The Selkie Ch. 04

Tadi returned to strapping in and then returned to the bed. She knelt between our spread legs and leaned forward onto my body, sandwiching me between the two lovers.

She smiled down at me as she set something on the bed, but she thrust into Rua and not me. Given the angle, Tadi couldn't get the full dildo inside the unprepared redhead, but she did succeed in making the poor girl squeal loudly.

A couple more swift strokes and the girl pinning me was panting, straining to continue her hold on me while being penetrated herself. She did well, her muscles tensed and flexed, but she held me just as tightly. Maybe more.

"Tadi, please don't - ah - distract me and - ah - te-ease me," Rua whimpered, surely knowing that Tadi was highly unlikely to heed her.

"How else I can I be certain that you'll focus on Potnia as you should, Rua?"

"*Gasp* I don't know," she panted plaintively, not in any position mentally or physically to give a pragmatic answer.

"Hmmm," Tadi pretended to consider as she thrust a few more times into the moaning girl beneath me, "I suppose I'll have to leave you something to concentrate on?"

Rua whimpered more, justified by Tadi's foreboding tone.

Whimpers became groans as Tadi slowly inserted a carved and oiled dildo into Rua. In fairness, I couldn't be sure exactly how large the toy was, but it was either very very big or Tadi was inserting it very very slowly. Or, based on the way Rua's brawny limbs tensed and the way she yawped, both.

"That better?" Tadi asked facetiously.

Rua didn't respond in words, but a long groan let us both know exactly how she felt about the matter.

Meanwhile, I was distracted from her concern as Tadi brought the strapon to bear on me. Quickly and ferociously, she fucked me into a mad happiness. I groaned too.

The tormented girl beneath me maintained her hold on my arms and legs, leaving me the ability to squirm under Tadi's onslaught, but little more. The sense of being controlled and contained only got me hotter faster.

Tadi rutted like she did so for a living though (and she did,) so I crested rather rapidly and was gearing up for a second high point when Yaat, another of my employees, broke in on our fun.

"Potnia, there are men here!" Not usually an observation worthy of shouting in a fearful manner in a whorehouse, so I took it that they weren't customers.

Rua and Tadi surmised the same thing and released me and pulled out of me simultaneously, rolling away. Both looked at me in fearful hope. For all Tadi's dominating personality and all Rua's superior strength, neither would be of any help in facing down the hundreds of men at our door.

I jumped out of the bed and put my clothes and sandals back on. Then I sent Yaat out the back to run as fast as he could for Patroclus Karahalios the tax collector's house.

Out of professional caution, I kept a few strong men about to serve as sort of ancient bouncers, but they wouldn't be enough to keep out a mob at the door. Patroclus would bring a great deal more men in defense of one of the best and most consistent sources of tax monies in the city. But that might have taken up to an hour, and I mayn't have had that much time.

Should the mob concentrate on breaching the house, mob "justice" would lead directly to theft, rape, and murder in my house. The angry crowd's tipping point, based on the growing vocal unrest, was coming faster than Patroclus's men.

Over their mild protests, I took the swords from two of my door guards and stepped to my barred front door. It wasn't my first angry mob.

Usually, in that culture at least, groups of violent civilians protesting whorehouses were protesting vice in general as ruining the financial and familial lives of citizens. In the same way that you never see PETA throwing red paint on Hells' Angels though, these types of mobs never went after gambling forums or opioid dens. There they'd meet a terrifying armed force of bookies, dealers, and thugs. Far safer instead for the cowardly politicians and greedy opportunists who stirred up a group of dissatisfied citizens into an angry mob to focus their rage on a contained and clean brothel of women and pathici.

Understanding the particular culture in which I'd then lived for years upon years was important within itself though. Greek men might follow a coward, but not a publicly proven coward. Hence the swords.

"... this house of destitution, promoting the decay of moral and civic virtue," a middle-aged Patrician with a prominent gut inflicted his tired rhetoric upon the gathered crowd. The idea that all societal problems were caused by an easily identified and disenfranchised powerless minority was already an overused tactic, even by ancient standards.

That didn't mean it wasn't an effective tactic, though.

"Tell me, Father," I asked of the loud man who only looked about ten years my senior, "What greater virtues are there than commerce and labor?"

"Honest commerce and honest labor are the bedrock of our city, but not purveyors of filth!"

"Yet you and the other City Fathers profit through promptly paid taxes from the commercial filth of this house."

"And that will change in the coming elections as I and my like-minded citizens force you from our fair city!"

"Very well," There was a greater likelihood of Zeus flinging a thunderbolt at me than that man refusing my money as he gained power, but I didn't need to defeat him in rhetoric, only to make him establish that he intended to force us from the city, "Defeat me personally now."

I tossed a sword to his feet and held the other in my right hand. The crowd exploded in encouraging cheers and derisive jeers. (Whore, slut, bitch, etc. Insults to women don't actually change much between cultures.)

"I'd not attack a woman, no matter how disgusting I find her." He looked at the sword like it was a snake at his feet.

"You needn't strike me, Father," I conceded, "Just knock the sword from my hand. Surely you'll do that much to defend the city you purport to love. Do you have no vir?"

"I have... I have too much vir to-" But he'd lost the crowd. No one would follow a man who appeared frightened to face a woman, especially not a woman he'd just claimed to strongly oppose on moral grounds. Refusing to defend those moral grounds with more than words made him a physical and moral coward in deed and fact.

The next bit was more dangerous. "Then Father, I name you cinaedus. Would anyone care to take up his sword for him and fight on his behalf?" Again, I had to choose my challenge carefully. The bulk of the 300 or so men outside my house were probably cowards too, based on their joining a cause putting the locus of their failings on a minority providing access to voluntary vices.

Statistically, some would have the requisite courage to face a woman though and more would feel the need if I challenged them directly. A lot of rowdy unemployed ne'er do wells join any mob just to join a mob and any might well get their dander up if their manhood was insulted.

Still, the ven diagram of the ones brave enough to take up a sword and those willing to take up a sword on behalf of demonstrated cinaedus, that was a slim enough margin for me to bet on. No one would want stand and "fight on his behalf" as they'd be seen as aligning themselves with a man lacking manhood.

So I stood, sword in hand, and waited. One second. Two seconds. Three. They ticked by slowly as I tried to read the mood of an angry crowd teetering on the edge.

I'm a decent swordswoman, but not superhuman in a useful sense. I figured I might take out a dozen men with great luck before I'd be entirely overrun. And I couldn't even count on the door guards I paid to face impossible odds with me. Why should they die with me when they could run out the back or blend facelessly into the marauding crowd?

I'd still stand and fight, of course. I just wouldn't win and I knew it.

But the crowd didn't break either way. They milled, like a pack of dogs with no alpha.

"Go home, good citizens," I cajoled nonconfrontationally, "There's no crime here. No one has been wronged. This is a lawful and taxpaying house. You're all welcome back under more normal circumstances."

Slowly the crowd dispersed with only a few more thrown rocks and jeers. I went back in, barring the doors for the night until Patroclus and his men arrived. They were surprised to learn that I'd faced down the mob myself.

I wasn't. I have a code and a conscience. I will stand my ground against any odds, even alone and facing a mob at my door.

"Fuck Paris in his candy ass." I spoke aloud vehemently. I'm a six thousand year old Norsewoman. There's not a creature on the planet more stubborn than me. I'd chose Athena, and consequences be damned.

"What did Paris do to you? Wait, did Paris actually exist?" The same man had returned, this time carrying a tray of needles, syringes, and other medical equipment.

"No. Or at least, not that I know of," I amended, while visually evaluating him. "I wasn't in Greece at the time."

"Ah, pity." He stood slightly over six feet with dusky skin, dark hair and beard, and strong facial features that suggested Middle Eastern descent. He wore an off-white cotton thawb and leather sandals. His manner was open and pleasant "I'm Hayyan al-Azdi Abu Jabir, but you can call me Geber."

"Aud," I answered easily, "But feel free to shorten it if you find a way."

"Aud will be fine, I'm sure." Geber smiled and gestured with his tray. "You've healed nicely over the past weeks and I'm glad to see you so awake and coherent. I do need to take a sample of your blood, if you feel up to it?"

I nodded, stretched out my left arm, and made a fist. "I certainly won't be running marathons anytime soon, but I feel knitted together at least."

"I'd be surprised if you could walk across the room in your state," he joked, but added seriously, "Please, don't try to walk? You really shouldn't tax yourself in any way."

"Aye-aye, Doc." I swept the room visually again. Again, all the scientific equipment looked more suited to vivisection and cloning than medical care. "What kind of doctor did you say you were?"

"A physicist, in the broadest sense. Although, I've been strongly encouraged into the field of abnormal biology as of late. Speaking of, Marika hasn't been to see you?" He examined my physical state to make conversation as he drew my blood.

"She hasn't," I answered, maybe more curtly than I meant.

"I just say because your pupils aren't dilated," Geber continued, glossing over my bitterness and tying a rubber thong above the elbow of my good arm. "Their talons have transdermal poison that acts as an aphrodisiac and hallucinogen. Dilation is a telltale sign."

"Like belladonna?" Suddenly my reactions to Marika's touch made more sense. Not that I wasn't responding to the psychological effects of her allure as well, but poisoning me physically while persuading me logically seemed like cheating somehow.

"Precisely." He warmed to his subject and slipped the needle into my vein with a professional smoothness. We both watched as the red fluid was drawn up into the syringe. "They can also produce a transdermal poison in their saliva that sedates victims. Once in the bloodstream, it's a powerful and rapid hemotoxin.

"Pit viper venom." I nodded to myself, remembering my immediate unconsciousness when Marika kissed my eyelids.

"Very similar, yes." He looked at me quizzically, but without reproach, as he set the syringe back on his tray. "Tell me, does you knowledge of natural toxins come from recreational, medical, or less savory usage?"

"All three. Though I've not conducted research so much as 'fieldwork,' you might say." I'd no reason to lie as I'm obviously beyond the reach of any statute of limitations and I'm not ashamed of having toked, healed, or killed. A shocking number of substances actual triple as psychotropics, cures, and poisons, and - generally - those were the most convenient to carry with me for both flexibility and deniability.

"Ah, good." Clearly he wasn't judging, and his voice took on the excitement monopolized by academicians discussing their research. "I'm trying to establish the nature of vampirism and how it's successfully spread. My personal theory is that it's a poison that's survived rather than a disease that's transmitted. I could use an educated soundingboard." He went on to be a touch judgmental. "Most of the other immortals here are werebeasts like yourself and your lot has a tendency to be...indolent. No offense."

I wasn't offended, but I was curious. "What are you, Geber?" At the time, the only supernatural creatures I'd met were werebeasts, vampires, and lycanthropes.

"Persian," he answered glibly.

"No. What are you?" I clarified. "You're not a vampire, certainly."

"Oh, no. I'm a hellcat." He seemed genuinely surprised at my ignorance.

"You're a witch?" I asked skeptically.

"No. Not in the sense I think you mean anyway." He lifted a beaker and the clear liquid within began to steam slightly. "I can act as a conduit for atmospheric energy in my immediate vicinity. Thermal, electrical, photonic, what have you." He set it back down. Then he lit a Bunsen burner beneath another beaker, which boiled immediately. "Which, in this age, makes me less useful than most minor appliances."

"So, you were invited here to be a blood donor, too?" I asked, wryly.

"Again, no." He shook his head, seemingly sorry at having to tell me I was 0 for 2. "Vampires don't care for our blood. It'll keep them from starving, but it's not nourishing or tasty. Like watercress."

"What are werebeasts then?"

He laid his hand on my good shoulder apologetically in a paternal way. "You're a sugary protein shake laced with ecstasy."

I would have asked more, but Geber started suddenly and unconsciously twitched his cheek. My curious blue eyes followed his frightened look to the door.

Aud conversed politely and intelligently with Geber, who confided knowledge to her that I did not yet want her to know. He also touched and amused her in a way I found overly liberal. And enraging. Irrational, I know, but Aud is to me as Antinous was to Hadrian.

I will not suffer lions or crocodiles, literal or metaphorical, near my little selkie.

Marika strode into the laboratory, incensed.

"Touch her unnecessarily again and I will feed you your own entrails, hellcat." She didn't shout, but the rage in her voice and the flash in her black eyes made the threat seem less idle and therefore more frightening. "You can tell me if you taste like watercress."

"Apologies." Geber put his hands up and inclined his head. "It won't happen again. Please excuse me?"

Marika nodded and Geber left after placing my blood in a refrigerator. My "hostess" took a seat at my bedside. She folded her hands in her lap and made no attempt at eye contact.

Many many years had passed since I'd dealt with that kind of controlling personality and longer still since I'd been under the yoke of that kind of controlling personality. I didn't adjust well.

"You know I'm gay, right?" I should have ignored Marika's reaction to Geber's innocent kindness, but the man's friendly and intelligent manner comforted me and the high handed way she treated him irked me. Especially her implied unfounded jealousy.

Her eyebrow twitched. "Proper gay?"

"Yes," I answered, still annoyed, "No more interested in a man romantically or sexually than I am in that tray table, prefer eating girls to eating ice cream, capital 'P' capital 'G'. Proper Gay."

"I did not know, actually." She seemed to ponder for a second, not unpleased. "Still, I dislike the idea of others touching you, Aud."

I chose to let the silence hang. Whatever my views and inclinations, her cavalier possessiveness would have to be tolerated. After all, I was technically her possession.

"You can socialize as long as it does not become physical. I want you to be happy. You taste better happy," she amended conciliatorily.

"Oh." I wondered briefly how badly I must have tasted while I was locked in a cell, half-starved, and forced to hear terrified doomed humans scream and jibber. "I didn't know emotional state mattered to...taste."

"It does. You have smelled the difference in fear sweat and honest sweat?"

I nodded.

"Your blood is similarly altered as a result of your biochemistry. Mature vampires are so sensitive to such changes that I can sense your fear, anger, or elation from a few miles' distance. At my age, I can exude desires onto you as well."

She turned her eyes on me and I felt her hunger so compellingly that the only course of action that seemed right was offer myself to feed her.

I turned my head away, cast down my eyes, and waited for her to drink. If I were honest with myself, submitting to her drinking my blood wasn't much physically different than letting Geber draw my blood. And I'd no proof that his intentions weren't darker than hers.

In fact, though I count Geber among my dearest and noblest of friends to this day, his intentions would arguably contribute to something much darker. Still and yet, I wouldn't learn them in full until later.

Her hand laid on my shoulder and the compulsion left me, "No. I was only showing you how the desire is preinsinuated. I am here to...I am not here for that."

I looked pointedly at my wrist where she'd bitten me before.

"I had to know if your base flavor tasted as good as you smelled." Vampire compliments are weird. "I am a connoisseur, not some desperate fledgling. I want you healthy before a proper drink. Like the Fair Persian, you will be better with repose and care."

Who the fuck is the Fair Persian? I suspected she wasn't referring to Geber.

She changed the subject. "You gave me my best chase in ages. Nearly escaped me even. More than once."

"Glad to oblige. Best two out of three?"

Marika paused, "If you won the second round, would you actually submit to a third?"

I considered lying to her. On my honor as a...No, too ridiculous to be believed. "No."

"Then I fear you must remain caught, dear Aud."

Again, silence. No need to verbalize that we'd agreed to disagree.

"You shot me..." she drove toward her point.

"I did. You crushed my foot, drove me off a balcony, and snapped my neck at the bottom for good measure. Think we can call it even?"

"It was not my brilliant idea for you to launch yourself off a balcony onto a mac truck. I detached your brain in order to limit your self-induced suffering as I moved you." She clearly disapproved of my foolish last ditch effort at escape via flying leap. "I am sorry that I crushed your foot. You prove very breakable, little selkie."

"Don't worry about it." Breaking my foot seemed minor compared to keeping me as a blood hostage indefinitely. Bringing up the comparison wouldn't help however, so I chose not to sully the apology.

"When you shot me," she brought the conversation back around to the question that I dreaded, "why did you choose not to kill me?"

I'd assumed she'd wonder that. I certainly parsed my motivations for that decision myself, and - although I'd prepared an answer to quell Marika's curiosity on the matter - I still didn't have a completely satisfactory answer for myself.

"I'd never fired that model of gun before and you run fast. Center of mass shots best guaranteed taking you down long enough for me to ride away," I lied without hesitation or twitching.

She said nothing for a moment. Then she tapped me right on the end of my nose. In any other species, the gesture would have been playful.

"When you lie, Aud, your pulse increases speed and pumps more blood to your capillaries," she noted without any recrimination or flavour. Turns out, Marika can sense my blood movements in addition to smelling changes in my mood. She's a reasoning truth machine with no reprieve from detection, no matter how many times I say 'O Captain, My Captain' in my head. "Would you like to try answering again?"