ago vowed that if the likes of Arnet should ever return, he would kill himself before letting his gifts be used against their kind. Yet here he was, bound to the Master's will. He was doing his work willingly, happily, but there was still that tiny compartment in his brain where his true self was screaming out in protest.

"How is it coming?" asked Arnet.

Arnet had decided to pay a personal visit to the lab. The reports from the streets were not good. The Afflicted were proving to be amazing fighters, and it seemed that Arnet's bond was a disadvantage. While those who were bound to him were unquestioningly loyal, they also were so obsessed with him that they made frequent errors in judgment.

"It is coming well, Master," said Franz. "I took the dampening projector I used on the young empath and I expanded its range."

"Is it replicable?" asked Arnet.

"I have one now," said Franz. "But I can have you ten more within a day."

"Show me," said Arnet. "Show me how it works."

Cora was with him. At the moment, she was in the form of a busty blonde who Arnet had once fancied.

"Cora," Arnet ordered. "Stand over there, let's see how effective this is."

"But Master," she protested, "couldn't we use someone else? I wish to be at your side always."

"We have too many injured," he said. "Your gift is not all that useful in battle, so I can spare you for the hour or so it takes."

Cora reluctantly but obediently stepped forward into the testing area. Franz lifted up a megaphone-looking device. In the end was a tiny transmitter. Just as a megaphone was meant to spread sound over a broader area, this device would also spread the effects of the dampening field - which had been strengthened to ten times the healthy dose.

"Now," said Arnet.

Franz pointed the cone at the sultry woman and turned a switch. The effect was not immediate, but within half a minute or so, she began to grow very pale and her features began to blur. As it grew worse, she fell to her knees and moaned. At last, she began to wretch painfully. Her heaves continued long after Arnet had turned off the switch. When she lifted her head, she had her original, more plain face and more slender shape. Her dress which had been well-filled by the blonde woman she had recently resembled was now hanging loosely on Cora's body.

"Time her," Arnet said to an assistant. "See how long it is before her gift returns."

A miserable Cora was led off to an isolated cell. One side effect of the dampener was that by suppressing the Affliction, it could also suppress the bond to the master. Though Arnet did not see it, Cora gave him a venomous as she was led out of the room.




The Afflicted Ch. 13



"Are you pleased, Master?" asked Franz.

"Very," said Arnet. "Give me this one and we'll field test it right away. Keep working on the other devices."

* * * *

Frederique had removed her clothes and prepared the single bed in the room. She did not want it to happen on a bunk, she wanted the extra space above.

Claude watched with hunger in his eyes. She knelt on the bed, and then fell forward onto her hands and knees.

She could feel Claude's gaze on her round hips and her exposed pussy below. She moved, just slightly, to give him an even better view.

"Bind me," Frederique said to Jessamine. "This is what we used to do with Nikki, and she never had any complaints."

Jessamine retrieved the handcuffs. Frederique closed her eyes and her body shivered with pleasure as she felt the cold metal close around her wrists, and then attach to the iron headboard.

"Jacob, attend to Claude," Frederique ordered.

Claude felt Jacob behind him. His friend's strong arms reached around and Claude saw the rope. He willingly took it into his mouth and waited patiently as Jacob tied it firmly. Claude was now gagged for the primary reason of not allowing him to use his teeth to take his mother as a mate.

"I will be safe, I think," said Frederique. "But we must assure that you are as well. We can't tell what you might try in the heat of passion, my son."

Claude nodded in agreement.

"Now please," she said in a pleading tone. "Help me. I'm suffering so desperately. I know that none of us can last much longer in this situation, but this might just buy us enough time."

Claude went to the bed to kneel behind his mother. When he did, Jacob took the leg irons and tied Claude's ankles to the bed -- assuring that he also could not escape.

Claude wanted desperately to kiss her ass and her back, to taste her amazing flesh with his tongue and lips. As it was, he had to satisfy himself with the pleasure of her flesh alone. He pushed his bulbous head against her already-drenched opening and she gasped as the first of his wonderful cock found its way within her.

"That's it, my boy," she moaned. "Let me feel you, oh god, please let mother feel you."

Claude did as she ordered willingly. It was even worse than before when she had tried to soothe him in the days prior.

"Oh god, I love you in my cunt," she moaned.

Such language from his mother made the blood in his ears boil. He pushed into her further, going deeper and deeper in until he felt her warm interior resist his thrust.

"Again, but harder," she moaned. "Fuck me, Claude, I need this."

He pulled back and pushed in again, faster this time. She yelped with painful joy when he bottomed out.

"Again," she hissed.

He did, one, two, three, five times he pulled back and hurled his battering ram of a cock into her.

"Unchain me," she said suddenly. "It's alright, Jessamine, this is what we need to do."

Her eyes looked to Jessamine imploringly. Frederique knew this wasn't reason talking, but she had to have him.

"No Frederique," said the young woman, "you yourself ordered this. Just finish and you will be better afterward, I promise."

"Fine!" Frederique said in an annoyed tone, raspy with lust. "Just take me, Claude. Take me, my son. Fill your mother's cunt with your white hot seed."

Claude did just that. He began thrusting once more and how he did shake the bed and Frederique's body.

She could feel her breasts below her. With each thrust, her large and legendary breasts swayed and rocked below her. Countless statues of her had been constructed, and though they all displayed her ample cleavage, none could have ever captured the fluid motions that rippled through them as a man shook her from behind.

She started to meet his thrusts and they moved together. Now her breasts not only rippled, but swung pendulously, slapping against her chest and nearly to her chin with each stroke.

"Fuck me," she growled. "Fuck me, Claude. Fuck me harder, oh god I need this! Oh please!"

Claude would have joined in the dirty conversation, too, had he been allowed. As it was, he could only moan out his agreement and grunt lustfully with each collision of their hips.

The orders had been for Jacob and Jessamine to stand at the ready with dampeners. That was not exactly what happened. The dampeners were there, and Jacob and Jessamine were there, but at-the-ready... not quite. Within a minute of Frederique's torrid and stunning dialog they had sought each other out. Jacob sat in a chair and Jessamine lifted her skirt and lowered herself down upon him, so they could enjoy each other, but both still watch (and somewhat guard) Frederique and Claude.

The first orgasm was unlike any Frederique had ever known. It was a combination of lust, rage, and frustration. Her mouth opened in hunger as the climax started into her, but what the mouth wanted she couldn't reach.

"Come to me," she cried, even as her body began to shake. "Come down and let me taste your neck."

It would have been a difficult reach anyway, but Claude found he couldn't even obey her. Jacob's rope was not just a loop, but a full lariat, the end of which was tied at the perfect length to the bunk. Claude could not bend his head any more than a foot or so toward his mother's perfect neck and body.

"Please!" cried Frederique. "Please, take me!"

Claude wanted nothing more than to take her for his own, but he had no other choice than to continue as he'd been doing. The orgasm in Frederique grew and she was soon beyond pleading to Jessamine, or Claude. A frightful, guttural, orgasmic growl emitted from her throat and she bucked fiercely against her bonds.

She was a flyer. Her body lifted up and she pulled back angrily against the handcuffs. Her orgasm and her anger were merged into one -- like a beast her mating instinct was one with her passion.

Yet, the bonds would not yield. As strong as she was, the restraints chosen by the Afflicted were of ample strength for nearly any situation. As strong as she was, cast iron and forged steel was more than a match for her.

But her wrists were a different story. As she pulled angrily at the cuffs and they dug deeply into her flesh and a trickle of blood began to drip down from where the sharp steel touched her. Though it was painful, she felt that if she worked hard enough she might be able to forcefully pull her hands free.

The scent of her blood was what sent Claude into the hopeless abyss of instinct.

Roaring through the rope which gagged him, he tried to drop his head down closer to her, but the rope drew tight. Not having any other choice, he simply kept fucking. He pulled back his hips and began slamming into his mother. If he could not have her to mate, he would at least own her as a lover -- completely and entirely.

"Yes! Fuck! Me!" cried Frederique with each slap of his hips against her. "Fuck me, son. Fuck your mama's cunt!"

He desperately wanted to cum. It was his only desire in the world. He began sliding in and out as fast as he could. Both of their hips were a blur.

Another climax attacked Frederique's system and she was once again reduced to animalistic moans.

Claude pushed in and out. It was time. He wanted to cum, to paint her insides and outsides with his white seed -- but something was blocking him. He could not achieve release.

Even though he could physically feel the fluid built up in his system, his body would not cut loose. It had not seemed possible that he could thrust any harder, but he did, and Frederique's cries echoed through the mine tunnels as he tortured her with endless orgasms.

Finally he was forced to rest. His heart seemed to be beating out of his chest and his muscular torso was glistening with perspiration. Beads of his sweat were rolling off of his nose and chin to fall and mingle with the droplets on his mother's back.

He was ready to quit. He was ready to pull back and surrender. It seemed that his orgasm would never come -- but then he felt a sudden swelling.

"Oh Claude, what are you doing?" cried Frederique. "Oh, it feels so marvelous, so... Ooohhh! How you are splitting me open."

Claude in fact, was not 'doing' anything, not voluntarily. However, in an odd, rarely heard of response to his frustration, his cock had done something akin to the mating rituals of the Night Foxes, those animals who had first infected their kind.

His already stunning member had grown.

Two inches or so above where he entered her, his cock had swollen to much larger proportions and he could not pull out. He had somehow grown a vulpine knot. There was only one thing that would let him out -- and that was a climax. Further, there was only one thing that would allow him to climax -- and that was a mate, a bloodmate. His body's needs had been put off too long, and his system had reverted to the base animal mechanisms which drove it.

He tried to pull out, and as he did, he yanked Frederique back toward him. He pushed forward again, and his cock relaxed, letting him slide in further. It was only when he tried to escape his mother's glistening canal that his cock served as a brake.

"Do it," growled Frederique. "Do your best and take me, you stunning beast."

Their fucking was now rhythmic and insistent. First five minutes, and then ten minutes, then a half hour and an hour, Claude shattered his mother's body with fervor and bliss.

At the hour and a half mark, Frederique looked to Jessamine imploringly.

"We will die soon," she moaned. "His -- oh -- body -- ooh- won't let -- ahh- him surrender -- ooooohh -- without me."

There was no way of counting Frederique's orgasms, they had all merged into one continuous wave of sublime pleasure.

Claude, too, was not exactly suffering. Though he had not been able to physically cum, he had experienced many, many orgasm-like sensations in the epic coupling.

Jacob and Jessamine had been busy themselves. Jessamine was surprised to look down and see a large pool of cum at her feet. Jacob had ejaculated at least three times within her and had not lost any of his firmness or vigor.

"I think it's time," Jacob whispered into Jessamine's ear. "We can't wait any more. If they go much longer, they will surely die from exhaustion."

Jessamine, showing remarkable flexibility, flipped around in Jacob's lap, lifting her leg over him and ending up facing him, without ever removing his manhood from within a pussy that was practically pouring rivulets of cum.

"I'll agree, but on one condition," she said, kissing him hungrily.

"What's that?"

"That I get you, too."

"Agreed," he said.

"I'll get the keys," she said. She had intentionally left them in the front office to avoid the temptation of using them too early.

"I'll untie him," said Jacob.

While Jessamine went for the keys, Jacob tried to untie the rope which bound Claude. It was harder than he expected. Claude's struggles had tightened the knot firmly and Jacob saw that the quickest route would be a knife. With none at hand, Jacob left for the supply room.

Frederique and Claude had been entirely unaware of the conversation between Jessamine and Jacob. They only knew one thing now: each other. With rhythmic, almost machine-like thrusts, they pounded into each other.

"Fuck. Me. Fuck. Me," moaned Frederique again and again.

Just then, Claude felt a tender hand on his shoulder.

"Let go," said a voice, "it is not time yet. Surrender."

The voice seemed to speak not only to his mind, but to his tortured system. He felt the knot in his cock go down and the haze in his mind release. Whatever dam had been blocking his cum from flowing was now gone. The knot in his cock receded he knew it was time.

He was also freed from the rope. He'd heard a blade whizzing through the air and his mouth and head were suddenly free.

"Yes!" cried Claude. "Now!"

He slammed into Frederique with full force once more. Then a second time, and on the third he cried out with relief as a fountain of cum finally flowed out of him. One burst after another flowed into Frederique and when she could contain no more, he pulled his massive and purpled cock out and let it spray with abandon over her. Her hair, her back, every inch of her lovely posterior was soon coated in her son's pent-up seed.

Jacob and Jessamine met each other in the tunnel and fell into a passionate embrace. Suddenly, they heard Claude's cry. Dashing in, they were met with a wonderful sight. Aimée and Abby were standing beside the bed, watching in bemused fascination as Claude poured himself into, and over his mother.

"Girls!" cried Jacob.

Both of them ran to Jacob, hugging and kissing him joyfully.

A somewhat disappointed Jessamine quickly surmised the situation and walked over to the bed to unlock the cuffs. Claude fell exhaustedly onto Frederique, caring nothing about the sticky film between them. Both of them fell almost instantly asleep, entirely exhausted by the marathon, primal sex they had just experienced.

Abby went to the bed and put a hand upon both of the unconscious occupants.

"They are both fine," she said quietly. "Jeannie taught me how I could soothe them temporarily. I've done all I can. Let's just leave them to sleep for a little while -- I could feel them from half a world away, I can't imagine how exhausted they are."

Perhaps half an hour later, Frederique woke up to see her daughter watching her with a bemused expression.

She looked up and gave a joyful gasp.

"Aimée!" she whispered. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, how about yourself, mother? Tired? Wet?"

"Oh hush," said Frederique.

She pushed out from beneath her sleeping son and stood up. It seemed the girls had anticipated her needs and were waiting with a basin of warm soapy water, two cloths, and a change of clothes.

"My, my, I feel like a queen with two girls attending to me so," said Frederique as Aimée and Abby washed her carefully.

"You deserve it," said Abby. "You resisted where few could have. You should be applauded."

"It wasn't easy," said Frederique. "Aimée, not a word of this to your father."

"Of course not, mother," said Aimée. "Oh, would you look who is up?"

Claude had awoken and was met by the sight of his two young lovers bathing his voluptuous mother.

"You're here!" he cried. "I thought it was you, but nothing seemed real at all."

"Come here," said Abby, "you need to get cleaned up, too."

She started to wash him down, but he stopped her hand.

"Abby," murmured Claude. "I think it might be best to let me take care of this myself unless you wish to mate with me this very instant."

Another girl might have been hurt, but Abby instantly understood. Frederique was still in the room, being washed down by Claude's lover-sister. His system was fiercely attuned to all three of the women in the room and his wakneturst was barely suppressed, and that only thanks to Abby's input.

"Yes of course," said Abby. "Here."

She handed the cloth to Claude and he washed himself off. When he had reached all of the spots he could, Abby gingerly washed his back.

"Where are Jacob and Jessamine?" asked Claude.

"Jessamine ran off crying," said Aimée coldly. "It seems she was ready to take Jacob to mate before we popped in and spoiled the party. He's trying to calm her down."

"Jealousy doesn't become you," said Abby softly. "I should remind you that both of us know what it is like to have a mate snatched away at the last moment."

"That's true," said Aimée, reluctantly, "and I must admit she is a remarkably lovely girl. So, I will give her the benefit of the doubt. Now, as for you mother, we must get you dressed."

Aimée reached into a small travelling satchel they had arrived with and pulled out an opulent red dress, complete with a built-in red leather bustier. Frederique cried out in excitement.

"Where did you get it?" she said. "I had meant to have that retrieved once we settled in.

"You forget your daughter is a deplaceur ," said Aimée. "After seeing all of the paintings and statues of you wearing this, it occurred to me that you might want to wear this for another battle, yes?"

"Oh, yes, I would!" Frederique said. "You went to the old place in Morocco? How was it?"

"Dusty," said Aimée. "Mostly, it was sad and empty without our family."

The girls brought clothes for Claude as well. Aimée and Abby left to find the other two, and Claude found himself alone with his mother. He could not help but glance as she carefully laced up the bodice of her dress, pushing her wonderful breasts into view.

She was a woman and a warrior. As she put on the crimson battle dress, there could be no doubt of either. Claude had seen three illustrations of that very dress rippling in the breeze as his mother sailed toward the last mortal enemy the Afflicted had faced. Taking in her loveliness, he had confidence that she could quite likely save the Afflicted once again.

"Claude. Claude!" said Frederique.

He had been lost in the revelry of her legend... and the sight of her bosom standing so proud and tempting before him.

"Claude, dear," she said softly. "I want to tell you something. I know how close we were to taking each other. I must tell you that I have no shame. As complicated as it might have been to have you as a mate while I was still bound to your father, I would have been honored all the same. To have such a strong, handsome, and gifted bloodmate as you would be an honor for anyone. Come here, my boy."

She pulled him into a tender and dizzying kiss.

"Oh my," she whispered. "If not now, maybe someday."

Footsteps approached and she gently pushed him away. The four others entered the room.

Doubtless with the assistance of Abby's empathic skills, Jessamine now looked much calmer -- though certainly not happy.

"It is time," said Frederique with grim determination. "Time to join the battle."

"Take us first," said Frederique, indicating Jessamine. "I need to get back to my husband's side. I really, really need to get back to his side as soon as I can."

They all understood her meaning very well. Abby and Aimée took the other women's hands in theirs.

"Now we find Palo," said Abby. "Think of him, Aimée. Think of your father."

Aimée did and with surprising ease, Abby sent a 'spot' to Aimée's mind. A second later, they were standing beside Palo, Scaurus, Hypatia, and Seiko. Deplaceur alarms were going off and all four had weapons out, which they lowered upon seeing the arrivals.

"Palo!" cried Frederique.

She rushed to him and hugged him fiercely, showering kisses on his face and lips.

"Umm, what do you think of Arnet?" asked Palo.

"He's a dog and a monster," said Frederique. "But you! You are a sight for sore eyes."

"We'll get the boys now and make this reunion complete," said Abby.

She and Aimée winked back out and into the mine.

They took the boys hands in theirs and Aimée focused once more. Having just been there, the fix was easy to get.

"What do you say?" said Jacob. "This might be our last chance. Off to Morocco, or Alaska... wait this thing out together, as mates?"

"As if you would do such a thing," said Abby. "You could never let our kind down, especially the cadets."

"True," said Jacob with his usual wry grin. "But if I don't take someone to mate soon, old Claude here and I might soon be quite the fetching couple."

"Soon, dear one," said Abby. "But first we have a fight."

Aimée focused in on her mother this time, but just as she was about to jump -- a strange vision suddenly popped into her head. It was of a glade and torches in the distance. Unbidden, she found herself taking them to exactly that place.

The group looked around in confusion.

"This isn't New York," said Claude.

"Aimée, I was only joking," said Jacob. "Come on now, take us home."




The Afflicted Ch. 13



"I didn't take us here," she said, quite seriously. "I mean, I did, but it wasn't what I wanted. It was like my mind made me jump to here."

"Well take us away," said Abby, "get us out of here -- back to the mine, or to the Academy, or wherever."

Aimée tried, but she found that every time she tried to focus on a location, her mind went skipping away. She was perfectly lucid in every other sense, but when she tried to jump her mind refused.

"I can't," she said in a panic. "I can't get anywhere."

"Welcome," said a deep and resonant voice. "I am the father of the girl you know as Glennis. We are about to begin a feast in her honor, and you are our honored guests."

They turned to see the stately father of Glennis standing before them.

"We can't," said Aimée. "We have to get back to our people."

"No, you don't," said Loenshellen. "Not tonight. There will be time. Follow me, the Elders are waiting."

The two brothers and two sisters reluctantly followed the stunningly handsome man to the glade beyond where torches lit up the evening. It appeared that their return to their own kind would have to wait for at least a few hours more.

* * * *

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