A devastatingly attractive boy lay on a cramped bed. He was that boy, with dark, dark eyes that pierced people's souls, with high cheekbones and a scattering of freckles. He had dark, thick hair that had a reddish hue in the right light. Thick eyebrows framed his eyes, and the slightest of stubble crawled along the edges of his jaw. He had strong veins, flowing down his neck into broad shoulders and a heavy collarbone. To put it simply, he was pretty, and he knew it.
The bed he lay on wasn't small, no. It could have easily fit two people. And there was the problem. It was accommodating three.
The two women he was sharing the bed with were completely wrapped in each other, so much that they might have been ignoring him if it wasn't for a stray hand crawling along his leg and the second girl's back pressed up flat against his chest. But the two girls continued their fierce, almost angry kissing, locking themselves together at the lips, hands wandering up and down and under and over, but never stopping, not even for a second. And as the two girls continued their ministrations on each other, the pretty boy grew steadily more pale, the blood and life in him running through his body and directly to the hand of the first girl, the one with blue hair.
When his eyes unfocused and his breathing grew faint, he eventually spoke up.
"Stop," he coughed out, his chest heaving and a small trail of blood leaking from his nose. "Stop," he wheezed, but no sound came out until he ripped himself away from the hands of the blue-haired girl with eyes like diamonds and lips of blood. Immediately, his colour started returning, his eyes focusing and his nosebleed drying up. The two girls frowned at him.
"You agreed to this," the first girl said, her skin vibrant with the energy she'd syphoned off the boy. "I agreed to helping you out, not to dying so that you and your girlfriend could get your kicks. What the fuck are you?" The girl smiled at him, but not in the beautiful way she had when she'd invited him to bed. This time, her smile was violent, bloodthirsty.
"You're smart. I didn't expect that from you. Usually, the pretty ones are the dumbest, if you know what I mean." She smiled again, beautiful and deadly, "You ever hear of a succubus, Hayden?"
Everyone on the Isle had heard of a succubus. Violent, bloodthirsty women who sucked the life out of you in sexual contact. But in all his time, he'd only ever heard of one monogamous succubus. He bowed his head in deference, "Queen Evie."
And now the blue-haired girl- a succubus, a queen- smiled with a joy few ever feel. Being recognised as a queen sent sparks down her spine. Her smile stretched her mouth, and the smallest drop of blood trailed from her lips, from a puncture where her lover had bitten her. She raised a hand to the corner of her mouth and wiped it away, licking the drop off her finger. Her lover had repositioned herself to better see the conversation between Hayden and Evie. Her long, dark hair fell away from her face, and Hayden gulped. Because lying half naked in his bed was Mal le Fay, undisputed ruler of the Isle and Fae Queen, the woman who had walked into the Coward's Market, stepped onto a makeshift platform and announced that from now on, everyone on the Isle of the Lost answered to her or died, and then killed one hundred people in cold blood to prove her point. The woman his father hated with every fibre in his body.
He shouldn't deny her- she would kill him.
"Make a deal with me," he rasped, the breath scraping past his lungs, "I'll be a constant source of energy, but don't kill me now." A perfectly sculpted eyebrow quirked up, "Or we could kill you now, and get a new body later. What's in it for us?" He was negotiating with the Queens about why they should make out while touching him on a regular basis. The kings would probably kill him without a thought. But he continued, "You wouldn't incur the wrath of my father." And then the queens laughed, one airy and light, the other deep and throaty, " all of the villains are full of wrath. They all answer to us, even if they don't know it."
"You wouldn't have to explain the disappearances to your m- to Maleficent. She expects you to keep track of everyone on the Isle. Soon she'll figure it out." The queens nodded and actually seemed to be thinking it through. Time to bring out the big guns, " I'll give you the location of Maleficent's staff." Queen Mal's eyes snapped open, her her voice dropped in temperature, "You'll tell us the location of the staff anyway," she commanded, eyes like ice and face stony, "how did you even get that?" She was angry, that much was obvious, but she was also impressed. He shrugged from his position on the floor, "Bought it off Felicia. Figured it would come in handy one day."
"What was her price?" she was trying to find out if it was worth less than what he was offering- or asking for. Well, he'd be honest, "The usual. Ten years' service. I figured it was worth it." Mal's smile curved wickedly, and he wondered what he'd given her. He didn't ask {he wasn't sure he wanted to know}. There was a brief silence. Then Mal nodded satisfactorily and stood up, gathering up her clothing and dressing.
A devastatingly broken boy lay on an empty bed. He was that boy, with dark, dark eyes that pierced people's souls, but now, his eyes were faded, unfocused. This skin was pale, but slowly regaining colour. His Adam's apple bobbed and he pinched the bridge of his nose. A note was crumpled in his fist, the first letter of an elegant script peeking out.
The Iron Palace, 2300h. Don't be late. Bring gifts.