Cruz had Lowthian tied to the bed in his suite. He carefully stuck a long, thin syringe into the vein of her unbroken arm and sucked out a tube of blood. He then squeezed it into his own.

He unfastened the strap on his bicep and shook his hand a little.
‘Just one more honey,’ he said and slid the needle into her vein again.

She tried to keep herself cold. She tried to keep herself detached but he was relentless. He was soft and slow, he caressed smooth oils into her skin, he massaged her, he tickled her. He was patient and subtly sadistic.

He managed, somehow, to find the one thing that would feel good at that moment.

It was a game to him. To see if he could make her climax. If he did, he won.

She had grudgingly admitted to herself that he wasn't that hard on the eyes anymore. He was starting to look healthier since he'd been taking her blood. He’d put on a few pounds of muscle and he didn't cough as much. When he did it didn't sound as bad.

He was starting to lose the pasty deathly pallor and when she asked him to shave off the stupid, prickly hair on his face, he had surprised her and done it.

He walked around smiling, cracking jokes and laughing. When they slept, he would hold her to him like a precious doll.

Lowthian was philosophical about the whole situation. It was just so completely ridiculous. If she had to become someone's mistress, better Cruz than that hideous old wizard.

He still wore that damned fetus skull though and when she had asked him to take it off he had refused, saying it was his good luck charm. It disgusted her.

The colonists were slowly losing the terrorized, trapped animal looks they wore on their faces. Cruz had stopped by Serenity Village years back and the visit was an ugly scar on their memories.

The new crew was still violent and unpredictable, but without Cruz to egg them on, not nearly as offensive. They would lounge around the brewery in the afternoon, eat dinner then take the catamaran into Saria to hit the brothels. Everyone was relatively placid.

Everyone except Zeke.

Zeke loved Lowthian more than he had ever loved anything or anyone. He had thought she was a perfect, golden angel. He had followed her around like a puppy.

He also had a strong sexual attraction to Cruz. He thought about them constantly. He was obsessed. Lowthian used to joke and read with him, Cruz used to fuck him. Now he was ignored by them.

When Cruz did venture out of the crumbling hotel on the hill, he looked right through Zeke. And Zeke began to loathe them both. He would sit under their window and listen to them having sex and his muscles would knot.

He started drinking again and joined the rest of the crew on their nightly forays to the whorehouses.

***

Vekna's beautiful castle had changed. From the sea it still looked imposing and majestic on the cliffs of D'Merici. A postcard. The envy of the other aristocracy. Yet most of the servants were gone. Dead or ran off, and the estate was in disarray.

The demon Tamat had a taste for blood and Vekna had also acquired her hunger. The walls of the western tower dripped with luminous oozing liquid and it trailed down the stairwell to the third floor.

Tamat and Vekna were a constant team. Vekna could levitate now, a newly attained talent; they would spend hours re-arranging the furniture, re-hanging the chandeliers or the ancient portraits. Floating things across the halls - floating themselves around. It was creepy.

And they would laugh together; John never knew about what. They would stop when he entered the room, like he had just interrupted the most delicious inside joke.

Vekna sent John into town every week for food. John went. He tried to pick fucked up people. The type that would probably die anyway, old junkies, lepers, lunatics. No women, no kids. Still he was wracked with guilt.

He put them in the old servants quarters and gave them liquor. He was horrified by what was happening, yet he held onto a naive hope that life would somehow return to normal.

***

In D'Merici, rumors flew. Stories about the large number of slaves John had been procuring were the subject of gossip and late night speculation.

Vekna had always been distrusted/disliked and people were willing to believe a lot about someone they feared. Lord Hectal paid the talk little notice. Humans were herd animals as far as he was concerned.

Politics of Fear bullshit, Vekna was planning a power play. Lord Hectal had sent spies to Vekna's but they had never returned.

Hectal was all for taking out Vekna immediately, but Dimitri's boat was repaired and Dimitri wanted Cruz first. Dimitri had learned that his cousin, a bounty hunter, had been slain in Saria. The rumor mill said Cuz was the murderer.

He was bent on avenging his relative’s death and when put that way, Hectal agreed.

***

One cloud dappled hazy afternoon, the Black Ship made ready to leave the cove in Serenity. The colonists breathed a collective sigh of relief and filled the cargo hold with cases of wine from their vineyards and rum from the stills.
A years worth of effort sailing away without even a ‘thank you’ but at least they had their lives.

Cruz seemed to have a sixth sense regarding the safety of his own skin. He felt itchy. He was longing for his haven in Ahktav, a few weeks sail north up the coast.

He wasn't exactly thrilled about carrying a cargo of liquor but his business sense just wouldn't allow him to sail all that distance with an empty hull; his opium connection was selling way over market price to the new mining town, the prick.

Anyway, he figured it was about time this land netted something.

These colonists, these squatters, acted like they owned the place. Cruz smiled, remembering the day he had sailed into this cove and announced he was their new landlord.

Their leader, a provincial old man who walked with a cane had stood up to him. Cruz had left him hanging from the balcony of the Inn. That was the end of the uprising.

Here and there he could recognize the bastard children of his old crew. The crew that had been eaten by the drugged Boy.

Cruz thought about Vekna. He was pretty sure he had killed him but you never knew with a wizard, they were tricky. All those spells, potions and God knows what else they do, the freaks.

Something was up. Something. He didn't know what, but he felt skittish.

More bounty hunters? He doubted it. This was a very defendable cove. Bounty hunters were not inclined to make bold death-defying attacks. Cruz hadn't left the island but he knew what was happening on the coast from the crew. Nothing.

And maybe that was it, who knew? He never questioned his instincts; they would leave with the tide.

***

As much as she wanted to, Tamat couldn't stay in this material plane indefinitely. There were things to deal with back in the Abyss, time wasn’t linear there.

Tamat was seethingly arrogant/narcissistic. She needed to know and control what was happening on her plane, and she couldn't look in from this side. She could leave voluntarily but she couldn't get back here until the gate was opened again. She needed to secure a stable path of return.

She went to the dining hall and found John passed out in front of the fire. She lay down on the fur rug next to him and curled a lock of his hair around a long red finger.

This human was incredible looking. His hair was chestnut and fell just below his shoulders. He was tall and his body was lean and sinewy. Tamat liked to watch him. She liked his reaction to her. Sometimes she would materialize in the hearth and walk out of the flames to him.

His eyes would widen and he'd start to shake. It really was adorable.

Tamat was very very fond of John. Not because he was attractive, but because he was responsible for her being here.

She kissed his cheek, he didn't move. He was completely inebriated. He wouldn't wake up for several hours.

She curled up next to him and started to purr, a low, raspy rumbling. She felt in complete control of this castle and everyone in it. Soon she would control the city. But she had to create a permanent gate.

Getting back and forth between the two material planes was very nearly insurmountable. Oh, when demons were called by conjurers they acted like supreme beings, but the truth was that many of them didn’t even have the strength to make the transition.

Those that did were in a weakened condition and usually controllable if the conjurer was powerful enough.

If it wasn't for this barrier, netherworld entities would rule the earth.

Tamat had been waiting for an opportunity like this for centuries and she wasn't about to let it slip away. Earth was fun, she liked everything about it; the air, the water, and the human/elf conflict was delicious.

She like the way most of them were ruled by emotions, their lust for power/money/sex, they were waiting for her.

These basic instincts were so easy to manipulate. She would supply them and be worshiped.

She could pass a thousand years here easily; it would be a nice change of pace. Once she had a church with priests, priestesses, accolades, they would all learn the ancient ritual of conjuring demons.

She would call it something else of course, something reverent. mmmmm….so nice to dream about.
Thousands of adoring devotee’s opening a gate once a week. Once that was set up….mmmmmmm.

Setting the right foundation was important; it would take a year or two. Nothing to stop her.

Except perhaps Vekna. He seemed submissive and pliable under her constant supervision; still it wouldn’t be wise to trust him.

No, this one here. This John. He would be her tool. He wasn't too bright, she liked that. He was scared of her, but he was still getting aroused whenever she was around. She liked that too.

This past month she had seen him disintegrate into a lush. He still ran the house but he performed his duties like a somnambulist.

She lay on the rug and contemplated the coals. All this plotting, scheming; she was tired. The immense amount of energy she used to sustain her presence here was taking its toll. She needed to rejuvenate; she needed to return to the Abyss.

John, in his sleep, curled up next to Tamat and she draped her leg over him and put her head on his shoulder and drifted. It was easy for Tamat to dream, she’d been doing it for centuries.

***

Vekna finished his dinner. Draining the last few gulps of blood from the man in his arms, he let his body drop to the floor and floated out of his chamber.

He found Tamat and John together, curled in front of the great hearth. Candles burning out.
Coals glowing red.

He sat in the huge oak chair in the corner of the room and watched them. Vekna could no longer sleep. He remembered it though and he missed it.

Over the last few weeks, bits and pieces of the days preceding his injury were filtering back. He now had a clear picture in his mind of Cruz and Lowthian.

He wanted her back and him dead.