Creatures of the Night – Austin Spradlin
Lust in many Things – Amy Hodges-Laurenzo
Fatal Lust – Michel Croteau
Spice – Dom Sabasti
– Austin Spradlin
Ilyanna opened her door and peered out at the snow-covered lawn. She winced from being snow blinded. A sigh departed from her mouth as she dreaded driving to work in snowy weather. She knew someone would walk into the library wanting to check out the latest true crime books.
She went to her closet and rummaged for some clothes. What she was not aware of was her window curtains were open. Her next-door neighbor Wesley, watching from his bedroom window.
It wasn’t like anyone would blame him for looking. The woman had smooth skin an exquisite ass. She found a pair of jeans. Then she went to her large dresser and found a pair of black panties.
Once she was dressed, she went into the living room and lit a cigarette. She closed her eyes, inhaled then let the smoke slowly escape from her mouth, forming into a small cloud that floated over the living room.
A knock on the door startled her, almost making her drop her cigarette. Bemused. She walked to the door and glanced through the peephole, seeing her next-door neighbor. She opened the door.
“Hey, I was hoping you could take these books to the library for me? I would but I’ve got to head to work like now and won’t be off in time to drop them off myself.”
Ilyanna studied Wesley for a moment. He was tall, with deep set blue eyes, dark spiky hair. Almost came off dorky. She had a couple conversations with him but did not know exactly what it was he done for a living. If she remembered right, he said last month that he was twenty-eight.
“Yeah, sure.” Ilyanna replied.
“Thank you,” he said, reaching her the books.
Their eyes fell onto one another’s. Ilyanna was ready to close the door in his face. She often tried her best to get away from him anytime they encountered each other. She always got a bad vibe from him.
“Well… Y-you have a good d–“before she could finish attempting to get away from Wesley, he placed a kiss on her lips – causing her eyes to widen and a small gasp exited her mouth.
On instinct, Ilyanna pushed him away and scowled, trying to process the audacity this man had. The stupid hardcovered horror novels fell onto the porch, thumping as they did. The look in her eyes said it all – she had been violated.
“Get the fuck out of here,” she hissed.
“Wait, I-I’m s– “
Ilyanna slammed the door in his face having no interest in hearing his apology. His books still lying on the porch. Her face turned red, she clinched her fist and felt a burgeoning anger. What was that? She considered pressing charges. Her security camera captured the nonconsensual kiss.
Ilyanna still managed to go to work. She didn’t bother taking his books. After a long shift dealing with people that irritated her, she was home. She would get a couple days off which was a huge relief. Most people would not believe it, but librarians had to deal with stupid people too.
Ilyanna stripped out of her clothes, took a warm shower. When she finished, she threw on a robe and tied it. She sat down in her living room and was going to watch reruns of A-Team. She always enjoyed watching them with her dad who passed away a year earlier. A knock on her door interrupted the plans of a peaceful night.
Zing… she received a notification on her phone. It was her security camera. She watched the clip. A surge of anger traveled through her. It was Wesley. He had returned and in his hands this time instead of books was a bottle of whiskey. His books were still on the porch, slightly damaged by the snow.
Ilyanna pressed the center button on the app and was able to talk to him, “Get out of here, creep.”
Her voice startled Wesley. He turned, seeing the camera. His face turned a shade of red with embarrassment. He knew she had the clip of him kissing her.
“Did you not hear me? I’m going to call the police.”
“Look… I shouldn’t have kissed you. I’m sorry.” said Wesley.
Ilyanna did see the bottle of whiskey. She enjoyed whiskey. Part of her thought it was peculiar how he knew that. A more rational part of her said, who doesn’t love whiskey?
“I was thinking we could share a drink together. Then I’ll leave.”
Ilyanna believed him. It was just a drink it would be quick. Then she could indulge in her A-Team marathon. “One drink then your ass is gone.”
She stood up, making sure her robe wasn’t undone. Then went to her kitchen, grabbed two glass cups, then walked to the front door, and opened it. “We can have this drink here.”
He nodded, poured some in a glass. The whiskey was an unusual brand. It was a red glass bottle with a golden lid that had a C engraved in it. C stood for Creature. It was a lust-potion for women. When a man shares a glass of it with a woman it makes her lust after the man. In this case Ilyanna would be lusting after Wesley. It had no effect on men.
Wesley had a mischief grin plastered on his face as he watched Ilyanna down her glass. He then poured him some and drunk his.
Ilyanna shook her head, “you drink like a sissy.”
“You drink like Hank Williams and that’s a red flag.”
Ilyanna started to strike back with a snide remark of her own. She stopped. As if she was frozen. The wind blew and a chill went down her spine.
“You alright?” asked Wesley as he stared at her, absorbing her beauty. She had collarbone length dark hair with choppy layers that impeccably framed her face. Smoke brown eyes.
Ilyanna didn’t say a word. She dropped the glass cups. They shattered. She pulled him inside by his shirt collar.
The two kissed with intense passion before she pushed him away. They stared at one another. Lust and the potential for rough sex hummed in the air around them.
Ilyanna took her robe off, showing she had nothing on underneath. Her dark unruly pubic hair was on full display. She watched as he devilishly bit his bottom lip.
Soon, she was bent over the kitchen counter – he was behind her. Her ass rippled like water with every hard thrust he delivered. Moans and grunts echoed inside the house.
***
The next morning, Ilyanna woke up in her bed. She glanced to her right and saw that Wesley was sound asleep. She was aching all over. Experiencing a severe stomachache. Sunlight diffused through the curtains, dancing on her back as she made her way to the bathroom.
“Oh shit,” she muttered, stumbling to the sink and gripping it. She gazed at her reflection. Her eyes were bloodshot. They turned yellow. Something happened. Her fingernails she kept short grew, her hands became the size of catcher gloves. She screamed in agony.
Wesley did not know that his potion turned women into creatures. Creatures that would get their well-deserved revenge on asshole men like him. Men who viewed women as nothing more than eye-candy.
The thumping and screaming were loud enough to wake him up.
The last thing Wesley saw was the bathroom door busting off its hinges. A creature charging at him with yellow eyes and reddish-brown fur, long sharp fangs that appeared strong enough to bite through steel without daring to chip.
Austin Spradlin is a 26-year-old writer. His work can be found in Serial Killer Magazine, Fahrenheit Books. He made his screenwriting debut in an upcoming horror film by Escape Films.
© 2024 – Austin Spradlin
– Amy Hodges-Laurenzo
Chapter 1
Outside the night club called Club Moon, Mara walked up and joined three other girls.
She was now dressed to the nines in a mid-thigh length black leather dress with ties about the breasts and no sleeves. She also wore knee high leather boots. Her hair had been styled down her back. The bracelet…she never took it off. For some reason, she couldn’t.
The other three girls had dressed similar in blue, red, and white. Blue marked Connie. Red looked good on Monica. White had been worn by Sherry. All four friends came from the day job…a Retail place called Angie’s.
“About damn time”, the lady in red snapped. She looked to have a good spray tan. “They are already open.”
“Sorry”, commented Mara, “I took longer than I wanted to.”
Sherry reassured the girls. “I got this.” She strutted up to the door man.
He glimpsed at his phone as the two guards stopped Sherry.
“We aren’t open quite yet’, she got told by a guard.
An image on the door man’s phone had his attentions.
His eyes looked up, past Sherry, Monica, and Connie…right to Mara. “Miss James, we have been expecting you.”
All three sets of the girls eyes cut to the late daisy.
“Our owner, Mr. Riker Pterolycus has been waiting for your arrival.” He unhooked the ropes and nodded to the lady in black.
“Um”, Mara appeared stunned.
One of the guards stepped to her, lifted the woman off her feet about the waist, and carried her up the front steps to the door before putting her down.
“Come now, we must not keep him waiting.’
“But my friends..?”
The door man opened the door. “Everyone will be let in shortly and they will be first, but he is expecting you now.”
Before she could say more, Mara got shoved lightly through the door and into the club. Then the door got closed and locked again from the outside. Mara stood there a moment in shock, she did not expect this type of treatment. She also could not help but be a little suspicious of it all.
Mara stood there a moment just inside the door. She wondered if she should be scared or not at the situation.
Then a man in crimson attire stepped up to her. “Ah, Mara James. Mr. Pterolycus is waiting for you in his private suite.” Gerald eyed the bracelet a moment…Yup, she is the little thief…and offered her his arm. “Please allow me to show you the way.”
She took it reluctantly. “How does he know me?”
He guided her from the open hall, through the ropes, and into the club. “Mr. Pterolycus was a part of a Date Auction for Charity. He does that sort of thing for various groups in the city, since he is single and all. He was won at the last one by Mrs. Mila Ferraro and she asked that the date be awarded to you.”
Mara shrugged. It did make sense to her. Mila happened to be the current shift supervisor at work and always trying to set her single employees up on dates. She would do something like this. She did it for another three months ago.
He led her through the club to an exclusive decorated staircase leading up to the second floor. “Just up stairs here. Go through the door at the top of the stairs. Mr. Pterolycus is on the other side of the door in the VIP suite.”
Mara started to go up and looked back. The man in red attire stood there as if guarding the stairs. There would be no sneaking out now. Figuring to just get it over with, she took the final steps to the door.
The moment her hand landed on the door, it opened abruptly…
A hand caught her by the throat and pulled her inside, flinging her face first to the
floor. She caught herself from hitting her head on the floor with her arms.
The door slammed shut and locked…even with some sort of electric security lock.
Mara managed to turn over to see her attacker.
What she saw, a six foot five muscular man with dirty-blond hair to his neck. He also dressed in all black attire. A very handsome specimen to behold.
His dark blue eyes took her in as they traveled her body from head to toe.
She happened to be a little thing to him at five feet and four inches. She seemed a little undernourished in his opinion. She had light brown hair and green hazel eyes. The little number she wore looked to be black leather and left her pretty throat exposed.
Riker liked what he saw, but his eyes settled on the bangle at her wrist.
“So you are the little thief who stole my cuff bracelet from the Oddities shop.”
“Stole”, she looked right at the bracelet. “I didn’t know they stole it. If it is yours, by all means take it.”
Riker moved in a blink of her eye and caught her wrist before she could attempt to remove it. Instead he shoved a locking pin in place on it.
She tried to pull it off as he released it a moment, but it would not come off now.
Riker took her wrist back in his right hand as he knelt again. He tapped the inscription on the bracelet. ‘Do you know what that says?”
She shook her head, fearful.
“That says Property of Pterolycus. This is an ancient slave bangle I gave to a delightful little cunt I owned that I delighted in fucking and now you wear it. Possession is 9/10th of the law. You have it, so I own you now.”
She shook her head, “NO!” She jerked at her hand but her wrist only tweaked in his grasp and she winced. “You can’t. There are laws against that kind of thing.”
He jerked her to him by the same wrist, making it hurt all the more. “Human laws perhaps. Do you really think they apply to me?”
After a moment of silence, she found her voice. “Are you insane?”
Riker laughed as he rose. Never releasing her wrist, Mara got ripped to her feet just as rough with his hold.
“This is my city, you see. My laws are all that matter here.” He flung her against the wall closest to them. Riker then pinned her with his body and held her wrists in his left hand over her head.
Though she struggled, his grip would not lessen.
He nuzzled her neck.
“NO!”
Suddenly, there was extreme pain at her throat on the left side where his head angled.
Mara screamed at the top of her lungs but no one came.
Her vision blurred. Her head and body felt heavy.
She fainted.
Only then did Riker stopped feeding from his newest pet. His tongue swiped over his fang marks and he licked the blood clean that ran down her neck to her breasts while he fed on her. She tasted like a fine wine to him.
His eyes ran up to her face after. “You are mine now, Mara. Just what that fully means you will know soon enough.”
He nicked his own hand and placed the bleeding portion over her slightly parted lips as he tilted her back in his arms. Riker’s blood ran down her throat for about three minutes before he wiped her mouth and hoisted her over his right shoulder. “Come, Mara. It is time I get you home.”
He chuckled, slipped out the door with her, and down to the emergency exit. Then he was away with her…out into the night.
One can lust in many things, in a city where a Vampire makes all the laws. A simple lust in a jewery item can warp into all types of posession and it can be the darkest of the dark
© 2024 – Riker’s Law
– Michel Croteau
In the north kingdom of Marsh Fenland elves, Fae, fairies, and other mythic creatures live all together not always peacefully. The king is elf Bechard who gained power after defeating with his army of aquatic elves the snow and mountain elves.
He is a strong, and handsome creature. His courtiers are his supporters, but also, he has enemies who hope for his demise.
His friends and courtiers, to celebrate his victory, decided to organize a costume ball to invite the fair ladies of the kingdom. The king has not yet found his mate and they hope that he will meet one who will steal his heart. They don’t know that he is lusting after a mated lady.
Beautiful Fae lady Odelia which is already married to his courtiers Count Toren have conquered king Bechard’s desire since she was a young girl.
Bechard the king has never revealed to anybody his secret forbidden passion for lady Odelia therefore he is overjoyed that lady Odelia will attend the ball.
While the king Bechard and his courtiers are organizing the festivities Count Toren brings bed news. He warns the king that some courtiers and the witch madame Kristania are conspiring against him.
King Bechard is intrigued … ‘ maybe she could help him win lady Odelia with a magic potion ‘he thinks and so he refuses to ban the fortune-teller announcing to his members of the court:
‘’My faithful courtiers before I would take such a drastic action against a woman that could be falsely accused … I’ll investigate myself going disguised as a shepherd to visit her at her lodging.
Disguised as a shepherd, King Bechard arrives at Madame Kristania ’s place at the edge of the town. He is anxious to talk to the witch about his forbidden love for lady Odelia.
‘’ Witch summon your magical powers … for I want lady Odelia to be mine… make her love me and I’ll promise you riches and freedom …” Bechard begs the fortune-teller.
‘’I know who you are…, and I know what ails you … your lust for a mated lady and I cannot summon my magical powers to satisfy your sinful desires … leave …and don’t come back!”’ The witch replies scornfully.
King Bechard is about to leave when he sees a lady coming to the witch’s place. She is veiled but he recognizes lady Odelia. He hides to listen to their conversation.
‘’My good friend I need your help … please end my torment …’ lady Odelia weeps.
“Lady Odelia … what’s wrong? Tell me what is perturbing you so deeply. I believe it is matter of the heart.”
‘’Yes… yes … it is my heart … I’ll confess my sin… I am in love with King Bechard … I dream every night of his powerful body possessing me… I loathe my mate, but I can’t dishonor him. ‘’
‘’Lady Odelia don’t cry any longer… I will prepare you a magic potion that will bring peace to your heart … come later to get it … go now.’’
King Bechard knowing that lady Odelia is coming back for her magic potion, he waits to stop her from taking it and declare his love.
While The courtiers prepare the upcoming ball and festivities … the witch tells King Bechard that he deserves to die, and he will be killed by the conspirators at the ball.
“King Bechard leave lady Odelia in peace … or I ‘ll put a curse on you … you will die by the hand of a friend!
‘’Damn ugly witch I laugh at your curse, and I’ll ban you… ha…ha! lady Odelia will be mine now that I know that she wants me too.’’
‘’King Bechard, you will not ban me … the curse will take place before another sun rises.’’
‘’Before the sun rises, lady Odelia will be mine and you will burn to the stake … I see my love coming to take your magic potion … throw it into the fire …Farewell madam.” king Bechard threatens the witch and runs to meet lady Odelia.
‘’Odelia… Odelia … come to my arms … I desire you more than my life that I dared scorn the witch’s curse … tell me that you want me too and I’ll be not afraid to die.” king Bechard declares reaching for Odelia’s body.
‘’Bechard, I have been loving you forever, but my parents promised me to Count Toren since I was born … I can’t be yours … let me go …I beg you… have pity on me.”
“A kiss … only a kiss to treasure until I die…” King Bechard implores.
While king Bechard is about to kiss lady Odelia Count Toren that had been following his spouse, discovers the lovers and he assumes that his spouse and king Bechard are involved in an adulterous love affair.
Count Toren furious contacts the conspirators that are planning to kill king Bechard and he asks to join them. The conspirators agree that the assassination will take place at the upcoming ball … and Count Toren will be the assassin.
Later in the evening King Bechard and his courtiers go to the costume ball. His enemies who hope for his demise are all wearing a black cloak and black masks while Count Toren is wearing a red cloak and a devilish masks signal to the other conspirators that he is the one who is going to send King Bechard to hell.
King Bechard while is suspicious of the ones wearing a black cloak and orders his armed elves guards to be alert, he approaches his friend Count Toren to comment on his custom:
‘’Very spectacular custom you are wearing tonight my friend … are you looking for sinners to take to hell? ‘’
‘’One will be enough for me … my lord’ replies Count Toren enigmatically.
‘’Where is your lovely wife … I would like her to hear too the good news that I am going to give to you.”
‘’What that would be Sir?”
‘’That I am thinking to nominate you as one of my counselors … wouldn’t you like to take the place of the retiring Ulder?”
“Of course, Sir … that it will be an honor that I don’t deserve.’’ Count Toren comments while bitterly thinks ‘ scoundrel, are you trying to buy my silence for your plan to seduce my spouse?’
Lady Odelia arrives dressed as a princess looking stunning. Her white outfit ornated with a short green cloak covering her shoulder emphasis her sparkling green eyes and a golden crown accentuates her shiny hair.
Count Toren approaches his wife and taking her hand announces sarcastically to the guests: “Look who’s here … our queen of the ball… isn’t she precious?’’
The guests, unaware of what is going on behind the festive appearance of the ball, laugh at Count Toren’s comment believing that he is just complimenting his beautiful mate … then they go back to dancing and being merry.
King Bechard, who has chosen to dress as a page asks Count Toren if he can have a dance with lady Odelia since she is the queen of the ball.
“Well, a page shouldn’t’ be allowed to dance with a queen but if it is his last wish … I ‘ll give my permission.’’ Count Toren utters as a joke.
King Bechard bows to Odelia and offers his hand to her ” My lady may I have the honor of this dance?”
Lady Odelia, knowing that her husband is suspicious of her relationship with Bechard, accepts reluctantly. ‘’Bechard you shouldn’t have asked me to dance … my husband believes that we are having an adulterous love affair. Please stay away from me … and leave now … I am afraid for you”
King Bechard after dancing brings lady Odelia back to her husband Count Toren saying: “My friend here is your queen … I’m only her humble page”… but when he is about to leave Toren stabs him shouting: “Here I avenge my honor with your blood.”
The wounded king as he dies begs lady Odelia for a kiss.
“Vile assassin … Bechard couldn’t have me, but neither will you” lady Odelia cries to Toren.
She gives Bechard the kiss he begged her for and then she stubs herself falling next to him.
One can lust in many things, in a city where a Vampire makes all the laws. A simple lust in a jewery item can warp into all types of posession and it can be the darkest of the dark
© 2024 – Michel Croteau
– Dom Sabasti
Milota gathered the herbs like she was instructed, careful to cut where needed, but knowing when to twist and tear. Her basket filled quickly and smelled amazing. She would often hold her hands up to her face and breathe in the magic. She would wield the power, hopefully soon, if only she knew who her adversary, her Satani, would be.
That was part of the intrigue to elevating one’s status, not knowing who you would face when the time came. For now, she was content with her studies and her gathering. It was a good life, considering where she started. She had opportunity and she had friends. What more could a spice acolyte hope for?
A new knife would be nice. The one she was currently using was jagged and pitted, much like the spice mines she roamed. An acolytes blade was essential, a symbol for many things. The thing in her hands looked like the charred remains of an old demon’s cock. Might be good for a jab or two, but hardly efficient for harvesting herbs.
The mines held secrets, even if everyone knew. These secrets were not shared by anyone because they were in constant flux. They all knew of the secrets, but nothing more. Discovery was rare, and revered, but Milota was eager. She felt the energy build over the last three harvests. She felt it getting closer, but just out of reach. It was exasperating, and it took all three of her decades of study to keep her anxiety in check.
She continued to jab and rip, paying little attention to the quality of her gatherings, focusing more on quantity. She may not produce the most refined of spice, but she would have more than enough to sell for a hefty profit, and then she would hopefully have enough to invest. She had been refining her sketches for months. The vision was firmly planted, now she needed to find someone worthy of executing it. In a week’s time of gathering, processing, and selling, she would have enough for a down payment, and the real work could begin.
***
The creeping dusk was a delicate misty blue when she struck out for the smithing district, a harness of laden pouches jangling on her bouncing hips. The denizens kept their distance, and took measures not to make eye contact. Everyone was very familiar with the acolyte life. No one crossed an acolyte, lest they shrivel your nut-sack like a grape in the sun. Many fanciful attributes swirled around the mystique of those that made the spice.
Milota was aptly stained by her work. The skin on her arms and face almost glowed with a red-orange pigment, proof that she was a spice witch. One problem with Milota is her eagerness to make eye contact. It made people nervous on top of being neurotic, which often became necrotic. At least that was what they told each other. Stories to frighten the young. Tales to keep a young husband in line.
She gave up on people decades ago. There was no reasoning with the unreasonable. But she kept scanning the crowds, shop signs, street corners, until a sense of familiarity took hold of her senses. She smiled, showing perfectly white, straight teeth. This was just another off-putting anomaly that the denizens could not get used to. Being a spice witch, in the city’s only official enclave, had many benefits, one of which was a fantastic dental plan.
The symbol on the sign she sought was a simple sigil depicting a hammer and a blade. The tinking of thick metal got louder as she approached until it sang its resonance in her head like a beloved old music box. Her smile broadened, filling her entire face, as she crossed the threshold.
***
The shop was overly dark, just the way she liked it. The owner, a ragged old soul with a thin ashy beard touching his belly, simply pointed to the next room, eyes averted.
“Really, Jacyl, after all this time and you still can’t look at me? What a shame.”
“Aye, Mistress, shame is what I fear. To look upon one such as you would have ripples of consequences. I’ll stick to my smithing, if you please. He waits for you, says he could feel you coming.”
“Believe me, Master Jacyl, if I was coming, the whole neighborhood would know.”
Master Jacyl blushed and groaned, squeezing his eyes tight, repeatedly jabbing a bony finger toward the next room. Milota lingered a moment more, hoping he might open his eyes.
She saunters slowly to the next room, red robes swishing in her wake, the scent of spice wafting in the air. She hears Master Jacyl audibly sigh after taking a deep breath, which makes her smile. She crosses the next threshold and the tinking immediately stops.
The room is fetid with forge heat, such a different scent than what she was used to. It was intoxicating to her. It made her blood sing. She took a moment to take it all in, and then she turned toward the central anvil, and beheld a god of a man, skin red from spice and flame, dark dirty hair tied back into a loose tail, muscled crevices lined with sweat and soot. And then those eyes, a blue that was almost white, an icy contrast to the surroundings, and they were staring right at her.
A chill rippled up her spine, causing her to gasp, and smile. “Hello, Master Sihn. I am pleased you can see me.”
“A master? Not yet. But, dear lady, the pleasure is all mine.” He emphasized his point with a flourished bow, and a very sincere smile of his own, followed by a questioning glare.
With one hand, Milota waved, slamming shut the door she had just come through. With the other, all window shutters slammed into place, firmly cutting off the outside world. Her hands danced in front as she took steps forward. By the time she reached him a myriad of wards had been set up. They were sealed, sanctified, and now completely cut-off, a dark realm of fire and lust within a dark city ruled by demons and succubi.
Sihn dropped his hammer and took a step closer. But, no more. She was an acolyte, consecrated by the dark goddess, untouchable outside the walls of the enclave. They were inches away from each other, breathing hard, sweating, wishing.
Milota took a step back and caught her breath. She blinks several more times, fully collecting herself. As he stares, slightly moaning, she retrieves a set of neatly folded parchment from a pouch, and reverently places them on the table to the side.
“Oh Mili, this is so maddening.”
“I’ve invited you to the enclave several times. Maybe if you ever decided to leave this hell pit…”
“You know Master J would never allow it.”
“I can be quite convincing.”
“Of that, I am sure. Of those things I am unsure of, well.”
“One day, perhaps?”
“Perhaps. One day.”
Milota sighs and turns to leave. Nothing was more distressing to a succubus than being denied. But, the reasons were just, in their own fucked up way. She could be patient, up to a point. She had vowed, from the first moment she laid eyes on Sihn, and vowed again from that precise moment when he laid eyes on her. But, that time was not now. Her ascension was essential, as was the knife. The plans, quite literally, were laid out on the table.
© 2024 – Dom Sabasti