not your queen, your dictator

Pious little souls already locking themselves up behind closed doors and pulled drapes as he made his way towards the square. Head ducked, eyes naturally almost as dark as they could be peering up through the windows, the windshield, lips twitching as he saw the whisk of those drapes across the windows. They weren’t gonna be able to shut out the dark or the nightmares. This town was already filled with ‘em. More than New Orleans. There it was mostly an infestation of the things - witches, vampires, shifters – not the heady perfume of sulphur and brimstone here.

Castor shivered happily as a crack of lightning split the sky. Miles off over the woods, the sky that was barely scudded with clouds lit up with it for a moment. No storm tonight folks, just your future hosts stretching their wings here.

He’d have gunned it through the lights, clipped the old fart shuffling across the street, but Chase here was meant to be a choir boy. Even if he had no compunctions about leaving this choir boy of a shell shaking in the shower again, blood splattering his face, the broken doll of the corrupted body of the former werewolf staring at him from his bed - wide, blank eyes staring and all that terror screaming through him – others here did and the last thing he wanted was to be yanked out of all of this.

The grin spread slow, cocky, as he parked the car at the curb outside the club. A ‘cop on the clock’ badge shoved on the dash – take a look at that de la Peña – and Castor was slipping out of the car. That boxer’s face lit as he strolled past the queue to the disgruntled mutterings of the folks left huddled out here. Not coming in until some other loser was escorted out.

One black eye winking at the bouncer on the way in. The scarred knuckles, thickened nose would usually pick him out as trouble in a place like this but no one batted an eye at him edging through that crowd. ’s’OK folks, ain’t comin’ for you. A promise none of them would hear aloud. Up here they were all lost in the pound and thud of the music, liquor loosening tongues and limbs until the whole pack had melded together – one lusting, frustrated, desperation mass all wrapped around each other like a nest of slowly rotting snakes. If she was feeding on them through the floor, Hannya would be getting her fill of it all. If not …

The smoke roiled out the door as the gatekeeper opened it, scented, heavy enough to choke you … if you breathed. Chase would catch the whiff on his clothes later, panic furling in his stomach as he pawed through it all, trying to find some hint of where he’d been. ”Nowhere you wanna be baby boy,” Castor crooned. The tinkle and clack of tiny bells and beads, sent rattling by the shimmying of the things down here. Low voices, drifting up over the bass as he worked his way through it.

Black eyes, now beginning to gleam with that inner dark light, skimmed the crowd but she wasn’t there, draped over the bar, waiting for him like she practically had that first night. A cluck of his tongue. Disappointing, especially after weeks of him playing choir boy. He probably reeked of it, a sanctimonious stink that’d cling like the fruity smoke.

He tucked the tip of his tongue up against his teeth, whistled to get the twelve year old looking thing behind the bar over to him. ”Vodka,” he drawled. No adulteration to water it down when Chase wasn’t wringing his hands about crashing the car or getting in the sort of trouble that’d bring the spotlight back on that jailbird brother of his. The bartender had barely set it with a clunk on the bar when she was there.

Oh, look at it. The sneer curved the demon’s lips as he was shoved back against the wall. Hands with those painted nails that could spear him like a harpoon pinning him against the cheap plaster board veneered with crappy wood panelling – not half as classy as they liked to think. ”Smells good on you,” he rumbled, hands coming up to band around her wrists. Castor let out a low, crooning him. ”You don’t think it’s the opposite, honey? Too friendly for his good, or for your likin’.” He dipped his head into her then, teeth flashing ferally as he dragged in a breath. Instead of her drinking in the jealousy she was letting it pour out over him.

Flames licked at his skin, had him laughing low, a threatening rumble as he dipped his chin. Chase’s saintly penitence rolled over his face, empty eyes softening, pleading. ”It’s not for me, I swear it to you baby.” It didn’t last for a moment before he was gripping her wrists harder, bumping a hip against hers. ”She’s his and he’s the long game. You want me to spoil my dinner by snacking too early?” The long game had always been the aim before Chase’s sanctimony had grown tiresome and he’d set that meat bag of denial aside for a while. Now it was back. Twist him up, the brother, the liar with the serpent’s tongue, turn and yanked and break them – after he’d had his fill.

Tagged: HANNYA * Word Count: 902

All that jealousy spilling out. He didn’t feed on it himself, not the way that she did but Castor could’ve bathed in it the same way the things down here were doing in the smoke of the pipes. He let Hannya pin him to the wall, didn’t bat much of an eye when she almost lit him up for his crimes. Chase and his play thing, cavorting around town where Hannya had obviously spotted them somewhere – and he hadn’t spotted her. Castor clucked his tongue lightly, he was obviously losing his touch.

And she was losing her temper.

A shudder ran through him as he basked in it. Almost felt like home really, even if it’d been the better part of a century since he’d been down there. The feel of the water in his own skin boiling to the surface leaving him writhing in Hannya’s grip as he tried for a little penitence than he’d likely only find down on his knees. The penitent man put his hours in that way, pleading to some sort of higher power for a little forgiveness. A celestial pat on the head and some forgiveness that’d unburden a soul, if you had one that was. His own was long gone but Chase’s burned bright enough that it was almost blinding in its piety at times.

The low soothing hiss worked between his teeth as he bumped himself into her. That’s it baby, drink it in. His eyes cut, black reflecting the flames that had risen from him as Hannya glanced into the smoke. The snack she’d been enjoying before he’d shown up. Tut tut, no twisting it around when she’d been just as naughty here.

Castor tilted his head as she eased the flames, one corner of his mouth kicking up in a coy smile at her. Ugh. Progress at least that left him skimming rough fingertips down her arms. ”If that’s the case, then you gonna share yours?” he asked, knowing that he’d likely get another burst of the heat for playing Hannya at her own game. ”Not that one.” A grumble over the vampire, not his sort, not enough fun there. ”When it’s time you can get your nibble. He never gets to be happy for too long, gets too … sickly … if he does.” Sappy, sanctimonious. Better to wipe the slate clean with another of those nights. Dark eyes gleaming as he left Chase dancing like a marionette in a pair of sadistic hands. Watching from the inside as the crap was kicked out of him. Guiding his hands as he carved.

Those same hands gripped at Hannya’s hips as she shoved him now, latching lips on him, trailing her tongue like he was the snack. Castor patted one lush curve like he was placating a child. ”Tit for tat then honey? You get to twist her up a bit and I get him?” One hand slid back up, closing lightly over Hannya’s throat, studying those dark eyes that met his like he could see the brain behind her meat suit cowering away in a corner. ”Still in love with him, huh? You wanna see us get our hands on him, darlin’? Maybe you’ll finally get some.” The chuckle was low, dark. Too much like Chase, an innocent steeped in all that darkness, maybe thinking they could tread water in it.

Dark brows furrowed, the demon rifling back through the cop’s’ rolodex of coworkers. There were plenty at the station, not many that weren’t from here though. The town attracted its outsiders, but for the most part they were home grown, replaced regularly when whatever else called Mystic Falls home cleared them out bloodily. ”Detective,” he said roughly. ”Which one’s her little puppy? The giant asshole with the Feeb badge, not the crusty old guy with the stick up his ass.” He laughed at that, naw, that one might’ve looked ready for a cane to shake at the kids but he definitely wasn’t the kind to go for this. ”The partner,” he guessed.”Tryin’ to keep him safe or you worried Chase here’s gonna spill some secrets? Aww.” The sound was a croon as he flexed his fingers for a minute before he pressed his lips to Hannya’s. Don’t worry baby, Chase wouldn’t say a word, hell, he didn’t know a thing he wasn’t shown, those puppet strings still wrapped tight.

Tagged: HANNYA * Word Count: 731

The laugh rumbled up out of Castor’s chest as Hannya settled into him, growling like a little puppy trying to warn invading hands away from a juicy bone. All threat, no real follow through with teeth he knew would be razor sharp when they came. Hannya didn’t want him to know how much she wanted McGrath, but she didn’t do anything about the energy that rolled out of her. Green, dark and sickly and reeking of emotion. If it hadn’t been for his own little morsel in the chimera he’d have pushed it, jamming a thumb into that sort spot until that blast was a tsunami. For now he was like a toddler, knowing that the slapping ‘no!’ was coming but stretching out a hand anyway. Would it end up tit for tat? Undoubtedly and Hannya knew it.

Castor was tempted to circle her now, trailing fingers over those buxom curves that he’d metaphorically drill into her, searching out those squishy bits so they could both get what they wanted. It was a softer game than the one he’d played on Chase Buckley for years, but in the end it was going to be nothing in comparison to what he would do to Chase once he started to tie the professor up in dark little bows, tugging at her strings, a puppet like all of them.


The flames had done nothing to cow him, it had all been a reveal of Hannya’s jealousy and he revelled in it. Castor waited for them to spring back up as he clucked his tongue at her. One dark brow arched, his thumbs pressing heavier into the tender dips of her inner elbows before his hands gripped other tender spots. ”I didn’t think we’d talked terms, not really. Just one bite honey. He’ll barely even feel it.” Castor knew the same wouldn’t be said for the former werewolf, once Hannya had her claws in she wouldn’t be satisfied until both her and Buckley were milked dry.

There she was. Chase’s heart would’ve bled for her, even if he had no real concept of what he’d been subjected to yet. Those tiny glimpses of a world filled with blood and pain and death weren’t enough for anything more than those nightmares he screamed his way out of while the thing inside of him laughed. Castor squeezed just a little harder, wanting that sputtering voice to go breathy. ”Aw, honey, it’s touchin’, really, but it’s too late, you’re already in his life and that’s gonna hurt that boy more than anythin’. You won’t recognise him once the two of us are done with him. You want the bits back after?” Maybe he’d let Chase remember that, remember a blonde clinging on to him, begging him to stop while unidentifiable chunks lay around them.

The switch was flicked fast enough he barely saw it but the tears dried immediately, lips that had quivered a moment before curved up, pillow plump with satisfaction. Castor drew her close with that grip at her neck, grazing teeth over her ear as he snorted. ”You loved every second of it,” he purred in her ear. That wouldn’t be enough for her though, the taste of the host’s fear and desperation little more than a mouthful. You needed a feast every now and then and the long game he was playing with Chase was going to be the feast of the century … as long as nobody else spoiled it.

Toying with Hannya’s mark would be a way of keeping her too busy to do much to stomp over his own game. Castor circled which one it was, casting names aside with a glee until he settled on McGrath. The demon grinned as Hannya clutched her nails into his skin, little marks for Chase to see later and wonder over. Maybe the chimera would even get a glimpse of them. What were you doing choir boy? ”Don’t worry baby,” Castor whispered. ”Our lips are sealed.” For now. Who knew what moves the game would take later.

Castor growled hungrily into the kiss, his hand sliding up under her throat until her had her jaw cradled. He could’ve torn her away from the heat of the kiss as she bit at his lip and pulled but he let her, the hiss that rolled out of him more a sizzle of pleasure than pain. ”Spoil sport,” Castor grumbled. He brought his other hand up, thumbing at the blood before Hannya pressed back in. She wicked it away with her tongue, bringing up another sound of pleasure. ”Sounds like a one sided deal to me. You get to play with mine and I’m hands off for yours? No.” Castor tightened his grip on Hannya’s jaw, turning her head to nose at her cheek, spreading the blood from his lip over her skin. ”Where’s the fun baby? You set hands on her, I set hands on yours. We both get a little something out of it.” His thumb pressed harder on the tender skin just under the hinge of her jaw as he set his teeth into the lobe of her ear and bit sharply.

Tagged: HANNYA * Word Count: 859