Revelations

Copyright 1-11799981611 Rebecca Rathe

Edited by Book Witch Author Services

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Dedicated to the misfits, the weirdos, the ones who never seem to belong.

To the neurodivergent, the queer ones, the rebels and the freaks.

May we rise up, take charge, and make the world a better place.

Author’s Note

Revelations is a DARK paranormal MMMFM romance. This book contains very dark themes and explicit sexual content, as well as strong content guidance warnings. These include, but are not limited to: dub con, violence, torture, abuse, captivity, forced proximity, degradation, bondage, blood/gore, assault, deprivation, mental manipulation, possession, murder, war, starvation, discussion about abortion, and religious imagery.

If you do not like very dark romance and violence, this is not the book for you.

Prologue

My back slams painfully against the tile of the bathroom wall, hard enough to force some of the breath out of me. That’s going to hurt tomorrow. I love it.

I shouldn’t be here, in a dingy club bathroom stall, dry humping a stranger against the wall with my dress hiked up around my waist. This is dangerous, but my body is rebelling against my better judgment. My vagina has taken over my brain and is making its own decisions now, and I just can’t stop.

This can’t happen.

The handsome stranger I met on the dancefloor an hour ago presses into me, grinding against my center. I’m so turned on that it’s nearly enough to set me off. His lips leave a scorching trail across my collarbone and up my neck before he takes my mouth, his tongue colliding with mine. A spark of heat shoots down my spine, a flood of wetness soaking my panties.

Fuck. Stop now, Diya. Stop!

There’s something about this man that I just can’t resist no matter how hard I fight against my baser impulses, and I wonder fleetingly if my victims feel this defenseless—like a mouse caught in a hypnotizing sex trap.

A loud moan escapes me as his fingers grasp the flesh of my ass, gripping harshly as he rolls his hips into my groin. His nostrils flare as if he is scenting my arousal and the impression I got earlier, that this man probably isn’t human, comes to mind again. Too distracted for my own good, I don’t spend much time considering what he could be. The idea that he can smell how turned on I am clouds my judgment further and I fall deeper into the spell that my body weaves.

I should push him away—I will push him away.

I just need one more taste. One more minute.

My hips roll against the impressive erection straining his dark jeans, the friction only adding to the ache of my throbbing pussy. I’m so wet that I’m sure I’ve soaked the front of his pants. My hand snakes down between us, and sure enough, the fly of his jeans is damp.

I need to get out of here. Breathe, Diya. Walk away. Walk away.

Without my permission, my hand expertly releases the button and zipper, dipping inside to palm his thick, rock-hard cock. Running my fingers down the velvet length, I feel every ridge and vein. Fucking hell. He’s perfect.

Groaning, I clench so hard that I accidentally bite down on his tongue, earning me a hiss of pain. Oops. He doesn’t seem to mind, though. Instead, he thrusts harder into my hand and plunges his tongue deeper into my mouth. The taste of his blood floods my mouth and my basement, and I’m done for.

I legitimately cannot stop. I’m not sure which one of us pushes the soaked crotch of my panties to the side and lines him up, but the moment he pushes into me, I cry out.

In pleasure. In pain. In devastation.

I don’t want to hurt this man.

He thrusts into me with so much power that I feel my ass leave an imprint on the wall. He must realize that I’m not human either, but there’s no way he knows what I am, he would have run. I should have told him. I should have stopped this before it started. How could I be so weak?

My hands grip onto his shoulders, sharp nails digging into the smooth brown skin of his arms, simultaneously pushing him away as my legs grip him tightly against my body.

I feel it happening.

The sound of his heartbeat becomes the only thing I can hear, and it lulls me into a dazed headspace. My whole body warms, my skin tingling with heat.

Beads of sweat break out over his forehead, dripping down his face. My tongue darts out to taste the sharp, salty tang of his smooth skin.

I’m well and truly gone.

He looks up at me, his unnaturally green eyes remarkably clear. “Holy shit, your eyes,” he pants, but he doesn’t stop thrusting.

The silver glow of my eyes isn’t enough to scare him or put him off. He’s too far gone, lured in by my curse. If anything, it encourages him.

The buttons on the front of my dress are ripped open, my barely contained breasts straining against the thin mesh of my bra. He makes an unintelligible but appreciative sounding noise, something between a groan and a hiss, as he pulls one breast, and then the other, over the fabric of my bra so that they are both hiked up and displayed. The glint of metal from my piercings catches the light.

“Fucking hell,” he moans softly.

His tongue laves over each of my hardened nipples, biting down gently on each of the barbells, and I can’t suppress my whimper.

This is going to happen. I can’t stop it.

“Please,” I beg, meaning to beg for mercy. For this to end. For him to get up and walk away.

But he’s drowning in my spell just as much as I am. And what he hears instead is me begging for release. Little does he know that our release is his end.

Hooking one arm beneath my leg, he thrusts up at a new angle that has the little hairs all over my body standing on end. Electricity crackles through the air, the fluorescent lights blinking, as his perfect cock hits that perfect spot inside me.

He brings the end upon himself.

The hand that doesn’t have a death grip on my ass falls between us, and he rubs my clit roughly just as he bites down on the swell of my breast—hard. Pain slices through me as his teeth penetrate my skin. Blood gushes from the wound and drips down, soaking the front of my dress that is bunched up around my waist.

Fuck.

Everything shatters around me. My fever breaks instantaneously and my body locks up. The inner walls of my pussy clench down so hard he nearly chokes before following me over the edge. As if he ever had a choice otherwise.

My body is made for this. To take his lust, take his release and turn it into power. Even if I don’t want to, my body takes and takes until there’s nothing left. My curse. I can’t control it. As my pussy pulses, drawing out every last drop of cum from his body, I sob through the ecstasy of the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” My cries are muffled into his neck as my body saps the life-force from his.

Shaking, involuntarily relishing the rush of ecstasy pulsing through my body as his life-force thrums through my veins, I try to prepare myself so I don't fall when he does.

Except he doesn’t fall. He doesn’t collapse into a pile of ash.

He holds me against the wall for another moment, kissing me deeply before pulling out of me and setting me on my feet.

Breathlessly, he braces himself on the wall over my head, not bothering to pull his pants up yet. “Fucking shit, that was intense. Are you okay? I didn’t mean to be so rough.”

His forehead crinkles as he looks down at me in confusion, his strange green eyes narrowing as he wipes the tears and smeared mascara from under my eyes. His eyes are glazed over and dazed, watching me like he’s trying to unravel a puzzle. “What are you, exactly?”

I can’t even reply. I’m still trembling from a heady mixture of fear, surprise, and orgasm induced tremors.

“You…you’re…okay?” I probably sound like a lunatic, sucking in air between words. I’m probably minutes from dropping, I can feel a panic attack building.

What is happening right now?

“More than okay. That was…damn.” He leans down to kiss me again and my body is already gearing up for another go. “Do you know that your arousal smells sweet, like cherries or…?” He whispers against the shell of my ear, sending a shiver down my spine, until he swoons a bit on his feet.

Oh no. No, no no no no no.

I need to pull back before the swimmy feeling starts again. It’s a fucking miracle he lived through it once. I’m not chancing this again. Just as he presses in to deepen the kiss, his magic cock twitching back to life against my stomach, I manage to find the mental fortitude to push him away. He stumbles back, unsteady on his feet, and braces himself on the wall.

Is this a delayed reaction? Am I about to have to watch him die without the benefit of being mid-release? If that’s the case, he’ll be in so much more pain…

“I’m sorry, I can’t. I…I have to go,” I stammer before running out of the bathroom, leaving him standing with his pants around his ankles, wide eyed with confusion as he struggles to maintain consciousness. The thud of his body as he falls back against the wall echoes in my ears.

Making a beeline for a door marked employees only, I run up a flight of stairs and into what I’m pretty sure is a dressing room for visiting bands. There was a DJ tonight, so hopefully I’ll be safe from any company for a while. Locking the door behind me, I sink down to the floor.

My fingertips are numb. I haven’t stopped trembling since the Earth-shattering orgasm that remarkably didn’t kill the innocent man that my power lured onto the dance floor and then fucked against a dirty bathroom wall. At least not right away.

Rubbing my fist into my sternum, I try to do everything to stop or at least stall the rapidly building panic. Why is it so hard to remember all the exercises when you’re in the middle of it?

Sound—The muffled bass of the music below me.

Smell—Stale smoke, spilled beer, and…cum. Fresh cum. His and mine.

Sight—I focus on the peeling wallpaper and nicotine-stained band posters tacked up everywhere. Trails of viscous fluid on the inside of my thigh.

Touch—When I press my back against the door, I can feel the soreness of the bruises on my back. Which makes me feel…aroused. I focus on the light touch of my nails as I gently scrape them over my knee and up my thigh, into the wetness of the cum that is still leaking out of me. His cum and mine.

Distracted from the rest of the exercise, my fingers move through the slippery mess between my thighs. Bringing my hand to my lips, I taste the salty tang of my mysterious stranger before parting my legs and pushing my fingers behind my ruined panties. Pushing his cum back inside me, I press two fingers in and out before rubbing my sopping fingers over my swollen clit.

I didn’t even take the time to fix my clothes before I made a run for it. It’s a good thing no one was in the hallway, considering my tits are still out. I tug on the barbells and run my fingertips over the wound on my chest. The sting of pain makes me moan, and my fingers move faster against my clit.

My eyes close, holding onto the image of the way his unnaturally green eyes flashed as his cock drove into me. The way he held me up like I weighed nothing. The way he didn’t die after making me come so hard the lights flickered.

My climax washes over me like waves at the beach, slow and relaxing. The relief it brings is like a breath of fresh air after being underwater too long. Healthy or not, it always brings me clarity. Maybe it’s just my nature; part of who, or rather what, I am.

Every orgasm is a good orgasm, but this is nothing compared to what he made me feel. That was like an atom bomb compared to fireworks. I’ll never be the same.

I’ve always been better at bringing myself to climax than any partner I’ve ever had. Then again, I haven’t had many partners that weren’t unapologetic assholes or criminals of the worst sort. It’s generally hard to get off when you know the person you’re fucking is about to die a gruesome death. And I’ve certainly never had one live past his own ejaculation.

After the first time I lost control and gave in to my urges, I screamed for an hour. I had come across a group of teenagers my age and was invited to a beach party. It was probably my first experience with other people my age, and certainly my first experience with fun. I danced around the bonfire while sipping on a hard cider that packed more punch than I was expecting.

Woozy, I let a laughing boy with a bleached fohawk take me behind some rocks. He must have slipped something into my drink because he muttered something under his breath about being surprised I was still standing. I’d only had one drink, and didn’t even finish it. That’s when I realized I’d been drugged.

Not that he needed to drug me, I was a sure thing. My…curse was thrumming through my veins. I’d just reached the age of maturity for my species and, being on my own, didn’t quite understand all the intense urges my body was growing into. All I knew was to resist the urges, but it would have taken very little convincing.

Despite not being a fan of the way he was kissing and touching me, drunkenly pawing at my body and squeezing my boobs like a clown horn, my body responded to his lust. My head felt light and woozy. The thudding sound of his heartbeat muffled in my ears, and my usually lower body temperature rose to a feverish level.

I reacted instinctively, pulling that boy into an embrace and eagerly letting him inside me. I’d been having terrible urges for weeks, but purposely hadn’t gotten close enough to anyone to put them in any danger. I didn’t know for sure what would happen, but my mother had drilled into me the importance of my purity for as long as I can remember, until the day she cast me out.

A mixture of fear and loneliness, the effects of being drugged, and the overwhelming hunger for something I didn’t understand made me weak. I lost my virginity and my control that night, just six weeks after my sixteenth birthday, and in turn, made my first kill.

The moment that poor bastard came, I felt a boost of endorphins and adrenaline as I unwittingly siphoned the life-force from his body. He crumpled into a pile of burning ashes as I watched, terrified.

Screaming in terror, I clambered off the rock and into the sand. I knelt there in front of the spot where he'd disappeared and screamed again and again, but no one heard me over the sounds of the music and the rush of the rising tide. Eventually, the partiers moved on, while I remained huddled, half naked and trembling in the sand.

The sickest part of it all was that, physically, I felt amazing. No matter how much I ate, I was always starving, always weak. But that night, once I finally calmed myself down enough, I realized how damn good I felt.

It doesn’t matter how much I tell myself that he wasn’t a good guy—that he’d drugged me and would have done whatever he wanted against my will. I still feel guilty about it to this day. And I felt guilty every single time I lost control as I tried to figure out my curse. I worked at a sex shop, in a peep show booth, siphoning lust off the customers to keep myself alive. When that wasn’t enough, I would purposely put myself in the sights of very bad men. I was still taking lives, but at least they weren’t so innocent.

Eventually, I got caught, but rather than going to prison or worse, I was offered a job. I’ve been with the Mendax Corporation for about three years now, and it’s easily the best thing to ever happen to me. I have the opportunity to prove to myself and the world that I’m not evil—I can use my curse for good as part of Earth’s anti-dark magic coalition. They gave me a place to live, food and clothes, training, and a purpose.

Oh, and therapy. So I can work through my self-loathing and whatnot.

I’m not panicking anymore, thanks to those few tricks my therapist taught me. But the self-loathing is still there. Especially now that I’m realizing I just walked away from the only man to ever live through my curse. Ran away, more like. From a tall, sexy, chiseled, delicious man who made me see stars. And lived through it. UGH.

Part of me is scared to go back downstairs and check the bathroom, afraid he might have just had a delayed reaction and I’ll have to stare at the ashes of an innocent man. Another part of me—the sexually frustrated, pathetically lonely part—is intrigued and curious, and thinks that maybe I shouldn’t have panicked and ran away so fast.

I use the half bath to clean myself up as best I can, finding a faded flannel shirt in the closet. It smells like weed and stale dirt, but it’s the only option I have to cover up my exposed boobs and all the blood. I spray it down with apple-cinnamon bathroom spray and tie it off at the waist. It almost passes for cute over my short black linen dress and combat-style boots. It’ll have to do.

Cautiously, I head back down the stairs and into the back hallway where the bathrooms are. I knock before peeking into the men’s room, slipping inside. My heart beats frantically as I slowly approach the stall, pushing in the door a little too forcefully. It bangs loudly against the side.

I let out a heavy breath when I see there is no pile of ash. So he did live, then? There would be some sign if he hadn’t. My eyes catch a glint of something small on the floor near the cracked tile where our bodies slammed against the wall.

A tooth, or rather, a long, thin fang, is laying on the ground beneath where our bodies made an impression on the wall. Holding it up, I examine it in the light before unbuttoning my shirt a little and comparing it to the bite mark on my chest. Sure enough, the two canine teeth marks are much deeper than the rest. I tuck the tooth into the breast pocket of the flannel shirt and make my way back out into the club.

I’m searching for my mystery stranger when I hear my name called.

“Yo, Diya! Where’d you run off to?” Amber, the bartender and probably my only friend, pinches the material off my shoulder before letting it go and scrunching her nose. “What’s with the shirt? And why do you smell like apple pie and…weed? Did you run off and get high without me? What the fuck, Di?!”

“It’s a long story that starts with a smoking hot guy and ends with my dress getting ruined.” I lift an eyebrow, daring her to judge me. Not that she would, but she’s also never seen me do anything more than dance with a guy.

Amber knows nothing about what I am or what I do for a living, and she doesn’t ask. That’s my favorite thing about Amber. After we’d spent a few random nights people watching and making up life stories for the randos that came into the club, she’d invited me for coffee. We learned that we both have a great appreciation for caffeine and reading smut, and became fast friends. Most of our time together is spent quietly reading near each other, in a coffee shop or in the park.

She told me once that she could sense something about me, that I was special. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I only came to the club to siphon lust off unsuspecting drunks and frat boys, because, oh yeah, I’m a bloodthirsty succubus.

That’s right, Amber, there’s a whole unseen world outside the human population and they’re all afraid of me because I’m the worst monster there is.

“So where’s the hottie then? Must be snatched to get your attention.” She cranes her neck to look around at the dwindling crowd. It’s close to closing time.

I look around, but I don’t see him. I can’t hide my disappointment, and Amber’s eyebrow shoots up at my expression.

“Maybe he’ll come back tomorrow,” she says, patting me on the shoulder.

The Story Continues on BooksBarbecue!

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