Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Metamorphosis: Genesis ❯ Chapter XV ( Chapter 15 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

The winter, it seemed, would never end. Deep into December with Christmas Eve only a day away, Lyrial wondered when the snow would finally cease. She knew spring was far off from wrapping the city in a rebirthing warmth, but the blizzards had been so bad this year that the young woman couldn’t help but think that maybe there was something different this year. Maybe there was some vague foreshadowing brought about by the blistering cold and unbearably gray skies.

“Or maybe I’m just paranoid,” she commented to herself, pulling the hood of her parka over her head, the faux fur rim shielding her face from the frigid weather. Usually by this time of the month, the shabby little apartment was decorated for the holidays. Alan and herself would purchase a modest tree, late in the season for a reduced price, and cover it with tiny strings of lights and tinsel. Alan was always enthusiastic for the Christmas season and as Lyrial stood in the lot outside of town where the evergreens were sold, she couldn’t help but feel a pang of longing for her lost roommate. She missed the young man dearly and since her newest companions to the flat had been missing in action for the past week, Lyrial had never really felt as alone as she did now.

The brunette sniffed back some emerging tears and rubbed her eyes with her gloved hands.

“How much for this one?” she asked, pointing to a small five foot tree with full branches.

“Thirty dollars,” the owner of the tree lot said, examining his hand saw. “And we’ll deliver it for free by tomorrow morning,” he added. Lyrial nodded her head and opened her wallet. She produced the cash and gave her address to the lot owner. He thanked her and the young woman started her trek back to the city. She hugged herself against the cold as she walked, her footsteps crunching in the snow. It was a little sad to decorate for the December holiday all alone; in fact, the apartment was less of a home now than ever for Lyrial. She slept there, cooked there, and the like, but there was always a tiny looming dread when she climbed the concrete steps of the building to her level and there was always apprehension when she opened the door.

The brunette had acclimated to having two surprising roommates. She always half expected to see either Kaya creating a disaster in her kitchen or Sano lounging in only what God gave him across her couch. Both scenes had shocked her at first, but Lyrial had adjusted to the new living conditions eventually. In fact, she now missed the sporadic surprises that awaited her return. Now there was only silence. A week of unrelenting silence had driven her to leaving the television on when she went out if only to come to a voice not her own.

Her cell phone started to ring while she dug for her keys. She grabbed the device and flipped it open, balancing it to her ear with her shoulder while she produced her keys from her purse.

“Hello?” she said, a little strained as she opened the door and tumbled into the apartment.

“Is this a bad time?” the reply came over the receiver. Lyrial laughed weakly, kicking the door shut behind her. A little, she wanted to say but held it back. She didn’t want to take out her bad day on Chris.

“No, no, just struggling to get into my own home,” she said. She could hear the amusement in Chris’ brief laughter.

“I know we had planned to go out today, but it’s pretty gloomy outside.” Lyrial stopped, dropping her purse into the kitchen table. Her heart stopped for a moment. Was he cancelling their date? Did he not want to see her? The weather was unpleasant, yes, but was there another reason for the call? Dozens of questions zoomed through the brunette’s head and she was forced to sit down as the wave of paranoia washed over her.

“So I was wondering if we could do dinner at your apartment,” Chris added, interrupting the young woman’s onslaught of abysmal thoughts. Her head perked up and her mind slowed back to a more manageable pace.

“You know,” the sweet tenor voice continued. “We could cook dinner together and maybe watch a movie. Does that sound okay?” Lyrial nodded her head, forgetting momentarily that her conversation partner could not see the gesture.

“Y-Yes! That sounds wonderful,” she replied.

“Are you okay? You sound a little frazzled,” Chris mentioned, concern bubbling up in his words. Lyrial propped her elbow on the table and rested her forehead against the palm of her head. She mentally scolded herself for such an uncalled for reaction. She had almost had a complete breakdown just because she thought Chris was backing out of their date.

“Utterly frazzled,” she replied with a small laugh.

“Do you want to hang out another time?”

“No, I want to hang out. I’m just a mess. I went out and bought a Christmas tree and walked in the wind.” She could feel Chris nodding along with the narration she gave.

“Oh, I see. Well, I’ll just run by McArthur’s grocer for some supplies then to the movie store. Do you want anything in particular?” Lyrial smiled. Just listening to Chris made her feel better; it was like the sound of his voice filtered through the phone and ebbed away at her anxiety and loneliness. Even though their relationship had blossomed recently, she found herself fascinated by him. Could it be that Lyrial was falling in love? The girl frowned a little at the thought. She was very young, too young, to be falling in love. Or was she? The brunette mentally shrugged. She had never been in love to her knowledge so she had nothing to compare with.

“Something scary?” Chris suggested and Lyrial almost laughed. No monster movie he could produce would startle her, not after living with one. She looked instinctually towards the guestroom bedroom. The door was left ajar and the beside lamp remained on. The room had given Lyrial the creeps in Sano’s absence, so she had sneaked in one day during the daytime and turned on the lamp, leaving the door open to assure its lack of occupancy.

“Sure,” she replied. Whether or not the film would frighten her was not the question, but it would create a nice opportunity to snuggle with the kind young man. Imagining the scene where Chris and her would be cuddled up on the couch, his arm around her, her head on his chest, made butterflies erupt in the young woman’s belly.  She recalled the all too vivid fantasy her brain had concocted a few nights previous. The sensations had been so realistic and soon a flush rose in Lyrial’s cheeks.

“Lyrial?” she jumped up from her seat at the kitchen table and fanned her face with free hand.

“Sorry?”

“I said, I’ll be over in about an hour or so. Is that enough time?”

“Yes, that’s perfect. I’ll just tidy up a bit.”

“Okay, I’ll see you soon.” Lyrial smiled as the line clicked to finish the call. She closed her phone and slipped it into the pocket of her jeans. For a moment she leaned against the threshold of the kitchen, looking out to the living room of the apartment. There was really nothing to ‘tidy up’ as it appeared no one lived in the flat at all. Without Kaya and Sano there was not a lot of traffic in the living room so the couch was relatively neat with pillows fluffed and at corresponding ends of the furniture instead of half strewn across the seat cushions and deflated from use. She dragged herself from her position against the wall to the bathroom where she would shower and before Chris’ arrival.

Outside the apartment, the nasty winter weather continued. A storm had developed and freezing rain and sleet fell on the city without mercy. A young man in a leather over coat hurried through the streets. The collar of his coat was pulled up to protect his neck and ears, while the umbrella he held took the brunt beating from the celestial body above. The scarf around his neck fluttered when a gust of wind blew by and he braced himself against, tilting his umbrella down to shield against the horizontal fall of sleet and snow. Chris hurried himself down the avenue towards the little grocer. The automatic doors slid open with a wet screech and he slipped inside.

The brunette shook out his umbrella and brushed his glove encased hand through his hair to free the icicles that had formed during his jaunt.

“Best be careful not to be blown away, young man,” old Mr. McArthur said from behind his cash register. Chris laughed weakly and deposited his umbrella into the dirty umbrella bucket by the front door.

“With this weather, that is a real possibility,” he replied before moving forward into the store. “Someone upstairs sure is unhappy.” Mr. McArthur nodded his head, coughing into the bend of his arm.

“So it seems. What can I do for you, my boy? You’re one of the few customers I’ve had all day. Guess those winter storms are really keeping people inside.” The old grocer said, looking sadly at his empty store. Food was stocked and the display of fresh produce was simply begging to be purchased by anyone who braved the snow to come to the humble market.

“Just a few things, then I’ll be right back out in that blizzard out there,” Chris replied with a warm smile.

“Take your time. But while you’re looking around, we’re having a special on pastas,” Mr. McArthur called as Chris navigated through the aisles of the grocery store.

“Pasta, huh?” he echoed quietly and picked up a box of dried spaghetti noodles. They were all half price. He smiled and dropped the box into the basket he’d grabbed at the front. The slither of paper caught his attention and Chris looked to the floor. There was an envelope of worn parchment lying on the tile. His brows furrowed and he looked into the empty hole where his chosen box of spaghetti noodles had been before bending down to pick up the envelope. Grey eyes assessed both sides before shrugging. It was completely blank. Looking back and forth to see no one, Chris slipped the envelope into the breast pocket of his overcoat.

He scanned the aisle casually, enjoying the artificial heat of the store. He collected a jar of sauce and a loaf of French bread before heading back towards the cash register.

“Paper or plastic?” Mr. McArthur asked after scanning the price of the customer’s items.

“Better make it plastic or they’ll never make it home,” Chris said with the usual smile. Mr. McArthur took his money and delivered appropriate change before setting the food stuff in plastic bags for Chris.

“Be careful,” the old man bade as Chris picked up the two grocery bags in one hand while opening his umbrella.

“Will do,” he replied before stepping out into the storm. Mr. McArthur leaned against the old fashioned cash register and watched as the automatic sliding doors closed behind Chris. The empty store watched with him as the young man struggled down back down the avenue towards a set of apartments a little ways away. He coughed into the bend of his elbow again before settling.

“And I don’t mean just out in that storm,” he said solemnly as the over coated figure disappeared from his sight. Chris battled the weather for a few more meters before he made it to the small oasis under the apartment building’s awnings. He reached up awkwardly with his elbow to buzz the intercom system.

“Lyrial?” He called out over the howl of the winds. He heard the lock click and he pushed open the door with his back. Once inside he took a breath of relief.

“You must be freezing!” Chris looked up to see Lyrial’s concerned face looking down at him from the top of the stairs. He smiled and shook out his bangs.

“Almost,” he replied as the sweet brunette came down the stairs. She took one of the grocery bags from his arms and started up the stairs again. Chris followed obediently, hanging his umbrella over his forearm by the hook. “Have you been waiting long?”

“No, no, I didn’t know what we were making, so I just put on some water to boil,” she responded, looking over her shoulder as they climbed the stairwell.

“Perfect, because we’re making—“ he reached into the bag he held and pulled out the box of pasta, shaking it. “Spaghetti!” Lyrial laughed bright at Chris’ enthusiasm and opened the door to her flat. The lights were on but it still felt a little dismal from the lack of occupancy. Chris noticed this as the shut the door with his foot.

“Roommate out?” he asked, following her to the kitchen. Her smile weakened a little in return as she began to unpack the groceries on the kitchen table.

“Yeah, I’m actually starting to get a little worried since they haven’t called or been back for some time,” For days, actually, she thought but kept her timeline silent.

“Well, should we make some spaghetti for them too?” Chris asked, opening the box of pasta and pouring it into the now boiling pot of water on the stove. He added a drop of olive oil to the pot and a sprinkle of salt, stirring it around a little bit.

“I don’t think they’ll be back for dinner,” Lyrial replied quickly, screwing off the top of pasta jar. Chris shrugged his shoulders, accepting the curt reply before pulling the loaf of French bread from groceries.

“Then I’m lucky to have you all to myself this evening.” It didn’t take long for the pasta to finish cooking or for Chris to drain the noodles into a colander while Lyrial heated the pasta sauce in a skillet. Soon the newly made food stuff combined on two plates to create a hot Italian meal fit for any Mezzanine in Capri—or at least, the Italian restaurant down in Juniper. The couple sat down at the kitchen table with their plates of spaghetti and slices of bread, matching smiles adorning their faces as they twirled their forks in the noodles. The pile of pasta slowly vanished as the minutes ticked by, their demise interrupted sporadically by laughter or mild conversation. Lyrial then stood up and collected the plates, taking it to the sink. She turned on the faucet and started to scrub the dishes.

“Come on, we can do these later, baby,” Chris said, grasping Lyrial’s wrists gently. He shook them to fling water droplets back into the sink to make the brunette giggle. She turned around and instead hooked her hands behind the young man’s neck.

“Do you want to watch the movie?” she asked, looking up into his gray eyes. They were surprised looking but in a good way. He smiled back before leaning forward to leave a kiss against her lips.

“Do you?” This time Lyrial smiled and leaned up on her tip toes to retrieve another kiss before Chris pulled away gently. “I’ll go set it up.” She stood there in the kitchen as he vanished into the living room, stunned and thoroughly disappointed. She rubbed the back of her neck slowly; had she done something wrong? No, she insisted. She had done nothing but follow his lead only to be cut off mid-affection. More than a little confused, the brunette moved to the living room as well where the overhead light had been turned off so that the room became engulfed by the glow of the television. The title screen of the movie appeared on the tube and Chris sat down on the couch, patting the place next to him.

Lyrial hesitated for a moment before sitting down beside him, picking up the remote and starting the film. She sat a bit rigid on the couch, an unhappy little distance between Chris and herself despite the casual drape of the young man’s arm across the back of the couch. As the introductory scene began to play, the brunette softened to the surprised rejection she felt in the kitchen and scooted closer her companion. As the movie progressed into more gruesome and suspenseful scenes, Lyrial curled up next to Chris and rested her head against his chest. His arm eventually came to rest around her shoulders instead of the back of the sofa. Occasionally his fingertips would grace the sides of her arms, rubbing gently up and down in an affectionate manner when there were lulls in the violence.

The movie was lost on Lyrial as she closed her eyes to listen to the sound of Chris’ heartbeat. The constant thumping of the hidden muscle soothed the brunette and even though the screen depicted some horribly mutated man setting the father of the main character on fire, the sounds of his agony fell on deaf ears. She turned up her eyes to watch Chris’ face during the film. There was not an overdone expression during the more grisly scenes as if he had been desensitized over the course of his life to such displays of blood and gore. However, Lyrial did notice the flinch in his gray eyes which reassured her of his humanity. The brunette giggled quietly and Chris looked down surprised at the sudden cheerful sound.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, not being able to help the smile that came across his face to match the girl who now laid in his lap, looking up at him.

“Nothing,” she replied, her smile getting wider as he looked down. Some of his bangs obscured the gray eyes which she had been admiring. She gently traced the fine scar that ran from one eyebrow diagonally across the bridge of his nose. She then reached up to move the strands of hair and leaned up to brush her lips against his.

“Nothing, huh?” Chris replied, slipping one hand behind her neck to cradle her head while the one that had rested on her shoulder now lay relatively idle on her belly. He leaned down to return the initial kiss, holding it out this time to allow them both to enjoy the increasingly intimate contact. Lyrial reached up and laced her fingers into the wavy brown hair at the back of Chris’ head to keep him from denying her further attention like he had in the kitchen. She could feel the amused smile he sported against her own mouth and soon could not contain her own. She relented a little, pulling back enough to sit up on the couch before climbing over to sit in the young man’s lap, her knees on either side of his waist.  When Chris opened his mouth to possibly protest the new position, Lyrial leaned forward to gently take his bottom lip between her teeth. She nibbled on the supple flesh briefly before pulling away.

Her eyes fluttered, her natural shyness threatening to bubble up and halt her new adventures. Rebelling against own modest inhibitions, the brunette continued to experiment on the exposed expanses of Chris’ skin. Moving forward, the young man’s ear became her newest plaything. She blew gently against the side of his face so the willowy breath sent shivers running down his spine. Lyrial felt his hands slide up from their prone positions against the sofa cushions to the swell of her hips in response to the stimulation. He pressed his cheek against hers, tilting her face to the side in order to grant himself access to her throat. He left open mouth kisses along the side of neck to her collarbone, sucking gently at the junction of her shoulder and undoubtedly leaving a small red mark in his absence.

The meek little hickey would be the first of a series, each one a little darker, being bestowed on different occasions. Days later, Lyrial moaned quietly as the second bantam love bite was left against her skin. The level of shyness that Chris displayed tapered away with each encounter, proven by the way he now held her pinned against the wall. He smiled down at her, holding the brunette’s arms above her head playfully. The board game they had been playing to pass the evening lay long forgotten on the coffee table, the small, colorful, plastic figures strewn across the cardboard landscape just as misplaced as the dices which had fallen to the floor.

It was funny how the innocence of Christmas Eve had turned into the moderate pawing session only a few meters from Lyrial’s bedroom. The progression of their intimacy had picked up speed on a downhill slope, encouraged by the brunette’s playful advances and Chris’ continuously failing willpower. The joyful yet forewarning words of the homily which they had heard just two hours before seemed so far from their minds; even the stern looking face of the priest and fellow parishioners faded from memory to make way for the exciting sensations caused by the proximity of their bodies. The haziness that accompanied most heated make-outs led to the surprise in both Chris and Lyrial’s eyes when their surroundings had changed from the hallway to the bedroom.

Neither youth knew how it came to be that Lyrial was on her back and Chris braced over her curvy frame. Their adventures had never delved this far before. The young man pressed his forehead against hers and inhaled slowly.

“We should stop,” he whispered. Lyrial frowned a little and reached up, grasping the hem of his shirt.

“Why?” she asked, baiting him with words while she slowly tried to pull the material up and off.

“I don’t know,” he replied with a sorry sounding laugh. He sat up, kneeling gently between Lyrial’s legs. She followed, sitting up and cupping the side of his face with one of her small hands.

“Are you okay?” She asked, her concern beginning to grow when those warring gray eyes refused to meet hers. An intensely quiet moment passed where all Lyrial could hear was her own rampant heart beating in her chest.

“Actually,” he began and this time Lyrial’s heart all but stopped. This was finally it. It was the moment she had been dreading in the typical feminine paranoia since her relationship with Chris had begun: he was about to announce his disinterest in her and lack of sexual attraction towards her petite but buxom body. Her suspicious mental tirade was interrupted by the soft feeling of Chris’ lips against her own. Her almond eyes shifted from alarmed to confused as he pulled away a faction, still close enough for her to feel the light pant of air as he breathed.

“I’ve never felt better,” the confession eased Lyrial’s worries and enticed a broad smile from the brunette. She laughed weakly, stealing another kiss, though she did notice an odd undertone to what Chris said. Later, she thought, as the kiss deepened. She would ponder that mysteriousness of his behavior at another time; for now, she was just going to enjoy the gentle and curious pressure his hand produced against her breast. A quiet sound of appreciation passed from her mouth as a second hand came up to ghost over the lonely twin peak. The sensation sent a rush of blood to Lyrial’s face, filling her cheeks with a healthy looking pink hue. She had fantasized about Chris often, the intensity of the fantasies progressing each time their innocent encounters ended with a delicate goodnight kiss.

This encounter, however, was no dream. Her head fell against the pillows and her back arched as Chris’ kisses traveled from her mouth to her throat. He teased a faded love bite with his tongue before leaving a timid nip at the underside of her jaw. Lyrial moaned, half frustrated, half thrilled. She was of a modest nature but there was something about the young man currently atop her that called on something much more mischievous, a side of herself she had never been fully aware of. It had been growing in strength and the playful tendencies were accelerating into action the longer Chris’ slow exploration of her cleavage continued to tease her overheated senses.

With an aggravated little huff, Lyrial reached forward to grab the hem of the young man’s shirt. The movement interrupted his fondling and the small surprise that followed as Lyrial pulled the material up over his head stalled him further. It passed quickly as he took the shirt from Lyrial’s hand and deposited with some dignity beside them. He sat up on his knees and reached forward return to the gesture. The brunette sat up halfway to help pull the sweater over her own head, wiggling free of the fabric. A peculiar look of wonder and shyness filled Chris’ eyes when the brazier covered bosom was put on display. The simple and delicate design of the lavender encasement added some kind of innocence to the situation, the color accenting the feminine figure it hid. A tiny rose sat inoffensively between the gently sloping pillows of flesh at the bridge of the device.

Lyrial’s cheeks flushed and her bravado halted the longer Chris stared. It wasn’t as if the brunette wanted her companion to stop paying attention to her and after all, she had wanted to progress the situation; however, the sudden realization of how far the situation was to progress if she continued stoking the fire that had kindled between them caused her natural timidity to return full force. In an act of reflexive modesty, she crossed her arms over her chest to hide the intimate treasures which were in danger of being completely exposed. The young man gently took hold of her wrists and pried the new barrier open.

“Let me see,” he coaxed gently and Lyrial’s resistance faded more and more. Her arms moved by his will, back at her sides, but the elbows bent in case another quick cover-up was necessary. A soft smile painted Chris’ face as his gaze was once again uninhibited by the girl’s protective gesture. He leaned forward to press a reassuring kiss to her lips while one hand slipped between the two of them to attempt to slide off the bottoms which sheltered the rest of Lyrial’s skin. The material skimmed down the swell of her hips and the rest of her shapely legs with little struggle. The hourglass figure decorated solely by the lavender gestures of clothing, modern creations of visual obstruction that both mildly frustrated the gaze of the young man and urged greater passion and admiration.

Sitting up on his knees, supporting his weight with one arm over Lyrial’s form, his free hand moved with unguided practice to the apex of her body where the pads of two fingers pressed with uncertain pressure. He watched the almond eyes widen in an instant before relaxing into a coy but blameless haze. Lyrial’s hand gripped Chris’ bicep as his coupled finger tips stroked slowly but surely over a hidden bundle of nerves, the discrete pearl of pleasure waiting at the aperture of most intimate plane. The steady flush on the young woman’s cheeks circled under her russet eyes as they fluttered in response to the stimulating touch. Her breath became less of an unconscious mantra and more of a labored heaving, carefully timed huffs that would not interfere with the proceedings.

Lyrial’s short nails dug into the muscle of Chris’ arm as the sensations in her underbelly began to grow with intensity. They clenched reflexively with every passing of his fingers over the hidden point of titillation separated only by the lavender panties. The concentration in Chris’ eyes faltered as an abrupt squeal shot from Lyrial’s mouth. Her back had arched and her thighs had clamped together, their attempt to trap his hand being foiled by his position between her knees. When the muscles in her legs relaxed, Chris pulled his hand away slowly to see the dampness pressing through the cotton of her panties. Lyrial shuddered, partially from relief and partially from embarrassment. The young man’s touch had felt good and all the pent up frustration and excitement that had been building for weeks exploded in a single perfect moment, embodied in the aftershocks of a small orgasm.

“I’m sorry,” Chris said. The sound of his utterance jostled Lyrial from her satisfied plateau.

“What?” she asked, trying to assess the sudden apology. Her inquiry, however, was not deemed worthy of response. Before she knew what was happening, the warmth of Chris’ proximity vanished as he grabbed his once forgotten shirt and pulled it on, scrambling out of the room as if the devil’s dog was at his heels.

“Chris! Wait!” She called after the fleeing young man. She grasped the blanket of her bed and stumbled after him, creating a haphazard toga of sheet and linens. By the time she managed to the living room, she caught only the closing of the apartment door. She stared in awe at the place where Chris had been just seconds earlier before an angry scowl settled on her pretty features.

“What the hell!?” She screamed and stamped her barefoot against the carpet. A similar question raced through the escaping brunette’s mind. He ran against the winter storm, pulling his coat on during the sprint. Frozen rain battered against his cheeks as his umbrella remained at Lyrial’s apartment, forgotten in his sudden departure. The path he ran blind was no mindless dash; Chris had a distinct destination as he moved through the city streets. The Cathedral soon came into view. It stood like a great stone edifice against the white backdrop of the winter city. As he reached the heavy double doors, Chris wretched them open with all his strength, slipping into the gothic structure along with a gust of snow and rain. The difference in air pressure caused the door to swing shut behind him, sealing the holy place against the elements.

Chris panted heavily and fell do his hands and knees. He stared with his mouth open, panting, at the altar. He dragged himself up, crawling forward for a little momentum. As he approached the altar, he turned away and hurried a large closet looking fixture tucked away in an alcove behind rows of burning prayer candles. A statue of the Virgin Mary watched with a shaming granite gaze as Chris all but collapsed into the parishioner side of confessional. He shifted awkwardly on the hard wooden bench. The darkness of the sin divulging box concealed the erection still standing stubbornly. The excited organ strained adamantly against the heavy material of his jeans making him wince.

The small wooden window of the confessional slid open suddenly and the screen-blurred image of an old priest’s face came into view. Chris jumped slightly and placed the palm of one of his hands over the suspicious bulge. The warmth permeated through the denim and started to sooth the arousal’s need for touch. He closed his eyes shamefully, trying with all his might not to draw satisfaction from the gesture within such proximity of a clergyman.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” Chris began, crossing himself in a traditional catholic manner with his other hand. The Priest nodded his head and waited silently for the young man to continue and disclose his purpose in seeking retribution.

“I have lost sight of my purpose, Father. I have been blinded by an unfamiliar need, a need for the most carnal desires,” Chris paused and allowed the darkness of the confessional soothe the creases of his worried brow.

“Youth, my child, brings about these desires. It is the barest of human natures yet it is something to be weary of; you must not allow these needs to obscure your thoughts completely,” the Priest replied.

“I’m afraid it is far past that point, Father,” Chris admitted and rubbed the palm of his hand against his forehead in a display of utter dismay. “I can’t get her out of my head! Her voice, her smile, her scent….her touch…” The wooden screen that separated the disturbed young man and the Priest slid to the side violently.

“Touch? Have you forgotten yourself completely?!” he demanded. Chris scooted far to the other end of the confessional bench, attempting to disappear into the thick and ancient wood. “You move too boldly! Your mission was clear! Cruxius Fraternus has left this important mission in your hands because the Brotherhood assumed one of its most valiant members could handle the task! You are to observe and protect Lyrial until the time is right for all else to be revealed!” Chris swallowed uncomfortably as the Priest leaned in through the window to berate him.

“I’m sorry, Father!” He pleaded desperately and held his head in his hands. “I know I’ve vowed myself to this mission, but—“ his eyes close tightly against the disapproving scowl of the man of the Cloth. “I think I’m falling in love with her.” A tired heaving sigh was his reply. The aged Priest sat back down and leaned against the wall.

“I move to caution you, my son,” he said and stared blankly into the darkness of the confessional. “You will need to tread very carefully from here on. Do not allow your tainted thoughts to defile that which you are to protect—the message from the Magistrate is clear. Lyrial is not to be harmed, by your intentions, or anything else.” Chris nodded his head quickly, trying to swallow the advice and take each word to heart…although, it was his disobedient heart that had created this dangerous situation.

“I understand, Father,” he replied quietly and leaned back against the stiff seat of the confessional.

“Pray with me, my son, and remember that the act of love itself is not a sin—it is the greatest gift that our Creator has bestowed upon us. However,” the priest warned, lowering his voice in an authoritative tone. “Misplacing it will result in a far greater offense than any other.” Chris folded his hands in reverence and bit the inside of his cheek, willing the torrid of emotions that threatened to overtake him. His hand shook and his eyes closed tightly.

“Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be they name,” the words filtered in from the priest’s side of the confessional, echoing in the wooden box, almost thundering with holy intention. The next verse was halted, however, as a different kind of thundering answered in response.

“What was that?” Chris asked. He could hear the older man shift uneasily on the other side of the confessional.

“I…I don’t know,” was the rely. Another startling crash was heard.

“That came from the sanctuary!” The priest cried and hurriedly departed from his dutiful role.

“Father, wait! You don’t know what’s out there!” Chris called out. He could hear the hasty steps of the priest echoing through the Cathedral. The young man listened at the admonishments uttered by the clergyman before his fearful cry filled the cavernous place of worship. Chris swallowed hard and the heavy silence that usurped the place of the priest’s voice and footsteps made him very anxious.

“Father?” he asked uncertainly while cracking open the confessional door. He peeked out and saw a large standing candelabrum prone against the stone cobbles. The wick of one of the thick candles had snapped apart, a likely result of the tumultuous tumble the gaudy piece of decoration had sustained. Chris looked up suddenly at the sound of another artifact being dislodged. He managed to catch a glimpse of someone at the far end of the Cathedral bumping into the corner of the altar before disappearing. The mysterious figure seemed to be dragging something large and heavy.

Chris reached down carefully into his boot, keeping his eyes up and alert for any other signs of movement, and produced a small switchblade. It was something kept in cases of dire emergencies, or for those strolls in Zoilia Park gone horribly wrong. With a flick of his wrist, the blade whipped out of its locked position.

“Father?” he called again, walking slowly towards the front of the sanctuary. Dim candle light reflected off the switchblade in hand, the glint startling something in the far corner of the main chamber. Chris bolted forward, running towards the commotion. He rounded some of the impressive granite pillars supporting the roof of the Cathedral only to face a dead-end wall. Chris was about turn back towards the distinct sound of droplets against a hard surface echoed quietly through the empty Cathedral. He looked down at the floor to see a small, thick smear of a dark substance. He leaned down to touch it, rubbing his fingers together in examination. His eyes widened at realizing that the drops were blood. Two more drops fell, this time landing on his shoulder. Chris swallowed hard and stood up slowly. His knuckles turned white with the ferocity which he gripped the switchblade.

His eyes followed the trail of droplets up the white legs of an alabaster statue. Obscene red lines raced down the carved muscles of Saint Michael. The gore stained the impeccable tunic that the Angel wore; the contrast was vibrant even in the darkness of the candle lit Cathedral. The tightness in Chris’ throat intensified as his eyes continued to travel up the giant torso of the icon.

“God help me….” He whispered and covered his mouth with a hand at seeing the source of the bloody spewing. He looked away, closing his eyes tightly to guard against the horrible image of the priest from the confessional impaled unceremoniously on the spear Saint Michael clutched. The thick tip of the marble weapon surged out of the priest’s chest and a spray of internals decorated the Angel’s face. Chris opened his eyes, staring at the macabre scene as if it were some decorative fixation and had no basis in reality. The sick churning of his stomach reminded him of the grave veracity of the situation and he took a few steps back from the statue. Someone had done this to the priest and that someone was still in the Cathedral.

“Show yourself, you coward!” Chris called out, back peddling further until he reached the center of the sanctuary. He spun around at hearing a horrible hiss. It started out as a low rumble but grew to the shocking heights of an angry mountain lion. Chris gasped at the sight of some creature crouching aggressively from the rafters just above the altar. The creature was shaped something like a man but its features were obscured by the shadows; it was clear, however, that the animal hissing was coming distinctly from its hidden throat. Chris turned and ran as the monster sprang from the rafters towards him. The brunette ran hard towards the exit of the Cathedral as the rapid tattoo of his pursuer echoed loudly in lieu of his flight. The creature closed the distance between them, slamming into Chris’ shoulders. The young man went crashing towards the stone floor, scraping painfully along the cobbles with the weight of the fiend on his back.

The switchblade he’d been clutching skidded out of hand and out of reach. A dirtied hand grasped his wrist, stopping his retrieval of the weapon. Chris turned his head up fearfully at his captive.

“Vampire: 1. Brotherhood: 0,” he said with a great deal of rasp. The hissing sound surrounded the brief statement, making it almost unintelligible. The creature that had killed the priest and was now likely to make similar sport of him was a Vampire—the same very creatures that Cruxis Fraternus fought. Had it been listening in on his conversation with the priest? What did it know? Before Chris could translate what the pallid being had said, the hand holding his wrist jerked the appendage backwards. He cried out in agony as he felt the ligaments in his arm try to overcompensate for the violent movement.

“Should I increase the score?” his attacker teased, pulling Chris’ arm further back so that it began to bend across his shoulders. The tearing sensation in his abused shoulder ripped another agonized scream from his throat. His attacker laughed darkly, the sound mixing in with the animal like hissing that continuously flowed from its lungs. Pain induced tears glazed over in Chris’ eyes, blurring his vision, but the glint of candle light on the switchblade guided his actions. He flung his free arm forward to propel is captured body a few inches forward along the stone floor of the Cathedral. His hand grasped the switchblade, not managing to remain uncut himself as his blind fingers fumbled to grip the weapon as tight as possible, and heaved up against his attacker’s weight.

The tip of the switchblade found a new home in the clavicle of Chris’ beastly assailant. A spray of dark, oxygen deprived blood spewed from the penetration and painted Chris’ face. The Vampire shrieked and sprang off of Chris, scaling the doors of the Cathedral like some horrible spider before breaking through the wooden boarding that served to keep out the cold when some unknown intruders had smashed through the stained glass window. Chris rolled onto his back and stared up at the domed ceiling of the gothic structure. He clutched his injured shoulder and allowed the tears to finally fall from the corners of his eyes; the saline drops seemed to have been hiding, afraid to leave the safe haven of those doe orbs in the presence of the Vampire.

“It’s all gone wrong,” he whispered while sitting up slowly, cradling his arm. After making it to his feet, Chris looked back towards the deeper part of the Cathedral where he knew the priest’s body was still impaled and bleeding all over the statue of Saint Michael. He had been slain in the House of God and his murderer had fled into the winter night. Chris limped towards the Sacristy and grasped the thick rope of the summoning bell. He pulled on it and the old brass bell rang out proudly into the empty Cathedral. It wasn’t long before he was joined by hooded figures, figures that looked like they belonged in an ancient monastery high in the Balkan Mountains rather than a Cathedral in the middle of a city.

Chris pointed towards the statue of Saint Michael grimly and the five of the six hooded individuals moved in that direction, adhering to the silent command. The remaining figure stood and stared at Chris as he clutched his injured arm to his chest.
“It escaped, but I think I know where it will go.”


The storm had died down by morning. No more did the winds howl and the hail plummet with merciless routine. Things seemed quiet as the morning sunlight peeked in through the gray clouds. That same tentative sunlight bothered the closed lids of an equally quiet individual. Blue eyes opened to the solar greeting and Kaya took a moment to absorb her surroundings. No stone, no blood, no fire, no darkness. She blinked a few times and rubbed her eyes, the effort in moving her lead limbs exhausting her. With the sleep cleared, the blonde attempted to register reality. The last cohesive memory she had was collapsing in the snow with Alex after barely escaping the Hunter’s catacombs.

“Alex…” she croaked, her voice quiet and raspy for disuse. She sat up with an impressive effort on the makeshift and shoddy bed she had been sleeping in. Her redheaded companion was assigned another cot nearer the meager fireplace. Kaya looked around; they were in someone’s house…or shack. She didn’t quite know what to call the humble abode. Whatever it had been it was no an infirmary for two very badly injured Witches.

“Awake, I see,” a man’s voice said. Kaya stiffened instinctually but had little energy to make a real movement. “Didn’t think you were going to make it there for a while. Been out for days, you and your friend have,” the voice continued as a middle aged man with receding black hair walked into view. He wore an old red scarf and a dirty looking winter jacket. He had pine needles sticking out this way and that from the knitting of his scarf.

“Where am I?” Kaya asked quietly, holding her throat. It was terribly dry and felt like it was breaking.

“A few miles outside of the city, sitting confused and concerned in my house,” the man said in a matter-of-fact way. He poured a glass of water and offered it to Kaya. When he came closer, the blonde looked up at his face and noticed the slight point to his ears. She took the glass from the man and reached up with her other hand to discretely touch her own slightly pointed ears. This man was a Witch as well.

“Thank you,” Kaya said after a greedy drink of water.

“Water’s cheap,” the man replied and Kaya smiled weakly, her chapped lips stretching from the gesture.

“I meant, thank you for helping my friend and I. You didn’t have to,” the man held his hand up to quiet the young woman.

“Of course I did. You can’t come across two of your own kind a few yards from those catacombs, completely broken and bloodied, and not do something. There aren’t many of us left, especially on this side.” Kaya nodded her head in agreement. As she took another deep drink from the water glass, finishing it off, she heard Alex stir in the cot across the room.

“Blimey, now there’s a miracle!” the man said, moving Alex’s bedside. “I knew for sure you were on your way to Oblivion.” He reached his hand into a bowl by Alex’s bed, producing a wet cloth. He wrung it out a bit before putting it against the redhead’s forehead. The younger man shivered at the cool cloth’s touch and his eyes fluttered open briefly. Questions sat patiently behind Alex’s lips with no will or strength to form them. The older Witch smiled knowingly and flipped the cloth on Alex’s forehead over so the cooler side would rest against his skin.

“The name’s Jordyn, by the way,” the balding man said while looking back at Kaya. She was busy trying to untangle some of the ridiculous knots that had formed in her blonde hair during their stint in the Hunter’s hospitality and during her unconscious time in the dingy little cot.

“Well, thank you then Jordyn,” Kaya said again while shifting her legs out of the bed and onto the wooden floor. She made a face as she stood, trying to remember how to walk. “But we should be getting back to the city. Our … My friend will be worried.”

“Take your time. When your friend here is feeling a bit less under the weather, I’ll give you a ride back into the city in my truck. There’s no reason for either of you two to trudge through the winter snow,” Jordyn reasoned. As much as Kaya hated to accept further charity from Jordyn, their circumstances were pretty dire.

“Very well. As soon as Alex is able to walk,” she conceded. The redhead groaned quietly and his green eyes searched around the room blearily.

“Brilliant. Since you’re up and about, there’s a pot of broth on in the kitchen. Help yourself to a bowl and a bit of bread on the table. A bit of nourishment should do your insides wonder.” The genuine smile on the older Witch’s face brought comfort to Kaya. A friendly face was definitely a luxury they had been lacking for quite some time. The fact that he was one of their own was an added bonus. Witches were rare on this side; aside from exiled criminals. But Jordyn was certainly not one of those—they’d have been dead long before now if that had been the case.


To say she had been frustrated from the previous night would have been an understatement. Lyrial struggled to think of a time she has been more excited and aroused: never. She grumbled in her sleep and curled up a bit, hugging a bit of the comforter that had become entangled with her arms. The brunette had waited up after Chris’ sudden exodus from her apartment. Had she done something wrong? No, she reasoned, she had followed his lead. There was nothing that had merited him freaking out and running away with his tail between his legs.

Lyrial had been confused, then hurt, and then utterly pissed off. However, the final installment of emotion came full circle and it left her wondering exactly what the hell had come over Chris. After an hour, or two, or possibly three, Lyrial had given up on him sweeping back into the apartment, embracing her and apologizing for the gross misunderstanding and instead had gone to bed. A dim glimmer of hope fooled her into dreaming that maybe Chris would come while she slept and curl up beside her in bed, warming her in the crisp winter morning. As she stirred into consciousness, she mistakenly believed that her dream had come true.

At first, the brunette thought she was imagining the arm draped around her waist. As she opened her eyes and rubbed them free of the sleep, the imagination became reality. Panic gripped her throat and her body stiffened as she stared in horror at the white hand clinging to her night clothes. It was tie-dyed with drying blood and had left smears of the horrible stuff on her shirt and arm. She shook fearfully and looked over her shoulder, following the finely tuned muscles of the battered looking arm to the body that owned it.

Lyrial shrieked in fright and all but leapt out of bed. The comforter that had snaked around her body tripped her during the escape and sent her toppling towards the floor. Despite the carpet burns which now adorned her wrists and palms, Lyrial scooted far from the bed until her back hit the wall on the other side of the room. She covered her eyes with her hands, then her ears, then her mouth—anything to try and stop what she was witnessing. Sprawled in her bed was the bloodied and disfigured form of what she thought was Sano. It looked as if he’d been in the fight with some kind of medieval lawn mower…and lost. Blood was splashed all across his front and face, though something told the brunette that it was not solely his own. How the stench had not roused her sooner was astounding.

“Oh my god…” she mouthed and stood up wobbly, fighting with the comforter, ripping and clawing at it to escape its hold. Her hands shook uncontrollably as she stared on. Why was he in her bed? When did he get there? She looked down at her own body, shrieking again at the bloodstains on her clothes and arms. She swatted fervently at her clothes, unsuccessfully trying to wipe the blood out. It had dried in the few hours of sleep she had. She rubbed her face again only to realize in horror that she was rubbing the flakes of the dry blood all over her cheeks and forehead.

The daylight hours kept the Vampire in the coma-like state Lyrial had come to expect, so her screaming went unnoticed by Sano. She ran from the bedroom to the mirror in by the front door and cried at her own reflection caked in blood. She had once worried for Sano in his unexplained absence, but now with his sudden and gruesome return, Lyrial wished nothing more than to be rid of the creature of the night once more.
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