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Souls of the Night – Vol 3
6.
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Trigger warning. The following chapter contains descriptions of sexualized violence in verbal and physical form. It may trigger negative emotions and should not be read by people who are prone to depression or who have previous experience of non-consensual sexual violence.
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She had already sensed his anger at a great distance. Probably ever since he had left Brooklyn (the borough) behind him. Her own heart rate synchronized with his, and at the same time she felt that tranquility flood through her, as it always did when the strained bond between them relaxed because they were close. Moreover, it satisfied her to know that he wanted to feel the same way, but couldn't allow it right now, feeding his rage even as he approached to seek retribution. She managed not even to flinch when he landed on the balcony in front of the window and pushed open the patio doors so hard that he would have broken the lock if they had been locked. But they weren't. They never were. She didn't give him the satisfaction of whirling around and acknowledging his presence with squeals of delight or smiles as was her first bond-driven instinct.
Instead, she watched his non-bulky, but under anger and adrenaline quite impressive form in the mirror as the monster that had shaped her life and being like no other came swooping in, his dark wings claiming the room, his tail lashing belligerently, snarling her name with glowing eyes and bared teeth like a vulgar curse word. Pure hatred. Refreshing after the usual fatigue. The evening and the numerous bruises had been worth it for that alone. Even the throbbing pain in her weak leg since a violent gust of wind had blown her off the roof of the truck had been worth it. He was magnificent. He was sublime. And he was hers.
And even if everything inside her was resisting ... because the world was as it was, and because he was him and she was her, they had to play their roles, which were exactly opposite to their actual instincts. The old dance - always anew. But they hadn't had much more than that for a long time and Graziella wouldn't let herself be robbed of this opportunity for the life of her. She would do her worst to at least maintain the status quo. Just as he would do his worst.
"Ah, I see the pest controller has to spray again," she teased from her vanity table as she removed her earrings. She had already managed to take off her jeans herself without Sonny having to help her, although he had noticed that she was injured. Reluctantly, he had tolerated her sending him "to bed".
"Stop with your jokes. You hurt Broadway."
"Yes, I did. With pleasure."
"He almost died!"
She puffed cheerfully and turned on her stool to face him, knowing he could see the lacy seam of her dark panties even though her blouse still billowed over them, part of her still deliciously round ass and her long, shapely legs. As well as the bandage that covered the part that wasn't shapely. A spot she had him to thank for and for which she knew he still felt guilty. Nashville Wywern would always suffer at the sight of her. At the sight and smell of her - that's why she wore that disgusting combination of hairspray, lavender mothballs and men's deodorant. Because it grossed Gargoyles out and especially Nashville hated not being able to smell her body.
"You know I didn't kill him, even though I could have. We both know it was on purpose, that I only slit his flab. A gargoyle can take that."
"And Sonny kicked Katana in the stomach!"
Graziella grinned. "Always mommy's little boy. She'd hurt him too. She's an excellent warrior-of course, she hurt him. Sonny only resorts to such measures when he's backed into a corner. Her fault, too. But ... it emphasized the overall message. Otherwise you would hardly have come."
"I hate it when you send me messages like that. Normal people write letters or e-mails."
Graziella laughed out loud, an uninhibited, genuine laugh with grunts interspersed whenever she gasped for air. She laughed even louder when she saw the angry gargoyle with the glowing white eyes and sharpened claws coming towards her. Again, with a flick of her finger, one of her black splints spat a knife into her hand but before she could plunge it into his skull, he had intercepted her quick movement so that the blade only scratched him on the temple and then flew to the side under the bed. It was only when Nashville yanked her off the chair by her hair that she fell to the floor and tore off both her splints with a crackle that sent more knives spinning through the air, landing on the carpet and on the dresser, that she stopped.
"Stop laughing! Stop torturing me and my family," he whispered threateningly as he loomed over her, his fingers groping at the cut that had blood trickling over the edge of his beak. She looked up at him petulantly, one hand on her aching scalp, her eyes sparking pure hatred for a second before her gaze softened to weary indifference.
"You know it's not my desire per se to hurt the others."
"Oh, just me."
"No. Not even that. That's the business. I told the others - it would be their fault if they got hurt. And Broadway got hurt. I warned them."
"Always the philanthropist! We both know that nothing that has to do with you and me is business."
"Where were you today, Nash? Where were you yesterday? And the last few weeks? Doesn't it hurt you to keep so much distance?"
"Does it hurt you?" he asked icily. But ... with this undertone that made her shiver - precisely because he was NOT cold. Precisely because the boy he had once been resonated in it. Before she had destroyed him.
"I have a life of my own," he said defensively.
"You don't. Your life revolves around me."
"Your wishful thinking. Why should I give you what you're not giving me?"
"I didn't know this wimpy-looking blue gargoyle. Are you allowed to take part in the student exchange again? Will you soon have a whole handful of harem candidates who want you to be their mate? What will they say when they realize the famous Divergence Boy can only get it up for a criminal? Did that distract you? Normally, someone with jealousy issues should be overprotective. And not leave the object of their desire hanging."
"You are so sick, Graziella Dracon."
Nash spat the last word at her. Again that resentful, icicle-shooting glare with the wrinkled nose that contorted her beautiful face into a gargoyle grimace for a second. Enough to make Nashville's erection big enough for Graziella to notice it even through his dark tactical pants. A softer more inquiring expression on her part with which she now scrutinized him. Tentatively, she lifted her hand from her head to his thigh. Nashville eyes lost their glow. He studied the much weaker human woman in front of him with cold lassitude. He could snap her beautiful neck and he would rid the city and his clan of a plague. He could kill her and be free of her himself. The thought alone threatened to tear a black hole in his heart.
"Suck my cock," he ordered, wearily.
Graziella crawled - an easier task for her than getting up - to her bedside table and fished out a row of condoms, one of which she tore off.
Now Nash wrinkled his nose. "You would have laughed at this kind of thing in the old days."
"Used to be, I don't want a monster freak disease," she said as she knelt in front of him again, this time putting one of the pillows from her bed under her ass for support.
"And now you won't even give me your mouth without a rubber? I must really disgust you," he said sarcastically and pressed her mouth open with his thumb claw, feeling her warm, moist mucous membrane while her eyes stared at him with that all-consuming Fury fire that only Graziella Dracon possessed. That look cut into you without her being anywhere near a knife. How easy it would be to rip her cheek open with his claw in one tiny motion. To make such a sloppy slash that no surgeon could make the scar pretty enough to be invisible. He could disfigure her completely. He could mark her face as HIS forever and for all the world to see.
"You do so much more than just disgust me, Divergence Boy," Graziella hissed as he removed his hand from her face and she wiped the saliva from her chin. Nashville ignored his old celebrity name that the media had given him a long time ago.
"Very charming for a slut begging for gargoyle cock."
"Not just any gargoyle cock - only yours," she whispered before unzipping his pants and pulling them and his boxers down a little so that his erection almost smacked her in the face.
She gulped at the sight, her eyes searching his again for confirmation but he stubbornly looked straight ahead. She tore open the plastic wrap and tried to put the condom on him.
"Your mouth," he said curtly. She put the condom between her lips and slipped it over his glans as far as it would go. And just because he could, Nash thrust his hips forward, forcing his cock down her throat and making her gag.
"Fuck, you asshole," she coughed.
"Shouldn't your mouth be busy?" he asked without looking at her. She didn't deserve his gaze. And he wouldn't give her the satisfaction of letting her see that there was passion and pity in there along with sorrow and coldness. Although he never quite knew whether he was feeling sorry for her or himself. Graziella had rolled the condom all the way down his length and was now licking up and down that very length. Her fingers caressed his hairless balls and he knew even her inferior human nose picked up his scent and it turned her on. If that hadn't been a lie, too. Which he didn't believe, because the only time he could believe anything Graziella revealed was when her body couldn't hide the truth. Sweat, blood, tears during orgasm and pussy juice- those told truths. No one could trust her words.
Nashville leaned his head back and pressed his claws into the carpet as she took him all the way into her mouth. This time one hand was around the part of his cock that didn't fit in her mouth so he couldn't push it back in. He grumbled and chattered his teeth as the arousal grew inside him. He hated it when she sucked his cock. He wanted so much to look at her, so much to see what he'd seen so many times before, even if it was just a spark of that old, fake Graziella now. But he would never give her that power over him again. Never again. And Graziella was simply skillful and industrious in every position - as she had learned to be. He was already panting for quite some time, about to burst from her skills, her movements, her own breathing, the wet noises she was probably making on purpose to tease him, and he had to force himself not to press his claws into her head and shove his entire length brutally deep down her throat as he came. He shrieked shrilly but her little human claws pressing into his buttock forced him to close his beak and look down. And while his cock was still twitching and pumping, Graziella took it out of her wet, shiny cherry mouth and looked up at him sternly.
"Be quiet. Vito's sleeping downstairs."
Nashville let out a snort over his beak, the annoyed, frustrated snort of a bull who not only hadn't been allowed to come inside his favorite cow but who was reminded that she had led a life without him and continued to do so day after day. That this queen had allowed a nameless peasant to breed her and whose seed had taken hold in her womb where his NEVER would. He did not hate the child. But the bond made him hate that Graziella dared to live without him, to create a future and grow old where he ... was condemned to stagnation. Annoyed, he snatched his already stiff penis from her with the condom and a large, dangling nose of sperm hanging from the tip. Then he slid his hands under her arms, lifted her up from the pillow that she had made all wet with her own arousal and pressed her upper body onto the chest of drawers.
She groaned at the abrupt change of position and the strain it put on her leg. Nash tore the black, dripping panties she was wearing with his claws, spread her buttocks and pressed himself deep inside her. And although she had become so wet while sucking him, a tortured cry of pain escaped her. He leaned over this weak human at his mercy while she gasped with tears in her eyes, trying to process his length cognitively and physically through clenched teeth. He wanted so much to look at her or press his face into her hair that was SO fake in its artificial straightness (something she also only did to annoy him because she knew how much he loved her curls). But then her stench of perfume blocking his taste and smell receptors would only have hit him harder. Nashville clasped her wrists behind her back, laughing darkly because he knew that kind of laughter only made her tight for him down there.
"Be quiet, your son is sleeping downstairs," he whispered and began to fuck her hard. He knew she was well aware of the gun on the dresser within her reach, as well as the knife from her splint that was almost directly in front of her. What she didn't know was that before he had pressed himself into her, he had ripped open the condom.
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"He's raping her!"
I had barely landed on the roof where I had followed Nashville's scent when I spotted him too - from one wing of the magnificent, three-winged mansion from where I could see directly into this one room in the opposite wing through the wide-open balcony door. With his pants down, he was bent over a woman whom he was visibly pressing painfully onto the top of a chest of drawers and whom I recognized as Graziella Dracon, although I couldn't see her face. And his hips kept thrusting forward, slamming his victim against the dresser and where one hand held her hands together behind her back he pressed a hand over her mouth! I wanted to scream, felt my eyes blaze. Instinct. Not mine. The gargoyle Nathaniel's. Lex threw himself at me just as I was about to rush to the rescue.
I bucked under him, trying to throw him off me with my wings, but Lexington knew how to subdue an opponent - even one with wings. He grabbed me from behind and pinned my wings to my back and my arms to my body. I gasped in anger, confusion, and yes- even panic at being so at the mercy of a male- even if it was my beloved.
"Nate! Stop it! Calm down!" Lexington hissed, and now I hated his web wings that wrapped around me for those endless seconds, leaving me nearly immobilized.
"Calm down! Please, please. You're burning me! Let me explain!" he pleaded, his voice shaky with pain and I smelled burnt fabric and skin. Instantly - against my instincts - I relaxed all my muscles and nodded. Lexington jumped away from me and patted out the smoldering burn marks on his shirt. I crawled away from him, not taking my eyes off him, and tried to jump past him, but he spread his arms with a tense face, his wings blocking the way unless I pushed him brutally aside.
"Let me past! We have to save her!"
"No one needs saving down there."
With tears in my eyes, I tried to get past him again, but he pushed me back. I spread my wings and pulled them up, not per se to puff myself up in front of a male that stood in the way of my instinct but so that the hot smoke could rise. I hissed at him. Lex held his hands in front of him with his fingers spread apart and the skin on his arms was red and showed some blisters. Only this sight turned my growl into words.
"She's struggling! She's trying to fight back! Lex - can't you see that? Turn around! He's raping her!"
"Keep your voice down. Don't let them see you! I can explain everything," Lexington said again. His gaze intense, almost staring.
I ruffled my hair. "Keep it down? Keep your voice down? Explain what? Have you gone mad? We have to help her! She's a criminal. She hurt Broadway. But she didn't deserve that! No one deserves this. ... Please, Lexington," I sank to my knees, knowing if I tried to get past him now, I'd burn him even more. He was blackmailing me. He blackmailed me with my love. And forced me to permit a rape. My oh-so-great gargoyle ears heard Nashville's groaning, grunting sounds as if he were standing only two yards from me, Dracon's whimpers and moans as well. It was as if Jussuf was in my head again. If I closed my eyes, I would see him, feel him.
I shivered, pressed both hands over my ears and gasped deeply to let my heat seep back into me. I was about to burst into flames. If only - if only I had more control over my powers. Why was Nashville doing this? Why was Lex protecting him? No - I knew exactly why he was protecting him. Because blood was thicker than water. In a family, even monsters were protected. Real monsters. It was a crude form of love. And wasn't that why the few gargoyles in this world had survived? Because they protected each other? And didn't they put themselves above it night after night - even though they were also somehow upholding the law? Weren't they covered up by Elisa and other cops? By Xanatos? By forces in the city and state government? I whimpered because of these painful thoughts, which surely included so many more points of view and yet were true. I had already benefited from it and I hadn't minded being protected when I had caused property damage in the thousands weeks ago. I was a hypocrite. They were hypocrites. We were all rotten. They all broke the law when it suited them because they knew powerful people were on their side.
But ... I remembered Goliath's book. I remembered sporadic reports about Gargoyles and their nature. They were never described as representatives of the law. Never did they say that they defended and enforced human law. If anyone quoted a gargoyle, it was always about protecting - never about law. Gargoyles were protectors. Guardian citizen stood on our vests... on their vests. It wasn't even made a secret. It's just that too few people wanted to see it. Protectors. But this ... wasn't even that! The gargoyle I loved so much and was so angry with knelt down next to me.
"This isn't what it looks like," he whispered, and I knew he would have touched me if he could have.
"How can you let this happen? Why don't you stop it? I thought... You were the good guys. I thought you were good. That Nashville would be good."
I continued to breathe heavily, my tears evaporating sizzling on my cheeks but not Lexington's on his. His eyes were so sad.
"I'll... explain everything at the castle. Please. Let's fly back. The night air will do you good."
"But Graziella."
"He won't hurt her. I mean ... no more than that. Believe me. I know it."
"That's why you tried to dissuade me from following him. You knew he was going to do that."
He sniffled and wiped away tears that I didn't know if he was just shedding because he was mirroring my pain or because he was remembering old grief.
"I didn't know he would do EXACTLY THAT. But... I'm sorry Nathaniel. I'm sorry. I didn't want you to see this. I've scolded you before for putting us on a pedestal. But I guess I didn't really want to change it. I liked being looked at by you like I was ... an undefiled hero. But there's just no such thing. Every ... family has skeletons in the closet. This is one of ours. But... I know once you hear the story, you'll... see more clearly."
I gasped again, looking down at my trembling hands. They were tingling. My toes too - I was on the verge of hyperventilating, almost suffocating, forcing myself to take slower breaths so that the excess oxygen in my blood wouldn't make me keel over. The veins on my forearms - just bright red from the magical lava in them - became paler.
"How can you explain THAT?" I whispered.
Lex licked his lips, looked up and towards the other wing of the building. "Before we go, I want you to look in that room down there. We'll start with that."
I glared at him angrily. I hadn't been this angry with him since we'd argued before Jussuf raped me and I'd thrown him in the closet so Jussuf wouldn't see that he was there and petrified.
"You want me to watch this? Even though you know what happened to me?"
"I don't want you to watch them. Look what's on the dresser in front of Graziella. Right in front of her!"
He dared to touch my shoulder. Warm - no longer hot. Even the fire extinguisher chips in my trouser pockets hadn't gone off because my heat had remained in my wings and arms. I almost flinched away from his touch. But I swallowed this impulse, braced myself against the burgeoning nausea that would come automatically at the sight and raised my head. And a second was enough.
I looked at him, confused.
"A... a gun. On the dresser. But why?"
Lexington nodded. "If she wanted to kill him, she could do it anytime. But she doesn't want to hurt him. ... Not like this, at least. She can't. Just like he can't hurt her in a life-threatening way." He laughed out - a single almost coughing sound of distress. "I wasn't exaggerating when I said it was complicated."
I took another breath. My head felt woozy and yet it hurt. I'd skirted the panic attack.
"Nate. You're shaken up. Come on, let's glide to the castle. And we'll talk. I'll tell you everything I know. I can only tell you vaguely because Nashville didn't talk to me about his innermost feelings. But ... I'll try to give you what I can - if that's what you want."
I nodded tiredly. I didn't want to hear the story of how Nashville became a person who did this to someone who was so much weaker than him. But... I needed to hear it. To lessen that anger. I loved Lexington. I loved everyone in the clan. I didn't want to start hating Nashville just because I was too cowardly and ignorant to ... to want to understand."
I stood up and turned around without looking back at the other wing of the building. Lexington held out his hand to me. I looked at it for a moment ... wondered if I wanted to take it. And I wanted to. And I did. Despite everything.
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Graziella slid off the dresser as he pulled out of her after his gushing third orgasm and stepped away from her. Breathing hard, she slumped on her carpet like a doll whose strings had been cut. She was bleeding at the hips where he had pressed his claws into her flesh. Only now did he see the large bruise on her thigh below her bandage - perhaps from her fall from the truck.
With difficulty, she managed to straighten her upper body with the help of her arms and look at him. Not with hate. Not with love. He didn't even know what it was. Perhaps remorse. He had torn her blouse and thrown it aside. Only her breasts, damp with sweat that smelled more of lust than fear, were still in the black lace bra and quivered in unison with her breath. The not really pretty caesarean scar was pale on her otherwise tanned skin. All her scars never seemed to take on color. Everything she had been through left eternally visible scars that marked this once flawless body. And yet ... Nashville found that they did not disfigure her. In a strange way, they were her adornment. These were pure gargoyle thoughts.
"That hurt," she croaked, obviously pleading for sympathy like the actress she was.
Nash smirked bitterly.
"You hurt me, I hurt you. A classic." He pulled the remains of the condom off his member and threw it in her face before turning away and sauntering to her bed to wipe his cock on the sheets. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the woman he had once loved more than anything else in the world pull the empty slippery rubber sheath from her face and her eyes widen when she saw it was broken. She reached between her legs and as she brought her hand forward again, cum dripped down it - more than a human could have ejected. But male humans could usually only cum once - gargoyle males multiple times. She raised her head to him again with that hateful look Nash knew so well, her eyes wide in the horror that always accompanied betrayal.
"You dumb dinosaur brain! I said I didn't want you to cum inside me."
"If my jizz disgusts you so much, mobster queen, then stop begging for it like a horny bitch," he said as he pulled his pants back up, packed his member away again and headed for the patio door.
"Nash," Graziella said behind him. That name in that tone of voice made him stop.
"Nash, please," whispered the woman who had ripped his heart out more than once. He turned around. She was looking at him with tears in her eyes, squatting wide-legged on her carpet and he could see his juices running from her cunt. She looked so vulnerable. As if she needed him to survive. Which wasn't true, of course, because she was Graziella Dracon.
"What do you want?"
"My leg." She put her hand on the tight black bandage around her right thigh. Even that was splattered with her juices and his. On top of her old crippling, there was now the injury from the first hours of the night. "Please. I can't make it into my tub. I don't want my baby to find me like this." She lowered her head and sobbed. Nashville took a deep breath. Before he turned, walked to her and gently picked her up. She wrapped his arms around him and he ignored her mingled juices running down his arm and probably over his turnout gear. He had a second set in his locker. Graziella pressed herself against him and he felt her lips find the bloody cut her knife had made. When he placed her in her tub and stood up, she had his blood on her lips. She smiled so gratefully that Nashville's heart tightened. He took the shower hose and turned on the water. The shower spray hit her in the face and she squealed.
"It's cold!"
"It'll be warm in a minute," he said. And the water did indeed get warm. He set it so that it steamed but didn't burn her and rinsed her from top to bottom. She rubbed her pubic area, still red from his rough handling of it, and he watched as the last evidence of his presence disappeared down the sink. He gave her the shower head and she held it in front of her cunt, which made her shudder because of the water jet on the sensitive area, but he suspected she would turn the shower to the hardest setting as soon as he was gone to rinse herself as if she was really afraid of diseases or disgusted to death. And yet he could have come into her by the gallon in the past and she would have welcomed every drop. And all that probably hadn't been real either. Just thinking about it made him hard again.
"Thank you," she whispered - either traces of the Graziella he'd thought he'd known in the old days or skillful acting - it was always difficult to tell with the Mistress of Lies. He went out, picked up her cell phone from the dressing table and placed it on the edge of the bathtub where she could easily reach it.
"You can manage on your own now," he remarked and wanted to leave. And AGAIN her voice stopped him.
"I thought," she said over the sound of the water. "I thought I was going as Sally this year."
"Sally?" he asked with his back to her. He couldn't look at her anymore. The smell of the disgusting perfume she always wore was slowly being washed away by the water and he could almost imagine ... that she smelled like a gargoyle. Although that was certainly more his scent on her. His mind was playing tricks on him. It did that sometimes around her. It was sick wishful thinking.
"Sally. That character from Nightmare before Christmas."
"Ah. The doll-thing sewn together from rags of cloth ... how fitting."
"So ... see you then?" She asked, ignoring his biting comment, and the tentative childish shyness in the question made Nashville smile. He kept hurting himself. And probably her too. It would never end until one of them was dead or the other's pet.
Still, he made an approving noise and left the bathroom.
"Come and see me sometimes. I get antsy if I don't feel your eyes on me every few weeks and don't want to have to call you like that anymore," she said softly. Every time he thought he recognized a spark of his old love in her, she made sure he knew who was in control with something like that again. He jumped onto the windowsill outside and slipped away.
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Sonny startled out of his extra-wide bathtub as little fingers splashed on the surface to wake him up. He blinked and stared at Vito, who stood sniffling in his gargoyle pajamas in the bathroom, clutching his favorite doll and looking at him with teary eyes. Sonny breathed out water and in air before he could speak.
"A nightmare?" he asked, looking at the clock on the wall. It was just after five in the morning. He and Graziella had only arrived home three hours ago, having sent Vito's familial but fit-for-defense babysitter away only three hours ago.
The seven-year-old in front of him shook his head, his silky shoulder-length brown curls all tousled, his dark almond eyes troubled.
Sonny stretched out his arm, his biceps almost as massive as the slender child's chest. He remembered a time when his boss girl had been so sweet. Where she had also cried once. Before tears had only been a means to an end. Before she had been broken and put back together the wrong way. He wiped a tear from Vito's cheek with his large hand. His wet fingers left behind more moisture than had been there before. The water supply in his bathroom was connected to a cistern in the garden. Cold, clean river water - just the thing for a freak like him to heal his wounds. He looked down at himself and yes- the claw marks of Katana were still there- but covered with light, soft scar tissue.
Sonny took a deep breath, his low rumble echoing in the bathroom.
"Was it him?" he asked, tapping the old stuffed doll on the beak. Graziella knew Nashville hated those stupid dolls. All gargoyles hated the dolls that had been brought onto the market by G-Merch after the two-thousandths. Vito's room was full of gargoyle merchandise. Graziella bought him every product she could find. It was kind of ironic that the Nashville doll was Vito's favorite and he carried it everywhere with him and Graziella (a typical Dracon) found it hilarious. If she couldn't have the original, her son should at least have this.
Vito nodded and pressed his face into the doll.
"Damn," Sonny muttered and stood up from the bath. He got out, dried himself off and slipped into his boxer shorts.
"I want you to go to your room. Take one of the UV-cubes and activate it when something wants to get inside. I'll take care of her," Sonny said and stroked Vito's head again. He took his gun from the mirror cabinet, unlocked the trigger and marched through the house. Far too big for three people, more secluded and with more land around it than the Manhattan mansion used to have. Graziella didn't want her child to grow up in the city. Far too many distractions. Far too many winged rats. The house had a very sophisticated alarm system and the windows of almost every room were fitted with frosted glass to block out prying monsters. Except for Graziella's room, of course. How else could she live out her obsession by allowing Nashville to live out his? He had suspected that Nash would seek revenge. Graziella had known it too. Maybe not that it would happen tonight, but maybe tomorrow. Why hadn't the security system kicked in? Because she'd turned it off again. When it came to Nashville, she was sometimes downright tired of living. Her condition had become more unstable since 2019. Even stays in Italy didn't make it any better. How much longer could this go on? He couldn't protect her if she wouldn't let him.
As he stood outside her bedroom door, checking his gun, he saw Vito peeking around the corner at the end of the hallway.
"Didn't I tell you to go to your room?" he whispered in frustration. "You're just like your mother. Always running off and doing your own thing." He patted his thigh as if he were beckoning a dog. "Okay. Come here. But keep out of the doorway until your uncle has checked that the coast is clear." Vito came scurrying across the corridor on his clumsy child's feet, pressed himself against the wall outside the doorframe and grinned at Sonny. The birthmark under his eye moved as Graziella's birthmark in the same place always did. Even though Graziella said that Vito looked a lot like his father - and yes, it was probably true - Sonny always saw Graziella in him.
Sonny didn't hear any noises in the room - only the soft splashing of water in the bathroom. So he dared to open the door, threw himself to one side and aimed the gun into the room. It really was empty. As silently as he could - and despite his size, he could be remarkably quiet - he slipped into the room, looked behind the door, under the bed, into the wardrobe and finally out of the open balcony door, the gun always ready to fire in front of him. But the room was cold and deserted. Only the splashing of water from the bathroom.
"Clear," he whispered. And heard Vito dart into the room behind him. When he turned around, the kid was standing in the room in front of the dresser, looking at the stains there on the carpet and the pillow soaked dark with bodily fluids. Hell, even he could smell the blood and sex in this room and his nose was human above water. On the floor, half underneath the dresser, he saw the torn condom. He left the window open to air out the room some more. There would be no more uninvited visitors tonight - it was too close to sunrise. He stepped to the half-open door of the bathroom, the room warm and filled with steam. He saw his boss's head sticking out over the edge of the tub even though she had lowered it, her hair already curling back into ringlets from the damp. He secured the gun and placed it on the cabinet, knocked, and Graziella jerked her head up to look at him. An imperceptible broken smile played around her lips. Sonny felt Vito's small hands on his thigh. Unsure ... but not afraid. He knew the circumstances too well for that. When his mother saw him, her smile widened. She stretched out an arm - wet and dripping, her mermaid curls hanging over it. The most beautiful and saddest water nymph in the world. An Italian-American Loreley, not high on a rock above the Rhine but capable of making men lose their way and their lives with her mournful siren song.
The child broke away from him and came to her and she put an arm around him.
"I love you so much, mio piccolo tesoro," she said softly as Sonny came to her and turned off the water, took the spray head from her and put it back on the wall bracket.
"I love you too, Mamma," he whispered, letting her squeeze him even though she was getting his pajamas, face and Nashville doll wet and the edge of the tub was pressing into his stomach. Sonny grabbed a large towel.
"Can you get up, boss?" he asked.
Graziella blinked at him from wet eyes. Of course, they were only moist because of the humidity in the room. Because Graziella Dracon didn't cry. Not when there was nothing to gain. That had been tortured out of her. Just like out of him. Showing pain as well, so she just smiled and shook her head, raising her arms to him. She wore only her black lace bra and her dark fabric cuff that stabilized her leg. He put the towel around her, slid his arms under her butt and back and lifted her up with ease. She snuggled against his broad, firm chest and he knew it wasn't the one she craved. He carried her to the bed while Vito closed the balcony door and lowered the shutters at the touch of a button. Graziella pressed her lips together as Sonny sat her on the bed - the only sign that she was in pain. The scratches on her hips were bleeding a little but he ignored them for the moment.
Vito - silent but attentive - had fetched a smaller towel and carefully dried his mother's long hair while Sonny opened her wet bra and took it off. He undid the bandage in the same way and only then did she lift her head so that she was not forced to look at her own leg. He only dabbed the wet skin where she already had dark hematomas. Graziella Dracon - the most powerful syndicate leader in North America - let everything happen to her without a word. He dressed her in one of her fuck-me-not underpants, into which he'd taped a sanitary napkin in case something of Nashville was still leaking out of her, then wrapped her in the biggest, fluffiest bathrobe she had. She called it her depression robe. He flipped back the blankets and Vito crawled underneath, lying down on one of the pillows. Graziella lay down next to him, opening her robe so that Vito could press himself against her chest and they could give each other as much warmth as possible. That calmed them both down. The fucking doll was sandwiched between them. Sonny wanted to get up but a look from his boss stopped him. Sighing, he crawled next to her.
"Move aside you two half-pints. Uncle refuses to let his butt hang out of bed," he growled and Vito giggled and Graziella also let out a soft laugh as he pushed them both aside and then pressed himself against the girl from behind who was basically every human boy's dream and at least one non-human boy's nightmare. For him, this was nothing sexual. On the contrary. Nothing quenched his own desires for a relationship better than witnessing what Nash and Graziella had been doing to each other for years. They were tearing each other apart. Not literally. And yet piece by piece. Whether there were 6000 miles between them or whether they were facing each other and outdoing each other with their stubborn, cruel amateur dramatics that were supposed to protect their fragile souls, it didn't matter. Soon there wouldn't be much left of either of them. How was he supposed to prevent that? How could he fight against the nature of things and the nature of these tortured souls themselves?
.
Okay - everyone raise your tails if you're distraught now ... Yes, me too. But as I said, there are 25 years between Brood of the New Age and this story. A LOT has happened in that time. People change, motivations change, circumstances change.
The non-consensual in the trigger warning above is perhaps a little questionable. But I'm not one who says: No NO means yes. If there is no explicit "yes", it's a "no". That's where Nathaniel and I are on the same wavelength, because Nate can't see inside Graziella's head he MUST think it is 100% rape.
Thanks for reading, Q.T.