Delivery To Catacombs of Bliss

Father of Darkness · Pray For Salvation

Delivery To Catacombs of Bliss

Mary Jane · Stripped T-R-O-U-B-L-E

The last thing that Jane remembered was being forced to sleep by some wanna be holy man. Father fang face of the Church of psycho worshiping bloodsuckers. Before that he said she was going to be some kind of sacrifice to some Angel of Death. After that, instant knock out for the Bradshaw. Knives, guns, and everything was gone. All gone. Silver shackles were slapped on her wrists burning her skin. Her beast was sent to sleep as well, like a tranquilizer for human and beast within. The shackles were on her beast as they were on Jane. Wrists, ankles and all of them leading to the large ringed collar around her neck. Her body was bare, naked as the day she was born. All freshly cleaned and washed for this so called Angel of Death.

Within the confines of some underground maze was where this Angel of Death lived. This was where Jane was being taken by a pair of Priests of this holy father. Carried into the mouth of hell. Another cold hell. All the while Jane slept. A sleep so deep that it almost looked as if she was dead. If it wasn't for the constant rise and fall of her chest, one would have thought so. A knock of the door, and she was let in. Directions were given. Jane was set down. Underneath her form was the softness of fur. The deep brown of what had once been a grizzly bear. Heat of a fire with the wood crackling and popping behind her. It warmed her deadly cold skin. For a lycanthrope any drop in temperature could cause death. The fire helped keep her temperature up, though it was not enough to wake the beast within or the woman set underneath the spell of sleep.

Orange glow of the fire dancing over Jane's form. The tan lines as well as small scars dancing over that smooth sun kissed flesh. Not the deep tan of most women, but enough to give her color. Hair spilled like rich chocolate against the fur of the bear skin. The sliver chains a contrast against her skin, burning the flesh to a pink color. Nails were painted in the same theme as the beast she held. A coat of orange for the base with rigged lines in black. Lashes were long and soft casting shadows on her cheeks. In sleep Jane looked peaceful, angelic almost. Yet nothing about this woman was angel like. She had a spit fire attitude and the mouth to go with it. One leg shifted in this sleep state, reveling that she was smooth all the way down her body. This was not something done by the priests that had brought her in. Shaving Jane had not been on the agenda. The softness of the fur beneath and the warmth of the fire with only the barest chill caused her nipples to harden to peeks.

This was how she was left. Left to the hands of this so called Angel of Death: Azrael.

Angel of Death · Seductive Death

~The light that flickered against the stone cold walls was rich and warm, light cast by the fire leaping in his hearth. This lair of his, this world within a world was deep beneath the ground, a tunneled place in the catacombs on which the new Bliss had been resurrected. It held all the things a man could want. Darkness, dank, and all the spiritual denizens you could shake a stick out. No need to be lonely with the ghosts of the damned to keep you company. Azraels powers had grown with time, and now he was a veritable Ebeneezer Scrooge closetted away with his spooks and spirits. A lively lot to be sure, but not much in the way of warmth as companions go. This compartment of his crypt was walled with tapestries that had been bought since before the fall of the great Persian Empire, it warmed the walls enough with the firelight splashed upon the images of death and destruction that were so gracefully sewn into the thick works of priceless art.~

~If you didn't know for a fact that the place lay beneath the ground it would be hard to tell. Everything was ornamented so perfectly that it could have been a set for a movie. At any moment Bella Lugosi might come crawling out of the packed earthen walls. Looks here were deceiving. The original hand dug walls had been fortified, and most of the burial chambers were in deeper areas beyond his living space. He had made a place among the dead to live the remainder of his undead life because it was only among the dead that he felt truly free. Though that was changing. Somehow, beyond his power of knowing, he was finding himself drawn more to the living once again.~

~A brown leather recliner sat to the right of the fireplace. It strangely did not match the rest of the furnishings. It looked almost like the sort of La-Z-Boy that someones aged grandfather would sit in for his evening cup. Feet snug in black leather combat boots rested on the thick turkish rug on the floor as he leaned back, slumped into the recliner whose cushioning had long ago worn down. His right arm rested on the arm of the chair and in his hand he held a glass of Irish Whiskey that had yet to be even sipped. The ice clinked against the glass faintly with even the slightest movement, but with time and heat the ice was melting and those sounds came less frequently. Beside the chair a small table sat, the bottle on it as well as his box of fags and a lighter. Nothing had been moved in a while.~

~With a sigh he let his icy blue eyes drift from the woman lying naked and chained on his rug to the face of the priest standing in the background like a watchdog. The man had told his story while Azrael poured a drink. A drink he'd bloody well needed and then been unable to take as floods of memories assaulted his mind. On returning to Rome it had never occurred to him that Casimir would still be alive. Mad dogs like that were usually put down before they had a chance to spawn, but apparently in this case he had slipped beyond the radar. Their connection was tenebrous at best, but promises had been made. An oath he wasn't sure quite fit the arrangement, but it was clear that Casimir thought Azrael owed him something. To play guardian to a fledgling vampire. An interesting proposition.~

"Tell the Father that I will watch his fledgling and teach her our ways. But that is all. I'm not much the doing for others type. I'm more the leave me the fuck alone kind of guy. If and when he goes to ground I'll find her. Otherwise all bets are off mate."

~He let his eyes move back to the prone form of the female tigress on the ground. Those eyes of his cracked like blue ice, his gaze an arctic tundra where they swept across her body. Casimir remembered his fondness for cats. Leave it to a beast master to know such things. Bullocks. Azrael was not the man he had been a hundred years, two hundred years, gods knew how many years ago. At one time such a gift would have been ravished good and proper, skinning the cat and leaving her furs on his bed to keep his toes warm at night. Things had changed though. It was hard to pinpoint exactly where it had started, or if it was ended. Now though he felt cuckolded by this 'gift'. He realized the man was still standing there staring at him and his face lifted.~

"Well? Sod off."

~Head jerked towards the tapestry covered doorway that led back through the tunnels and to the surface. The priests fretted with his hands as he bowed and ran off to carry his message. Azraels accent was something lost in time. If it had to be classified the modern cockney might come close, but there had been no such thing when he had formed that voice. It held a haunting quality. Lifting the drink in his hand he downed it, not stopping until the bronze liquid in the glass had been emptied. Setting the bar glass aside on the small table he stood up from the recliner and walked towards where the woman lay. Crouching down one knee sunk into the thick weave of the rug, his arm resting on the opposite knee where it rose. Letting his other hand move outward he pushed back the silken strands of choclatey hair to get a good and proper look at the womans face.~

~He had sat for such a long time watching her, time from her life she wouldn't get back. Breathing his power into her beast he woke the creature, letting sleeping beauty tap the night. But he knew it would only be for a moment. Reckless really, but Azrael could never be accused of being truly sensible. The only reason he woke her at all was because he wanted to see her eyes. And he didn't fancy prying her lids open and getting eye boogies on his fingers to do it. As her lids blinked away the sleep and she looked up at him from her chained position he just stared at her. Ice. Cold. Detached. Words that might come to mind when looking at his chiselled face.~

"Don't scream. It gets old fast pet, and I can't stomach another horror movie scene this close to Halloween."

~His power kept a hold of her beast just as the chains held her body in place. He wanted a look at her. But more than that he wanted to know her in some way he couldn't quite put his finger on. This strangely beguiling woman who had ended up in his sanctuary. Then again, you might also chock it all up to him being a man with a naked lady on his carpet. That in itself was pretty damning as things went.~

"I'm not going to kill you. Not that I wouldn't love to. I'm sure your a tasty treat. But that would give far too much pleasure to the one who sent you here. But I can't have you knowing where I live either. So this puts me in a bit of a pickle, don't it?"

~Thin sculpted lips curled in a smile that made his black brows seem to flare at the edges, making it hard not to notice the nasty scar that ran through his left brow. Then again, why the hell not. That was the last thought he had before reaching out for her. His hand grabbed the line of chains harshly and pulled her up and in against his crouching form. Teeth struck like a serpants, finding the vein with a sureness that came from practice. No, Azrael was not a good boy. Had never been, and changes or not he couldn't resist a taste. Power thundered through him like the graceful fall of a blizzard. It wrapped her in its embrace and wove a pattern of snowflake purity in her mind. Her beast was rolled in his warmth as her blood filled his mouth and he drank a teasing taste of her essence. No sensual pleasure in his bite. He was not like Marcus or the new Primogen, he was of the ether, a creature of the grave. That power was more illusive than the others, it hinted at things never shown as it tainted the soul. Through her blood he could taste her soul. Such heat there. This woman was a vessel of animilistic desire and puritanical fire. Drinking her down he had to pull away and force himself to stop unless he made her the sacrifice Casimir had been seeking.~

~His head tipped back with his mouth open, lips red with blood, he looked like a wolf about to howl as he took in a long breath to clear his head. SLEEP! The order he gave next was thundered into her with the force of her own blood. Her tiger taken under by his power to call it amplified with the heat of her own blood. As she fell again into that sleep he wondered why he had woken her at all. Maybe simply because he wanted her to find him later. To come back for revenge so he could have another taste. It was really so much nicer when the victims came waltzing through the door. Taking the key from his pocket that the priest had given him he undid the chains and let them fall with a clatter to the floor.~

~*Time Lapse*~

~Jane was left in what he thought was the funniest of places. She would awaken propped into the back row of an Italian porno theatre. He'd dressed her of course in hand me down clothes of his own. Not that there were many of those. He was no clotheshorse. The T-shirt and sweats were big on her and the leather jacket was way too long. It wasn't his, but something he'd had to swipe from the coat room at Bliss on the way out. On the outside pocket of the jacket he had safety pinned a small note.~

"Couldn't help myself. Men are pigs. Blah blah. Enjoy the coat."

Mary Jane · Stripped T-R-O-U-B-L-E

Wake up! It was this call within her. From beast to woman and they did wake. Wake to see a face, a man's face staring at her. Eyes of Aztec gold fluttered and finally focused on that face. Ice. Cold. Detached. Words that might come to mind when looking at his chiseled face. Sure, they could have came to mind. Anyone's mind; but Jane's. No. Those aren't what she thought. She simply saw: Asshole. Kidnapper. Dead. Not in undead vampire dead. No she saw dead as a doornail, not gonna be waking up again, worm food dead. That's right this man was dead.

Scream? He'd think she was some sissy pussy footed woman who was gonna scream cause some blondie had her chained, naked and captive in his lair like a horrible horror movie gone bad? No way.

"Son ofah fuckin' whore!" That was the screaming Jane did. Then he started talking. Her beast moved within. It hurt that it did so. It hurt because it was chained still, under a spell of dominance by none other than bleach blondie. Oh he wasn't going to kill her. That was his first mistake, cause Jane was gonna kill him. Soon as he let her go, she was gonna hunt him down. No, not first, but second. First was that piece of shit fanger priest. Then, then it was the wanna be bleach blond London version of Ken here. He stared at her what felt like a minute stretched into an hour. She remembered his face. Took in the smell of him and stored it in her mind and in her beast's mind.

Then it happened. Her chains were pulled. An unwilling noise escaping her lips. For the life of her, she fought what was coming. His fangs sinking into her neck. The bite was not pleasure. He didn't have that fall to your knees orgasmic bite Tino had, and she was sure Marcus too even though she never had Marcus bite her. No, this was ice. As if someone pierced her throat and then poured liquid nitrogen down the pin points. She froze, her mind froze and in that moment of ice and of pain there was a shift. The pleasure she had received from Tino. The pleasures her body had taken, given and shared with him were frozen over. It was if the ice of this vampire locked them in place. The heat came then in a wash of senses, of years and battles fought, of blood and fire. They melted those memories. Opening a path where those memories were and burned them. Her beast responded, and it wasn't out of anguish. It wasn't out sorrow. It roared because in that minute, in that second she felt any left over binding chains break. Freeing her of Tino, completely.

Was that a gift or a curse? Was that his intentions and even before Jane could ask, or think of asking she was out again. Her body falling limply in his arms. Hair spilling in a silken mass across his cheeks and the smell of sunflowers and the fresh warmth of sunshine was around her.

*_Time Lapse_ *

Moans. "Yeah baby! Voi sapete che vi amiate gli dick!" More moans. A shifting of seats. Her head ached. God did it hurt. One hand moved, heavy so heavy like lead. Still Jane pushed through it, and pressed it to her forehead. Fingers were cold. But it was slightly warm. Warm and musty and smelled of sex, nasty dirty sex. The kind of sex a person has and doesn't shower for days. Disgusting. "Fuck mi difficile!" A scream. Eyes snapped open. What the fuck?! There on the screen, a porno movie playing. Jane saw heads. The backs of people's heads and one woman bouncing up and down. God. How the hell she get here! One minute she was with that vampire, now here. Then she heard it over the pounding of flesh to flesh. The crinkle of paper. Staring down her eyes already adjusted to the poor lighting.

"Couldn't help myself, men are pigs blah blah enjoy the coat?"

God, he was gonna die. As soon as she got the way to him again he was gonna die. If she hadn't been on this end of the whole ordeal she might have laughed. Pushing up from the seat, she wobbled a bit. Thankfully she was in the back row. Unfortunately so was some guy getting head there in the same row with her. How Jane know? She nearly tripped on the poor woman as she stumbled her way out of the theater. Damn Italians. The shoes were way to big, and no matter how tight Jane made them she still had to ask one of the clerks for some duck tape to keep the top part on. The coat, ironically was kinda cool. After she removed the stupid note.

Jane was heading out of the theater, and down the street. She needed to find her way to her hotel room. Needed a shower, her guns, and a pair of clothes that fit right. Oh yeah she was gonna kill that fucking priest. Burn his own stupid pristine church down to the ground and every goddamn mother fucking leech in the place. Then she was going to find London Punk Ken and take him down.

-- Edited by Mary Jane at 02:04, 2009-01-06