Welcome to Vegas, Have a Nice Holiday

by Fantaghiro

Summary:

There is a predator lurking in the shadows of Sin City. But he's about to learn that the humans of Earth are a different breed.

Notes:

I love Spike and I thought it was a crying shame they did away with him. Such a shameful waste of Wraith goodness.
Well, fortunately, Spike is fictional, so he doesn't really have to die. At least not in my headcanon.
He can suffer a little first. ;)

Chapter 1: Oh, How the Tables Can Turn

Summary:

"Victory comes from finding opportunities in problems."

Sun Tzu

Alone on the dimly lit street, hands in his pockets strategically highlighting the bulge in the front of his jeans, he leaned back against a streetlamp, tapping it with the sole of his right leather boot.

He'd had reasonable success with this approach before. The City of Sins, as one of the humans had called it, was teeming, it seemed, with people looking to "sin". And human males were surprisingly careless about their sinning.

His lithe form, long hair and youthful appearance made him an interesting target for the ones who sought the company of other males in the dark.

They thought him easy prey. They were always disappointed.

He looked on placidly as a sleek-looking silver car slowed down and stopped beside him. His right hand twitched in his pocket.

The window of the car slid down and his eyes widened in surprise. A female! How curious.

Although his time on Earth had not been long, he'd nevertheless come to learn that the Tau'ri females were much more cautious and flighty than the males. And much, much less prone to succumb to the charms of those who sold their bodies by the side of the road. Technically, human females were easier prey. But not one of the vehicles that had stopped for him so far had had a female driver.

"Hi there," she called to him cheerily.

He smiled and approached with fluid ease.

"Do you need a ride, young man?"

He shook his head no.

"Oh. I see," she laughed. "But this isn't a great spot for that, you know. Any luck tonight? Business going well?"

He shrugged with a sigh.

"Not great, huh? I'm sorry... You don't speak English well? That can't help matters any," she said with a frown of compassion.

He leaned on her window and smiled, looking her up and down in seductive invitation. 

"Come on," she said warmly, motioning for him to get in. "We can go to my place, it's close by. I'll give you some money and you can take a break today. Not sure I have what you're probably shooting or smoking, but I'll feed you some scrambled eggs or something. You look a bit hungry."

Hungry, yes...

He crossed over to the passenger door and got into the car. Leaning back into the seat, he took off his fingerless leather gloves and started absently playing with them in his lap.

*

The car went up the long, dark gravel driveway and pulled up in front of a large house. The woman turned the key in the ignition and turned to him.

"Let's go in," she smiled.

Oh no. Going in was not necessary. He would not be long. He could have his meal right here. And he needed a new car anyway.

A dark glint flashed in his eyes and his nostrils flared. His right hand flew toward her chest so fast she barely saw it coming. She cried out in pain and surprise as he slammed his palm down with eager anticipation, but did not struggle or try to fight him like the larger males had.

Instead, her hand shot up, fingers stiff, and she jammed her clawed fingers into his eyes with a fierce yell. Blinded, disoriented and in pain, he tried to catch her wrist with his free hand, but she grabbed him by the hair and slammed his head against the dashboard of the car, with surprising strength and ferocity, a couple of times in quick succession. The crack of bone against plastic reverberated through the air. Dark blood trickled from his eye socket and the bridge of his nose, and his body went slack.

Breathing hard, she leaned back in the driver's seat. She closed her eyes and grabbed the wheel to stop her hands from shaking. Her chest bled and stung and she felt like she'd run twenty miles.

She sat there quietly for a moment, listening to the ragged whisper of his breath.

"Still alive," she murmured. "Very good."

With methodical hands, she opened her purse, took our a small bottle and generously doused a car rag with the liquid in it. She pressed the fabric to the man's mouth and nose and held it there for him to breathe in the fumes.

Never hurts to be safe. This could take a while, can't risk you waking up.

She took a short moment to study him. He wore a long, black coat and underneath it, a striped t-shirt and black jeans. He was tall and, obviously, deceptively strong for his slim form and looked quite young, except for the strange mane of long, white hair that covered half his bloody face. Drool trickled from one of the corners of his mouth and his cracked forehead looked a patchy green under the dim overhead light.

She lifted his limp right arm to take a better look at the hand he had attacked her with. It was covered in tan foundation and she wiped off a spot. Underneath, his skin was a marbled green. His palm was split by a weird gash oozing a sort of green liquid. She touched it lightly in fascination and the edges quivered.

"What the hell is this?" she whispered.

She peeled off a piece of the man's crumbling forehead. The gash in his eye socket seemed to have healed. "What the hell are you?"

She got out of the car and opened the passenger door. Fisting a handful of hair, she pulled his head back to make sure he was still out for the count. She grabbed him by the armpits and dragged him off.

His boots scuffed against the steps to the cellar and he began to stir.

"So soon? Damn, boy..."

She dragged him quickly to a steel post sunk deep into the concrete, took off his coat, secured his wrists and ankles to the post with heavy chains and manacles, removed the spiked choker he was wearing and fitted a shock collar around his neck.

She took a bottle of water from a shelf next to a grisly looking whip rack, twisted the cap and leaned against the wall, waiting.

"Oh, how the tables can turn. Really not your night, eh, buddy?" she smiled sympathetically. "No worries, we can still have fun and get to know each other. We'll take our time, I don't think there will be anybody looking for ya."

Chapter 2: You Hunt Well

He came to slowly. 

At first, there was only pain. A pulsing throb behind his eyes and the metallic tang of blood in his mouth. He felt dizzy, his head felt heavy and his vision was blurry.

He tried to rise, but the chains bit into his wrists, pulling him back to the pole like a rag doll.

Muscles straining, he thrashed, slamming against the floor and clanging against the pole. The chains groaned under the strain, but the heavy bolts held firm and the cuffs didn't yield.

He hissed through clenched teeth and looked up, blinking fast, trying to clear his vision and get his bearings.

Confusion warped into awareness. There was the woman, his unlikely captor, leaning against the wall. Instinct told him to get at his prey and he pulled at his restraints again, hissing in pain and frustration.

He could hear her heartbeat speeding up. Out of fear, excitement, or both, he wasn't sure. The signals were confusing.

She took a drink from the bottle to steady her nerves. "Thirsty?" she asked with a small smile.

He spat off the broken prosthetics in his mouth and growled at her, baring sharp, needle-like teeth. The guttural, inhuman sound reverberated through the small space.

His contacts had fallen off in the fight and he regarded her with strange yellow eyes with slitted pupils.

"You don't have to drink if you don't want to. But it will help with the headache and dry mouth from the chloroform."

She twisted the cap securely and rolled the bottle on the floor towards him. It stopped next to his leg and he grabbed it, opening it and taking a big gulp. A dark tongue snaked out to lick his chafed lips.

"I hope it helps. Although I'm not familiar with the biology of your species... Whatever you are."

She tilted her head, eyeing him curiously.

"What are you? What is that thing on your hand?"

Reminded of his hunger, even more pressing now after he'd had to heal, and of how close he'd come to feeding, he hissed at her again, scorching her with a furious look.

His chest rose and fell in shallow bursts.

A piece of his cheek had fallen off and a small, vertical slit quivered underneath.

"So you won't tell me," she smiled. "That's okay. We have time."

She sighed and pulled away from the wall.

"I'll let you calm down and familiarize yourself with the place, look for ways to escape, stuff like that. Call if you need anything. My name's Joan. Or don't call, growl, rattle your chains, whatever. I'll be upstairs."

She turned to leave.

“Female…” he spoke in a strange, raspy voice, layered with vibration. "You hunt well."

Without turning, she smiled and closed the heavy door behind her.

Chapter 3: Trapped

Alone in the dim light, he stood.

He flexed his hand, willing his handmouth to open. Everything looked fine. She had not done anything to it. He grinned. This was encouraging. Humans were so weak in their "mercy".

His hands went to the strange thing that was circling his neck. He pushed his fingers underneath and pulled with all his strength, but it didn't give. A metal shackle of some kind, but it did not seem connected to anything. "Wireless", maybe? Or just decoration? He ran a finger around the edge. Smooth, no apparent seams. Two locks. He felt for the mechanisms. Nothing happened.

Collared like a damn animal.

Snarling in frustration, he threw himself against the metal pole. His shoulder protested badly, but nothing gave...

The chain rattled and creaked when he pulled at it. No slack. The forged links cut at his skin. The anchor points in the pole... no wobble, no seam, no rust.

Again he pulled, shoulders straining until the muscles burned. The pole held. The chain held. The lock, gleaming with fresh oil, mocked him.

Could he break the bones in his hands and pull them through the cuffs? The left one, maybe. The right, no. He would damage his handmouth badly. Maybe he could pretend he was still shackled and grab the woman with his free hand when she came close. But he was already running on empty. If he had to heal a badly broken hand... Would he have the strength?

And what would she do? This was no ordinary human. She seemed unnaturally strategic. Surely she would have another trick up her sleeve. A shiver went through him. She did indeed hunt well. And trap well.

No, this was not wise.

He forced the anger back. Anger clouded the senses. He stretched them instead. His sensory pits flared. The cellar air was damp, iron-rich, touched faintly by mildew. No hidden drafts, no rodents scurrying.

The woman’s scent lingered, fresh, close enough that he could still taste her skin’s salt in the air.

He reached for her mind. The walls blurred it, but anger and vigilance bled faintly through. She was still near.

Other humans in the house? There seemed to be none. She lived alone. Was this good or bad? Bad, he decided. Others may have been more prone to manipulation, especially the young or other females. Although she was weaker on her own. Not weak enough, his pride taunted him...

He growled and pressed his forehead to the cold metal. No brute strength would free him. No clever twist of flesh or bone would undo the bonds.

If she did not choose to release him, he would not walk out of this cellar.

Chapter 4: What's For Breakfast?

The smell of old wood, leather and rust lingered in the air of the dusky cellar.

And he was bored... Bored out of his mind. 

He was sitting on the floor near his pillar of torment, hugging his legs close to his body, when he heard the female stir upstairs. He heard steps and scuffing, water running, the sounds that humans made when they were moving about their dwellings. 

The heavy door to his prison swung open and he stirred. He hated to admit it, but the quiet and the solitude were driving him mad. He'd take the company of kine over that.

Barefoot, clad in a flowing red dress, the woman stepped in with a small tray of food and a bottle of water. Yellow eyes followed her with hungry intensity.

"Good morning. I brought you some food, you must be famished," she smiled.

Oh, he was famished. His nostrils flared and the slit on his cheek quivered.

She put the tray down next to him and he reached for the bread, taking a small bite. The taste was not unpleasant. He twisted the cap and took a drink of water.

"I'm gonna leave these here, okay? Do you... need to use the bathroom?"

He growled softly in response.

"I will be honest," she sighed, "I haven't really thought that part out. I'll see what I can do... I have a bathroom here, but I think I have to..."

Let me go, yes, he thought with smooth satisfaction. This was an unexpected stroke of luck. He'd never thought he'd be grateful for the humans' dirty habits.

She went behind him and he heard a click and felt the heavy cuffs fall away. In a heartbeat, he turned and his right hand flew forward towards the hapless human. A strangled roar burst from his throat as he felt lightning zap him. Terrible pain shot through his frame and he collapsed, writhing on the floor. The woman rose from behind the pole and the cuffs clicked back on his wrists. His feeding hand twitched desperately, finding no purchase. But at least the pain was over.

Panting, he sat up and snarled at her.

"So that's the way you wanna play it," she said darkly, strangely calm. She studied him, looking between his legs. "I asumme you don't need the bathroom, do you?"

Her question was met with a hateful growl.

"If you don't need the bathroom, then you probably don't eat, right?"

Silence.

"It doesn't matter. Piss yourself for all I care. But I will need to know what the deal is with that fucking hand you keep slamming on me."

"Come closer. I will show you."

"Ah, so we speak English well enough. I don't think I will, love. But you will tell me."

"Are you sure?" he grinned.

She nodded and opened her hand, showing him a small device with a button on it. Smiling slightly, looking into his eyes, she pressed it.

He roared and his chains clattered as he again convulsed in pain on the floor, teeth bared, until the current died. When it ended, he rose to his knees, chest heaving. His eyes burned with rage.

"We can do this as many times as we need. You seem like a sturdy fellow," she smiled. "Now. Do we need to do it again or will you tell me?"

"You will find out anyway, human," he growled menacingly. "You will make a mistake."

"Likely. But I'd rather find out now."

"No."

She pressed the button again and the tortuous lightning left him breathless. His heart was fluttering wildly, painfully and he suddenly grew afraid. Perhaps he should give himself a break. Wraith were powerful. Not invulnerable.

"Let's try this again," she spoke, licking her lips. "What is the thing on your hand?"

"My feeding organ," he admitted.

She frowned. "You're trying to eat me? With... that? But... I mean, I think your teeth can do the job, they look sharp enough."

"We do not 'eat' as you do, idiot," he snarled.

"How do you eat, then, fucker?" she snarled back.

"We absorb the life energy of humans," he grinned at her. "With this. The process is too complicated for your feeble mind. But that is all you will need to know, kine."

"What the fuck is a 'kine'?"

"I believe you call them 'cattle'."

She snarled at him, baring her teeth. Then she started laughing.

He angled his head in confusion. "Have you gone mad?" he asked mockingly.

"Ah, no," she replied. "It's just that you're the first talking tiger I've had in here. I find it a bit funny." Her expression softened. "What's your name?"

He hissed and bared his teeth.

"You won't tell me?"

"We do not share ourselves with kine."

"Okay. I'll let you keep your secrets. This time," she said with an amused growl. "In the meantime, I guess I'll call you Shere Khan."

"What the blazes is a Shere Khan?"

"He's a tiger from... Never mind. So you want to eat me. That's why you got into my car and then you attacked me. Twice now. On that street... I thought I was saving a wounded doe, but I guess I was walking into a spider's web," she laughed again. "That's how you hunt, huh?"

He regarded her with a smirk.

"Well, aren't you unlucky, you poor thing," she said, almost affectionately. "Do you eat anything else? Apart from humans?"

"No."

"But you ate my sandwich."

"We can eat. It does not sustain us."

"How come?"

He fell silent.

"No worries, we'll talk again," she smiled. "Why do you have those teeth, then?"

"We use them, when we are young."

"So you eat when you're young. But then you don't eat anymore."

Silence.

"Okay. Well, in this case, I'm sorry to tell you, but you're going to fast a little."

"What do you mean, going too fast? I am stationary, idiot."

"If you call me an idiot one more time, I'm gonna zap you again. Not because I give a shit about what you think of my intelligence, but because my pets don't disrespect me. Or else."

"Or else what?" he grinned.

"Oh, no worries," she purred wickedly, "I’ll be happy to show you. Push me, tiger, and I'll break you until there is nothing left. I am patient and I am inventive. And then," she said, bending over his kneeling form and pulling his head back by his white hair, "I will feed on you and throw your unworthy carcass to the neighbour's dogs."

A wave of sudden heat spread through him unbidden and he felt himself hardening up.

Chapter 5: Cat/Mouse

The silence clung to the inside of his skull, viscous, cold and dead.

His prison had a small window through which light crept in. He'd focused on it as his link to the outside. His link to what, he thought and cold desperation lashed at him again. His Hive was gone, his brothers dead. He was trapped alone in this human-infested place. Yes, food was plentiful now, he grinned, the irony not lost on him... But for all their busying and scurrying about, the humans were empty drones that could not offer true connection.

Cunning, yes. Cruel, very. Especially to each other, in the pursuit of power and currency.

Yes, Wraith sought power. But what they truly respected and reveled in was power that came from within, visceral, raw. That is what the best Commanders had. True authority dominated with a steady grip, without the cruelty of weakness. Not that Wraith were perfect. But they certainly were better.

Humans, especially the male ones, gave precedence to the pursuit of power over the pursuit of personal merit, inner strength and wisdom, the place where true power and authority came from. They stepped over each other like rodents in a dark hole filling with water. Perhaps because of their pathetically short existence, he laughed to himself. They didn't have much time to get to the top.

And the females... they reveled in their weakness. Queens could be ruthless and impulsive, yes, in ways that would have gotten males killed. But he preferred that to the bland, whimpering softness of easily defeated prey, elevating worship because it could do no better.

Ah, to know the love of a Queen... scorching fire, commanding warmth, passionate embrace, breathless pleasure, uplifting validation. To kneel to such in sweet surrender was bliss to one's mind and one's senses. He bathed for a moment in the comforting thought.

Oh, how he missed belonging and connection. Stupid kine...

No, THINK AND HOPE. Keep dreaming. Wait. He had to live. He had to get out of here and continue his work, call his brethren to the wonderful feeding ground he had found. Perhaps a beautiful, powerful Queen would hear his call. And, finding him worthy like no other, would take him as her own. Perhaps not all was lost.

The sound of steps outside the door broke his reverie.

Perhaps rattled by their previous encounter, her nerves frayed by the intensity of dealing with him, the human female had not come to him for the past two sunrises and sunsets. Looked like she had finally gathered her strength to try again.

The chain clinked when he shifted. She appeared in the doorway, haloed by the bare bulb behind her. One hand rested casually on the rail, but the other carried the small black box that woke the collar at his throat. He tensed and snarled.

"Evening. You've had some time to think," she smiled.

His lip curled. "About tearing your throat out."

Her gaze flicked over him, lingering on the angles of his face. 

She stepped closer and set the box on the bench with a deliberate move. Close enough he could see it, not close enough to seize it... Clever and infuriating. "I have been thinking," she said. Her voice was calm, but something coiled underneath. "Maybe I should stop wasting time and turn you over to the police."

He laughed raspily, but his heart quickened. "You think they could hold me? I would get away. And then I'd come for you."

"Oh, they’d figure something out. And they'd find a use for you," she said ominously.

He shifted forward, letting the chain clink, leaning toward her. "And you would not?"

She shrugged and sat.

"If you give me to them, you lose everything. Knowledge. Secrets no one on this planet possesses. I can teach you about beings of power."

"Such as yourself? What good are your secrets if you keep them?" she laughed. "You’re just not giving me much reason to keep you around. True, I could entertain myself by playing with you. That was fun. But then what? Other pursuits are more fruitful and the snarling and contempt are kinda getting old. I mean, is it really worth it?"

He sneered, though his throat was dry. "You need me."

Her laugh was short, disbelieving. "Do I?"

The chain creaked as he drew himself up as far as it allowed. "I know things your kind cannot imagine. Your weapons, your defenses are child’s toys compared to our Hives'. Compared to the knowledge Wraith possess. I could tell you what waits in the dark beyond your sky."

"You're not making your case. That kind of knowledge would be more useful to our military. And your biology would be quite interesting to their scientists in the meantime."

He drew a sharp breath. She was right, he knew it! As it had become infuriatingly usual, she had driven the point straight home.

"Are you not curious, female?"

"Oh, yes! Very. But again, if you think you can toy with me and trickle useless bits of information, what's the use?"

She rose and circled him, watching him like a scientist with a specimen.

"What do you offer me?" she asked with a smile. "Why should I protect you?"

"You? Protect me?" he could not help laughing.

She sighed and turned towards the door.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! he chastised himself. That is not how you do it. You have offended the kine, they are dangerous like that. Think. What do you want, female?

"Wait," he growled. "I misspoke."

She didn't stop.

"Human, wait. Sit. Please. We will talk. What would you think is fair exchange?"

"Fair exchange for what?" she smiled, sitting on the bench.

"For keeping me. For your... protection," he spat, and the word was bitter on his tongue.

"You can't offer me what I want," she laughed darkly. "At least not yet."

"Not if I do not know what it is," he grinned. "Make some sense, will you?"

She rose again.

"I... Apologies."

"That's a start. You're catching on."

Ah, so that was it. Like all small, inconsequential things, she wanted to be given importance. The illusion of control. He could play along.

"State your terms," he said, fixing her with his alien gaze.

"You talk to me," she smiled. "When I ask, you answer truthfully. And when I tell you to do something, you do it."

He snarled viciously and pulled at the chains.

"I am not an animal for you to command."

"These are my terms," she said evenly. "You're not an animal. But you are fully in my power, and you know it. I can do anything to you, and you know it. I can take flesh from you, I can take your life if I choose to. I can starve you to death... or not. I can make you kneel with just the push of a button. You depend on me, in every way. I can make you do what I want you to do. But I'd break you."

Oh, how he would have snapped her frail neck. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply to calm down and center himself.

She rose, remote in hand, and circled him, stopping behind his back. She kicked him to his knees and he hissed, but didn't move.

"Tell me," she whispered against his neck, "do I need to break you, Shere Khan?"

She rested her right hand on his chest and he could not stop a shiver. She moaned low in satisfaction and her fingers, clad in silvery finger guards, tore at his shirt, scratching his chest. His body tensed and arched with a mind of its own and heat surged through him again. He wanted to protest, put her in her place and regain his balance, but she had made it clear that that was the way to perdition. Yes, she had him, she truly did... At least for now. He felt perversely exhilarated and when she took her hand away, an ache bloomed in his chest and he realized he missed her touch. A strange sound, half growl, half moan, escaped his lips.

She cupped his shoulder in her small, warm hand, feeling the rounded muscle, then stroked her claws down his arm and side and back up, to his shoulder blade. She tore the back of his shirt and bent closer, curious, tracing the raised spine lightly with the tips of her metal claws. This time he moaned out loud, unable to hold back. She touched one of the protrusions gently with her lips and her tongue snaked out, licking the bones and space between them with gentle pressure. He shook in pleasure, breathing hard, and moaned again.

"You are delicious," she drawled, licking her lips. "Perhaps I will keep you. But now it's late... And I've got a real date," she laughed softly.

She came round and bent over, touching her soft lips gently to his. Smiling fondly, she straightened and turned, closing the door behind her and leaving him there, dazed, hot and on his knees.

Notes:

I think you will recognize the little Easter egg from Todd's monologue. :) Yes, Spike can feel him... somewhat. He would, of course.
But Todd is contained in a place from which any energy, including psychic energy, has trouble escaping, so Spike is not aware of his presence per se, cannot TELL that there is another Wraith around. He just feels the echo, the whisper of a thought, a faint encouragement that has somehow kept him going.

Chapter 6: Just A Taste

She'd shut the cellar door harder than she'd meant to. Her hand lingered on the latch a second longer before she forced herself to step away.

Upstairs, she pressed her palms flat to the kitchen counter, trying to steady her breathing. His moans rang in her head, twisting her insides in a knot. She took off the finger guards and rubbed her hands against her jeans as if to scrub off the imprint of his cool, smooth skin.

I gotta change. I'm gonna be late.

Her temples throbbed, her spine tingled at her nape. She reached for the whisky, then she remembered she'd be driving. She poured herself a glass of water and took a sip, turned off the tap and reached for the Advil pack.

I should call Ethan, tell him I'm not feeling well. We can go out tomorrow. Nah. I'll be okay.

Damn fucking alien... This was insane, she was insane for letting it go that far. She was playing with fire. The damn thing was not just a serial killer. It was a fucking siren, turning her on like nothing she'd ever known.

"What in Jesus' name are you doing, woman?" she whispered. "Are you out of your mind? If they feed on humans, who the hell knows how they fuck. Venom or eggs in your chest or some other fucking eldritch horror."

But he looks humanoid enough... 

That's it! I'll call John in the morning and turn him in.

This wasn't exactly Sheppard's thing, but her brother-in-law was the only cop she knew. She trusted him, John had great instincts. And somehow, this felt safer than just turning the guy over to the regular police. Maybe he wasn't kidding, maybe he would escape. A tendril of fear and doubt pulled at her heart.

She closed her eyes to steady herself and felt a dark fascination seeping into her, an irresistible urge to go back to him. A living alien in her cellar... Unlike anything she'd ever seen. Defiant. Dangerous. Full of raw, feral power.

Come on, girl, her subconscious pulled at her. Just a taste. Let him loose, see what he does. Let him ravish you.

A shiver went through her and she suddenly felt nauseous. FUUUCK NO. Something's wrong. "Hooooly shit," she whispered. She grabbed the remote and headed back.

Chapter 7: The Traps We Set For Ourselves

The anger coiled raw around her mind, like a living being.

He could feel it before she even got to the door, and a shiver went up his spine. He'd failed to manipulate her and he knew he would suffer for this. But the prospect had started to excite him as much as it scared him. He'd gotten under the infuriating woman's skin, and she'd lost control. And she came back. Heeded his call.

She walked in and stood in front of him, silent, seething.

"You could not stay away," he smirked, victorious.

Her thumb pressed down viciously on the remote. His legs gave and he convulsed against the restraints, teeth bared in a guttural snarl.

"Because you tried to crawl inside my skull, freak. Think I wouldn’t notice?"

"Most of your kind do not," he replied breathlessly.

She pressed the button again and he arched painfully, crying out, grabbing at the chains. The current died and he stood slowly, shaking. 

”Is that so? And do you know many of 'my kind'?”

"I have had the misfortune... of meeting enough humans during my long existence." 

She smiled and shook her head slowly.

"Well, I've only had the misfortune of meeting one of you. Wraith, do I remember correctly?"

"Correct."

"All-knowing, from beyond the stars?" she smiled.

"Correct, little human," he sneered.

"We'll let this one slide, you look a bit frayed. And where did you meet these humans? Here? On your homeworld? What's the name of your planet? Where is it?"

He sneered and looked away.

"I thought we had a deal. When I ask, you answer," she said, arching her brow and lifting the remote. "Do you not honour your deals, Wraith?"

"We do not live on planets," he growled reluctantly. "We live on ships."

Her eyes widened a little. "I see. And where's your ship?"

His nostrils flared, muscles tightening beneath his skin. His face contorted into a mask of barely contained rage.

She held up the remote and waited, head tilted, still as a cobra before a strike.

"It is no more. That is how I ended up in this place of torment," he breathed out with more feeling than he'd meant.

"Oh," she said, and a flicker of compassion crossed her face. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"I do not need your pity," he spat, raising his chin in defiance.

"No, you do not. And you don't have it," she said, grabbing his chin and jerking his head up. "There's nothing pitiful about you, Shere Khan. You are a proud and beautiful thing," she said with a smile, looking into his strange golden eyes. 

She turned and crossed the room with measured steps towards a cabinet on the wall. His eyes followed the sway of her hips and he swallowed, licking his lips. 

She took a small key out of her pocket and slid it into the lock, opening the doors and revealing a rack of leather and metal implements that hung in neat rows. She brushed them with her fingertips, going back and forth in a loving caress, and picked up a black sinew of leather that coiled like a serpent in her hand.

"Proud, and beautiful, and untamed," she spoke low, sliding back towards him.

"And you think to tame me with a strip of hide?" he sneered.

"Oh, no. I would not presume," she smiled.

'Wise," he replied in kind.

"This isn't for taming," she said softly, twirling the leather between her fingers. "That is for taming," she pointed at a vicious looking metal rod with a forked tip and a strange yellow handle, hanging on the exposed rack. "And this," she showed him a long strip of coiled braided leather with a red handle that looked well-worn. "And this," she smiled, holding up the little black box of hurt.

"This..." she stepped closer and his feeding hand twitched, hunger flaring inside him again. "...is for pleasure."

"Yours, or mine?" he growled, narrowing his eyes.

"Why, mine, of course," she laughed. "For you, this won't be fun."

She flicked the implement towards him. The crack split the air next to his shoulder, sharp and hungry, and he recoiled with a hiss. She smiled and struck again on the other side, making him flinch, and he snarled at her, pulling at the chains.

A sting of fire sliced through his chest and he exhaled sharply, drawing back. A second one soon followed, splitting the smooth skin and drawing dark blood.

"I think you may be mistaken," he said with a strange, resonant laugh. "I am getting used to this. And it is not... unwelcome."

She threw him an incredulous, amused look.

"Incredible. It healed already..." she said, looking at his chest.

She suddenly felt lightheaded. Heat flashed through her body, trickling down her spine, and she felt herself getting soaked. Her thoughts swam with dark promise.

His exposed sensory pit quivered faintly, tasting the shift in her scent, and he shivered slightly.

"We'll see how welcome it is," she smiled, and started lashing at him methodically, with precise strikes, painting a pattern of dark welts across his chest and back.

His body danced under the lash and he snarled, pulling furiously at the chains. 

"I've missed this," she whispered. "This beautiful dance. You can take a lot, can't you," she asked breathlessly. "Say that you can."

He hissed and lunged at her and she lashed him again across the groin.

"Say it," she demanded, brushing the remote’s button. Electricity jolted through him and he threw his head back, trembling violently. His hips bucked against the air.

"I... can," he gasped, voice rough with strain. "Do it again."

Her smile widened, dark delight spreading across her face. "Of course you can, Shere Khan. Your kind is durable."

She pressed the button again and before the pain stopped, lashed at him back and forth, making him thrash in his bonds and yell fiercely, dizzy with the overload. 

She threw her head back and laughed, drunk with excitement.

"Thank you," she said affectionately. "I don't get to indulge often. But tonight, why not go wild. Tomorrow morning, you won't be my problem anymore."

"You will give me into their hands? Do you not honour your deals, human?" he panted. "You promised you would not."

"That was before you tried the mind games."

"You did not say..."

Her eyes narrowed. "So that's how it's going to be? You'll slither through the smallest crack?"

His shoulders lifted faintly. "Would you blame me?"

"No. I understand. But I don't want the bother."

"Fine," he spat. "Then turn me over and let us be done with."

She nodded and sighed.

"Go back to your bland existence. Forgo the knowledge I can give you. Forgo the games we can play," he purred.

"Gladly, dude. You are never getting in my head again."

"Not those games," he drawled, sinking fluidly to his knees. "These games," he said, looking up at her with a smirk.

A flicker of electricity danced across her expression.

"You like this game," he purred again. "Do you not? I could play."

"What is that thing quivering on your face? The slit?"

"One of my sensory pits. I have one on each cheek."

"Sensory pits?" she echoed, grinning. "That’s pretty cool, dude."

"There are many 'cool' things that you could discover about me."

"Are you scenting me?" she asked curiously.

"Yes."

"What do I smell like?"

"Sweet. Tangy," he moaned, closing his eyes. "You smell of female desire."

She brushed his jaw and lips with the fierce leather snake and slapped his face hard with the back of her hand. His tongue flicked across his lips, tasting his own blood.

"Do I smell like desire now?"

"Yesss, more so," he moaned, leaning his head back and exposing his collared neck.

She brushed the button on the remote with her thumb and he jolted and exhaled in a broken sigh. Her hand slid into his hair, tugging his head forward, and she let her lips ghost across his.

"And you taste sweet," he whispered. "I like this game."

She drew back, licking her lips slowly and he gave a small moan, straining for closeness.

"I can't keep you, you know that," she sighed and he closed his eyes, swallowing hard. Pain seemed to tear through him.

"My Queen..." he whispered.

With a small jolt of surprise, she stepped back.

"Do not give me away. I wish to be with you," he drawled. "Keep me, let me show you your power."

She looked at him with unfocused eyes, breathing hard. Fuck. Fucking hell. Fucking alien fuck. She shivered and shook her head, coming back to reality.

"Oh, honey, that is so much better than what you did before," she laughed. "You're learning! Manipulation is a skill that requires observation."

"You are pleased with me," he purred.

"Yes, I am, my tiger. Good job. It will serve you well. Study them carefully and do not presume. Who knows, you might even get away. And then you can come for me, as you promised," she laughed darkly.

She stepped close to him and bent over, hanging the whip around his neck and using it to pull him forward for a kiss. She peeled off the fake skin that still covered his left cheek, hiding his sensory pit, kissed it and went back to his lips, savouring them. Eyes closed, she felt his hand reaching for her throat. Her hand twitched slightly against the remote, but didn't push the torture button.

He swallowed and his hand descended, resting against her chest. He felt her smiling against his mouth.

She felt a sting of pain and something flashed bright in her chest, warm pleasure flooding her. She cried out in rapture, shaking and falling to her knees next to him.

Breathing hard, she rested her forehead against his and caressed his nape. "What the fuck are you doing?" she moaned.

"A gift for you, my Queen," he murmured, "as is our custom."

She cupped his face in her free hand. His cheeks looked gaunt, sunken and his breathing had grown shallow. She took him in her arms, running her hand through his hair and he leaned on her, shaking slightly with the effort of staying upright. Her chest still throbbed with that strange, searing pleasure, and, drawing back, she stared at him, this alien in chains before her, trembling, gaunt, yet glowing with something fierce. 

She gripped the whip and tore herself away, rising to her feet.

Crackling with energy, walking on air, she climbed the cellar steps. At the top she paused, looking back one last time at his silhouette knelt in the dim light. For one terrible moment she wanted to go back down and never leave. She slammed the door and locked it tight.

Upstairs, on the kitchen counter, her phone vibrated with another call.

Chapter 8: You Don't Own Me

“Holy fuck. Shit. Fucking hell. Fuck.”

She sagged into a chair with her head in her hands. Her heart was pounding in her chest.

You idiot. Monumental, world-class idiot. You let him get to you. The liar. The predator. The murderer chained in your cellar.

Call his bluff. Hand him over. Let the cops deal with it.

A spike of nausea ripped through her. Her chest clenched.

Don’t lie to yourself, girl. You loved it. You’ve never had a scene that hot, that intense, in your whole pathetic life. You want to fuck him until you can’t walk.

Her head snapped up. Was that her voice, or his sliding through her skull again? What a goddamn mindfuck.

“Stop. Distraction. TV, laptop, anything.”

She opened the laptop, then slammed it shut. The cam. She'd left the lights on in the cellar.

Doesn’t matter. Stop thinking about it. Doesn’t matter.

Except it did. His body twisting under the lash. The way he snarled, the way he yielded. Her images, she knew. Her eyes. Her ears.

Tear him apart. Watch him heal. Do it again. Push further. How would he cry out when he cums?

“Jesus Christ.” She pressed her fists to her temples. Fevered up like a schoolgirl with a crush. Insane.

She imagined him grinning at her, smug, pleased with himself.

“Call John in the morning. Get rid of him. Done.”

If you do, he dies.

Her gut twisted. She could still see his gaunt face, the tremor in his limbs. The way he leaned into her touch.

He gave you what he had left.

“Fuck.” She pressed her hand over her chest, still burning where he’d touched her. That blinding pleasure… I have to ask him about it.

Not if he dies first.

“Then let him. You’ll be doing the planet a favor.”

His raspy voice in her ears again: My Queen, I wish to be with you.

“Like hell you do.”

Keep me. A gift for you.

She let out a bitter laugh. “Damn, you’re good. Took you a while, but you’ve finally got my number. And you dialed straight home.”

'Queen'? More like Queen of Fools. Queen of Cattle.

He put his life in your hands. If you let him die, the guilt will eat you alive.

Her thighs pressed tight together. Heat still churned in her belly.

“Oh God,” she moaned, sliding her hands over her breasts. “I’ve gotta do something about this.”

My Queen… keep me.

She stood, slamming her hand on the table. “You don’t own me, Wraith. Shut. UP.”

Chapter 9: Unraveling

Summary:

"Life creates itself in delirium."

Emile Cioran, "A Short History of Decay"

Hunger tore at him, vicious and constant.

It lived in his bones, gnawed his marrow raw, howled through every nerve. His feeding hand twitched, fingers curling and uncurling as if reaching for her pulse in dreams.

He had given too much and the Gift had hollowed him. Foolish, reckless... but necessary. She would have discarded him otherwise.

He groaned, head tipping back against the pole. The taste of her filled his mouth, spicy and sweet, a drug that dulled the agony for moments at a time. His lips curved in a smile. She thought herself strong, but she was unraveling. That pleased him more than he’d admit.

His eyes burned and he let them slide shut. Shapes flickered, forming in the dark.

The ghost of her anger, the taste of her storm. Upstairs, pacing, wrestling herself. He could feel her emotions pouring down like water through the cracks in stone.

His Hive, the song of voices in his head, familiar, wrapping around him like warm silk. His Queen’s will pressed down, absolute, exquisite. 

Human eyes sharp as blades, white bosom heaving with promise, rich laughter filling the air, sharp pain-pleasure electrifying him, her scent and heat flooding his senses.

“My Queen…”

For a moment he saw her not as human, but wreathed in fire, towering over him. Then clarity snapped through for a heartbeat. Not his Hive. Not his Queen. Just a human woman with a collar, a whip, an iron will and a storm of emotions she couldn’t master.

But the image clung stubbornly, sliding over reality again. Desire made no distinction.

He pressed his head back against the pole and a ragged laughter tore from him. Was this another torment? Was it a gift?

He didn’t know anymore. He only knew he wanted her.

To feed. To be touched. To belong.

He sagged against the pole, exhausted.

He could not last long like this. And yet, he was not beaten. She had taken his Gift.

When She accepts the Gift, a true Queen claims the giver.

Chapter 10: I Will Take My Time

The latch clanged, and before she knew it, she was already halfway down the cellar stairs. She hadn’t decided to come here. She hadn’t wanted to. Yet her bare feet padded on the cold steps all the same.

The light buzzed overhead. He lifted his head, hair spilling pale around his gaunt face. His golden eyes glowed faintly, cat-like.

"You came," he drawled low.

Her heart thundered as though it might break free from her ribs. And still, helpless, she drifted closer.

"What do you want?" she whispered.

He rose, taller, leaner, hungrier than she remembered. Then, like a striking fury, he lunged.

She tried to push the button, but the remote slipped from her hand. She hit her knees, scrambling desperately, and felt long, thin fingers grabbing her by the hair and pulling her up like a doll, holding her in an iron grip. With a grin, he held up the remote and put it in his jean pocket. The collar shimmered faintly around his neck.

His free hand traced her jaw, gentle as a lover, cruel as a captor. Then he crushed his mouth to hers in a violent kiss. She bit him hard and, hissing, he slapped her across the face.

"Behave."

She snarled at him.

"I don't think so. Kill me and let's be done with it."

"Why would I waste such a clever little human? I’ll use you, as nature intended. Wraith are masters. Humans are kine. And the world is finally right again."

"You'll have to kill me," she grinned. "You’re starving. I can smell it on you. You’ll break before I do."

He yanked her head back and bit into her neck. Pain flared, but her scream broke into laughter.

"You poor fool," she spat. "I'm used to being weak and abused, and I can take a lot of pain. I care nothing for my life. I've suffered worse than you and I would rather die than do your bidding."

His fist slammed into her stomach. She doubled over, choking.

"Perhaps I will kill you," he snarled. "But I will take my time. Where is the key to these shackles?"

"I forgot," she grinned. "Search my mind, beast. You’ll never leave this place. In death or life, you’re mine. Let's have fun, fucker!"

Her knee shot up, cracking into his groin. With a feral snarl, he slapped her hard again.

Then his hand struck her chest. Pain like fire roared through her body and she screamed, jolting awake.

Notes:

The Wraith may be dangerous beasts, but my women, human or not, are worse. They've seen a lot and suffered through a lot and should they find themselves in the belly of a beast, they will chew their way out.
But let's have a drop of whump for her as well, to cleanse the palate.

Chapter 11: I Feel Your Hunger

Her heels clicked sharply on the concrete as she came down the stairs.

He stood, hungry eyes following her. His body tensed, nostrils flaring and sensory pits fluttering, scenting her.

The black skirt hugged her hips as she sat on the small bench in front of him, crossing her long legs.

"Good morning," she spoke huskily. "I came to see how you were."

He didn't answer, but his drawn face and trembling hands spoke for themselves.

“Not great, huh?”

A low growl rolled out of him. His feeding hand twitched, but he stayed still, watching her with the hunger of a cat seeing a mouse just beyond reach.

"I haven’t thanked you," she smiled, tilting her head. "For what you did. I didn’t ask for it, but I understand the cost. Whatever your reason, calculation, impulse... it was a risk. I respect your courage and the trust you placed in me."

"Truly?"

"Truly," she replied.

He studied her, chest rising and falling quickly.

"I have to ask you some questions. The answers are important to me, and thus will be important for you."

A hiss escaped him, but he inclined his head. "Ask, then."

"First question. Why did you call me your Queen?"

His cheeks flushed a deep green. He turned away, jaw tight.

"You’re ashamed of it. I see that. Still, I want the reasoning."

"I… do not know."

"Lie," she said softly, leaning forward. "And not a promising start."

He hissed again, teeth flashing.

"Listen. My brother-in-law is coming over tonight. He’s a police detective. I think we can agree that in this situation, the sane and reasonable thing to do is for me to turn you over to him. Right?"

"You promised you would not."

"And you promised honesty."

His nostrils flared. Finally he muttered, "It is our way. Among Wraith, females lead. Queens rule the Hive, absolute. They have power of life and death over their men. You… remind me of home."

"The hive being the ship."

"Yes. The ship. Some rule many."

"And the males obey," she purred.

"Mm."

"In all things."

"All things," he breathed.

She gave a slow nod. "Thank you. Second question. If you had a choice: stay here, free, or leave altogether, which would you choose?"

"To go. I have work to do. I would return."

"What kind of work?"

"That, I cannot tell you."

She laughed. "Then I’ll assume it’s nothing good for Earth and humanity. But I appreciate your honesty."

His lips curved. "You would have me stay."

She raised a brow and smiled. "It would make sense for you to want your freedom. But yes… I think I’d like you to stay. In my own twisted way. I do enjoy our games."

"As do I."

"Really?" she smirked. "I don’t hold back, love. Though you take it deliciously well."

"I crave intense sensation, yes," he said, swallowing hard. "But not so much on its own."

"You crave it at a Queen's hand," she smiled knowingly.

"You… yes," he drawled. "I enjoy the way you take charge of me. And Wraith heal. Though perhaps not at the moment," he sighed.

"About that. Question number 3. What exactly did you do to me?"

"I told you that we feed from humans."

"I think I know how that feels," she said with a shiver. "I had a dream… But go on."

"The reverse is also possible."

"You feed into people."

"It is called the Gift of Life. And we give it very sparingly. I did not expect a human to understand... the significance of it."

"That kind of sacrifice is worthy of respect. Not to be taken lightly. Is it true that it’s customary to give to your Queens?"

"If they demand it, yes."

"I didn’t ask for it. You forced it on me."

His head bowed, hair spilling forward like a white veil. "You are angry."

"Angry? No. But hear me, Wraith. Giving I can forgive, but take without asking, anything, anytime, anyhow, and I’ll end this. Chains or no chains. Games or no games. Do you understand?"

"Yes." His throat worked as he swallowed what almost slipped out: my Queen.

"I know what you meant to say," she purred with a grin. "Is that weird?"

He drew a sharp breath.

"Perhaps not. You are intelligent, you inferred. Does it upset you?"

"No. It turns me on." She leaned back, considering him. "And when Queens don’t demand the Gift?"

He allowed himself a thin smile. "They rarely mind if it is offered freely. It is quite pleasurable."

"Oh, yes," she sighed, nodding. "Done it many times? With your Queen?"

His voice dropped. "No. Never."

"She didn’t allow it?"

"I have never been with her in that way. She was but one, and we were many. And a Queen chooses the strongest Commanders as her mates. Warriors, usually. I am what humans call a man of knowledge, not considered for such things."

"A scientist. You research things? Make things?"

"Yes."

"What kind of scientist?"

"I make and repair devices. Like engines, weapons, consoles or transmitters."

"An engineer."

"If that is what you call it."

"Interesting! And they prefer brawn over brains? That's foolish."

"Hm. What do you do? For work?"

"I own a company. We transport things from one place to another."

"I see. What kind of things?"

"All kinds. But we specialize in live animals. My family were circus people, tamers. When it started to go out of fashion, Dad and I had to branch out. He had connections, I had a business degree… Education, that is. Knowledge. We transport animals to zoos, horses to race tracks…"

"And you tame tigers?"

She laughed heartily.

"It’s called training now. But yes. I still do it. Though infrequently, demand is low. And the methods are quite different nowadays. But occasionally…" she grinned.

"You do get one."

"I do get one," she smiled. "If he attacks me, then he requires taming."

His eyes flared. "And if he obeys?"

"Even if he obeys, sometimes he still needs taming." Her smile widened. "But if he’s good… and takes well to discipline..."

His breath caught. "Yes?"

She leaned closer, voice dropping. "Then I will care for him a lot more. He’ll always be a tiger, wild and powerful. But… he’ll be my tiger."

His pupils widened. An involuntary growl escaped his throat.

"Can I ask something of you?" she murmured, licking her lips. Her eyes dropped to the bulge straining against his pants.

His voice was hoarse. "What would you ask?"

"I want to see you. Without clothing."

His gaze hardened. "No."

She nodded. "Fair. Your body is still yours, fundamentally, in chains or not. I won’t force it."

"Earn it."

"Ah," she smiled. "I see."

She circled him, remote in hand, trailing her fingers across his exposed skin, scraping his spine. Then she straightened. "You’ll have to wait. I have work," she purred, turning to leave.

"Wait!" he called breathlessly. "You said you had a dream."

"Mm." She hesitated. "I think your Gift had… side effects."

"That you dream of me?" he purred huskily.

"Don’t flatter yourself. It wasn’t a good dream. But… I think I understand some things."

"Such as?"

"I think I feel you, Shere Khan. I feel your hunger."

Chapter 12: This Is Nuts

The knock startled her although she'd been expecting him. With a hesitant breath, she opened the door. Sheppard was standing there with a crooked smile and a bottle of scotch dangling from his fingers.

“Don’t say no,” he said. “I’m not in the mood to drink alone tonight.”

She smiled and beckoned him in.

He slumped into an armchair, shirt crumpled and open at the collar, as usual, and she poured two fingers of whiskey into tumblers and put on some music. They sat together in the living room in easy, comfortable silence for a while, the bottle between them on the table.

He ran a hand through his hair, took a sip and leaned towards her.

"Joan... You ever keep something so strange to yourself, you start to wonder if you’re losing it?”

“Every day,” she laughed.

“Listen, I need you to keep this between us. Strictest confidence.”

She made a little X over her heart with her finger. “Scout’s honor.”

He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’ve got this case... Serial homicides. Bodies found out in the desert, dried up like jerky. No blood, no fluids. Just husks. Like they aged fifty years in a night.”

She went still, glass paused at her lips.

He didn’t notice. He was staring into his drink. “Fucking strange, huh? Here’s another kicker. Feds got hold of me last week. Or so I thought. But anyway. Hauled me out to some bunker in the desert. You won’t believe this.”

“Try me.”

“They’ve got someone down there. Well, something. Looks like a man, but not. Tall. Long, white hair. Weird eyes. They said he was an alien from another galaxy who feeds on human life energy, however the fuck that works.”

“That’s... creative,” she said, putting down her glass to disguise the tremor in her hand.

“At first I thought they were feeding me bullshit. There's other, even crazier stuff, I won't get into that. But they let me talk to him a little.” Sheppard’s voice softened. “He was weird and wasn't making much sense, but... Christ, he was captivating. Got this dangerous, feline vibe about him. But vulnerable too, somehow. I couldn’t pull away. Joan, he looked at me, and it was like he could see into my fucking soul. Like he’d lived through the same things I did. I don’t…” He broke off, shook his head, embarrassed. “Forget it.”

She tilted her head, smiling faintly. “Sounds like somebody's got a crush.”

“Don't say that,” he muttered, flushing. “I don’t even know what the hell that thing was."

He met her eyes, searching. “Thing is, that McKay guy said that his kind leaves bodies the same way my killer does. That's why they brought me in. Which means...” He drained his glass in one swallow. “Which means I’m hunting something not human. This is nuts.”

“John.” She smiled and put a hand on his wrist, watching him twitch at the contact. “You’re not crazy.”

Chapter 13: All Living Things Must Eat

“John Sheppard, you’re one of the sanest, most grounded people I know. For a flyboy,” she smiled, brushing the back of her fingers across his stubble-roughened cheek.

He closed his eyes, leaning into the touch. “Not really,” he whispered. “I’m a mess.”

She laughed softly. “Yeah. But you’re a smart mess. You’ll figure it out. You always do.”

And that may be the end of my Shere Khan, she sighed to herself.

“It’s late,” he muttered, pushing up from the chair. “I gotta go home. Or maybe that motel again.”

“Motel? Why?”

“I’ve been tracking a suspect. This white-haired weirdo I played poker with last week… He jumped off a roof in front of me.”

“Holy shit, he killed himself? Then what…”

“No, that’s the thing. He survived. And ran away.”

“He ran away?” she asked incredulously.

“So yeah, I’m pretty sure he’s one of those things. Very likely my guy. Or I don't know, if there’s two, there may be more.”

“An alien invasion?” she laughed. “Holy shit.”

“Not funny. People are dying.”

“You're right. But that McKay person said they ‘feed’ on humans, right? So he’s, you know, doing it to survive.”

“Yeah, no. Fuck that. I’m gonna stop him. I’ve been stalking the motel I tracked him to, but he’s been a no show for the past few days.”

“Maybe he moved.”

“I don’t think so, the trailer’s still there. He has a Silver Bullet parked out front.”

“Maybe he abandoned it.”

“Yeah… Or something happened to him. The guy the feds had seemed bigger. So maybe he ran into a larger guy and the situation got 'out of hand'.”

“Go home, John,” she smiled. “Get some sleep, you need it. Their ship’s toast, they’re not going anywhere.”

He shot her a sidelong glance. “I didn’t say…”

“I mean whatever they came in must’ve been toasted, or else we’d have heard something, seen something, right? Eventually? I can't believe I'm saying this.”

“Yeah,” he admitted grudgingly. “McKay said so. Though I wouldn't trust those guys and the shady shop they're from.” He stepped towards the door.

“John, there's something that I…” she paused, frowning, biting her lip.

“Yeah?”

Joan sighed deeply.

“I... Doesn’t your guy eat people? The captivating one, the one you said looked into your soul?”

“Obviously.”

“And isn’t he gonna die if he doesn’t?”

Something tightened in Sheppard's eyes. “What are you driving at?”

“Nothing. Just saying, it might be complicated... Maybe they're not so evil. I mean, all living things must eat. And maybe our herd could use a little thinning,” she said grimly.

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that,” he said with a shiver and closed the door.

She stood still, listening to the gravel crunching under his boots and to the Mustang's engine growling and fading into the night.

Remote in hand, she turned for the basement. The shrill ring of the phone froze her mid-step.

“Yeah, Manny, what is it?”

“Boss, problem. I’ve got two tailgaters, black SUVs, can’t shake them. I’m sure they’re after me.”

Her hand tightened around the phone. “Maybe it's nothing. Do you have your gun?"

“Course.”

“Do what you need to. Defend yourself and the cargo. Those horses are worth more than our truck. I'll deal with any fallout.”

“Sure thing, I got it covered. Just wanted you to know.”

“Where are you?”

“On the I-15. Just past Paradise.”

“They didn’t wait long,” she muttered. “Contract job for sure.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“I’ll track your location. We’ll get you backup. Thanks, Manny.” She cut the line and dialed again.

“Frank? You and Alice home?”

“Yeah, boss. Mark too, but he was heading out. Why?”

“Good. Manny's in trouble. He's taking the Akhal-Tekes to Kyarizov's ranch and he's got a nasty tail. I don’t wanna involve the police, Kyarizov said no cops. I’m heading over there, can you come? He’s just outside Paradise, you can track him through the app.”

“Sure, boss. We’re on our way.”

*

Manny’s rig thundered down the I-15.

The headlights in his mirrors had been glued to him for a while now. He’d tried slowing, tried speeding, tried shifting lanes to let them pass, all the tricks he could think of. Nothing. His brain told him what his gut already knew.

The trailer rumbled behind him, steady as his own heartbeat. He couldn’t afford panic. One hard stop and horses this delicate and feisty would snap. He breathed through his teeth and muttered a prayer.

Headlights burst across the median: Frank’s SUV. They slid in behind Manny’s rig, Alice at the wheel, Frank leaning half-out with his gun braced across his knees.

“About damn time,” Manny muttered.

The lead pursuer edged up alongside the trailer, lights blacked out. A window rolled down; a masked face appeared, the barrel of a gun glinting. A shot rang into the air and a gloved hand signalled Manny to pull over. Professional job.

“Not happening,” Manny growled, keeping his rig straight.

A sleek silver SUV cut in cleanly, forcing the hijacker to drop back. The convoy was whole now: Joan in front, Manny’s rig in the middle, Alice and Frank tailing. Boxed in, but the right way round.

The second hijacker floored it, trying to nose the trailer toward the barrier. Manny held his ground, inch by inch, feeling the weight of the trailer behind him.

Alice swerved suddenly. Frank leaned out, braced, and fired. The rear window of the hijacker’s car blew out and the vehicle fishtailed, slammed the barrier in a spray of sparks, and stopped dead.

"Did you get him?" Alice asked between gritted teeth.

“I saw airbags. Driver’s out cold. Passenger too, if he’s not broken up already.”

The other hijacker gunned his engine, trying to make a run for it, but Joan swung across his lane. He tried to dodge, clipped the barrier, and metal screamed. Gunfire popped into the night. The black car stopped, smoke coming out of the engine.

Shaken, Manny pulled up on the shoulder.

Alice slid in behind him. She was out fast, yanking open the trailer doors. “They’re fine, Manny,” she called, voice breaking with relief. “Scared, but fine. Thank Jesus.”

Manny circled his truck with shaking hands. Dented, scratched, but no leaks. Engine solid. Drivable.

Alice clapped his shoulder. “We’ll finish the run. You head back.”

Manny shook his head. “Nah. They’re mine. I can see it through.”

Frank was already at the wreck, dragging one of the hijackers free. The man groaned, half-conscious, blood on his temple. Joan pulled up beside him, climbing out with one arm clutched close to her ribs.

“He’s alive. The other one's toast. You okay?” Frank asked.

“I’m fine. Just a graze. Help me with this fucker.”

They hauled the unconscious hijacker into Joan's back seat, tucked a whisky bottle by his side, and draped a blanket over him.

“Frank, the other one back there goes in my trunk. Throw the dead guy in there too, I'll make him disappear. Then you and Alice pull their cars to the shoulder and head home,” Joan said simply.

Frank gave her a tight nod, grateful not to know more. He did as he was asked and climbed into Alice’s SUV without a word.

They left the wrecks smoking on the shoulder. To anyone passing, just another late-night crash.

Chapter 14: Love Is A Sacrament That Should Be Taken Kneeling

She dropped the unconscious man in a heap in front of him.

“Dinner,” she said simply.

In a flash, the Wraith was upon his prey, slamming his hand against the man's chest. The human jolted awake with the pain and the cellar filled with a terrible sound, part roar and part scream, echoing off stone walls. The man clawed at the Wraith's arm, but the Wraith only leaned in closer, eyes closed, inhaling as if drunk on the flow.

The hijacker’s scream guttered into a ragged gasp. His skin tightened over bone, drying up like old parchment. In moments, his face collapsed into hollows and his hands fell limp.

Joan stood with her arms crossed, watching until the husk toppled against the floor with a hollow thump.

The Wraith rose like a coiled spring, grinning wildly, hair like bleached silk hanging around his face. Shine had returned to his skin and his chest rose and fell with a steady rhythm. His molten yellow eyes fixed on her, feral and unblinking.

She sat down on the bench across from him, arms loose in her lap. No whip. No remote.

“Kneel,” her voice cracked the silence.

A ripple went through him, barely there, just the twitch of his fingers curling. He pulled against the chains, baring his teeth. “We only kneel to our Queens.”

“Exactly,” she said evenly. Her chin lifted a fraction. “If that’s what I truly am to you, show me. Show gratitude for what you just received.”

He laughed, harsh and ragged. “You are not Hive. You are not Wraith. You are…”

“Ah. So I am not your Queen. I understand strategies of survival, but lies are for the dishonourable and the weak. Are you a liar, Wraith?” her voice boomed.

His growl tore through the cellar, bolts groaning in the concrete as he strained.

Joan rose slowly and crossed the room. Her scent reached him before her touch did.

His eyes narrowed and fluttered and he inhaled sharply, sensory pits trembling. Her nearness filled his senses like fire in his lungs. Despite himself, the long hours of terrible emptiness, broken only by her visits, had burned her into him. Her musk, her warmth, her footsteps, her heartbeat, the rhythm of her breath, the timbre of her voice that burrowed into the silence.

“Predator and prey,” she murmured, raising a brow. “Or Queen and warrior. Which shall it be?”

Pride and fury clawed at him. Yet old, terrible yearnings were stirring in his blood, too powerful to deny. They called to him irresistibly through her steady heartbeat and her unflinching eyes.

With a snarl half-born of rage, half of surrender, he dropped. One knee struck the floor, then the other, slowly.

Joan felt urgent heat rising in her. Her breath sped up and she reached forward, threading her fingers into his hair and pulling his head back, exposing the line of his throat. The collar, silent silver, pressed against his skin.

A low, vibrating sound broke from his chest, caught between hunger and something he still refused to name. Hunger coiled tight between her legs, pulsating, alive.

“Careful, woman,” he rasped. “Fire burns.”

“Good. I like fire,” she smiled dangerously, caressing his face with the back of her hand. She brushed her lips to his, bit his lower lip once, then withdrew.

At the top of the stairs, she turned to him with a smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. “Rest well, my tiger.”

The door closed with a heavy thud. Breathing her in, he closed his eyes and didn’t rise.

Chapter 15: Sharp Flavours

Notes:

This one is dark, but that's who our characters are. Read at your own peril.

“Open the door, Genady,” Joan ordered silkily.

With her gun pressed between his shoulder blades, the tattooed, fierce-looking young man pushed the steel door open and stepped in. He set eyes upon the chained figure who had turned to them sharply with a growl and stopped at the top of the stairs, yelping in panic.

“What fuck is that??” He tried to turn and make a run for it.

“Ah, that would be my man,” Joan said, pushing him roughly down the stairs and within the Wraith's reach. “Spectacular, isn't he?”

“So soon, my Queen?” the Wraith purred with his raspy, inhuman voice, grabbing the man's arm and tearing his shirt open. “I have pleased you.”

“And you will please me more,” she laughed darkly. “Now let's get to the matter at hand. Slowly. I have some questions for the gentleman and we wouldn't want him unable to answer.”

Wide-eyed, the human struggled, but between the woman's gun and the creature's iron grip, he was caught like a fly in a spider's web.

The Wraith’s lips peeled back in a grin. He waited for her nod, and his palm landed square on the man’s chest.

A yell tore from the hijacker's throat. His spine arched, his fingers clawed the air. In a blink, his skin had sagged and lost its shine. 

“Stop,” Joan said sharply.

The Wraith obeyed, reluctantly drawing his hand back, nostrils flaring. The slits on his cheeks opened greedily. The captive slumped, breathing hard, and the acrid stench of sweat and fear filled the air, mixing with the sharp tang of the green liquid that smeared the man's chest.

Joan circled them, caressing the Wraith's white mane. He leaned into her touch like a great hunting cat, a low hum rolling through his chest.

“Who sent you to steal my cargo?” she asked the young man.

The man’s breath rattled in the silence.

She tilted her head toward the Wraith. “Again. A drop.”

The Wraith's long fingers splayed over the man’s sternum. A low hum vibrated in his throat as the life-force poured into him.

Joan’s hand lifted. “Enough.”

The Wraith hissed softly at being denied, hunger flashing across his face, but he withdrew. The captive sagged in his grip, hair plastered to his temples, cheeks hollowing, eyes wide and glassy.

“You feel it now, don’t you?” Joan’s voice was calm, almost soothing. “Every year burning off you. You’re, what, twenty-four? Or you were. You’ll be fifty in a few minutes.” She leaned closer, her breath brushing his ear. “Or I can let you walk.”

The man shook his head violently. “I... I can’t...”

“Can’t? Or won’t?” She brushed her fingers through the Wraith’s pale hair, her nails grazing his scalp. “You see, he doesn’t care which it is.”

The Wraith’s grin widened, teeth gleaming. “Shall I show him?”

Her nod was subtle.

The Wraith’s hand clamped back down, and the man screamed, jerking in his grip. His voice cracked, high and broken, until she lifted her hand.

“Stop.”

The Wraith snarled but obeyed, chest heaving. The hijacker sagged like a puppet with its strings cut, panting.

“You look like you're down a decade already,” Joan murmured, leaning towards him. “One decade for silence. How many more will you buy with loyalty?”

“No... Please...”

“Oh, darling, I’m not the one you should be begging.” She leaned close, whispering against his ear, “Talk, or my man here drinks you like a fine wine.”

The Wraith chuckled obscenely, golden eyes fixed on his prey.

Joan straightened. “Again.”

The Wraith’s hand slammed down, harder this time. The captive’s scream filled the cellar, raw and tearing. Joan watched his jaw hollowing, his hair dulling by shades. 

She waited until he was whimpering like a beaten animal before she spoke again. “Whose orders?”

“Rahmanov!” the man gasped. “Colonel Rahmanov... Turkmen army. He say Kyarizov betray the motherland, he is corrupt, sold gold to the Americans. He wants... revenge, to ruin traitor, make him pay.”

The Wraith inhaled greedily, nostrils flaring. “Pride, vengeance... Such sharp flavors,” he rasped.

Trembling like a leaf, the man pissed himself.

Joan smiled. “There, that wasn’t so hard.” She brushed the damp hair off his forehead, almost tenderly. “Rahmanov may actually be right,” she murmured with a chuckle. “Now, you’ll take your colonel a message. Tell him I respect him and his patriotism. But if he touches my business again...” she glanced at the Wraith, who grinned with feral relish, “I’ll set loose my vengeance. And I won’t stop them as I’m stopping him now.”

The hijacker whimpered, trying to pull away from her touch.

Joan nodded once. “Feed, love.”

The Wraith growled, low and eager, and struck the man's chest with violent delight. The human convulsed, his face seeming to sag into middle age in the space of seconds. His dark hair was threaded with gray when Joan finally raised her hand.

“Enough.”

The Wraith froze, every muscle taut, hissing in frustration. His chest heaved with restrained hunger. Slowly, with a guttural growl, he pulled back, and the man collapsed to the floor like a discarded rag.

Joan pulled him up and shoved him toward the stairs.

“Run home. Be thankful for your life. And pray you never see me again,” she said simply.

The man scrambled up the stairs, half crawling, half stumbling, desperate to get out alive. The cellar door slammed shut behind him and silence fell in his wake.

“You wasted sustenance,” the Wraith growled, his voice deep and electric.

She smiled faintly, trailing a finger over the remote, and a whisper of a shock jolted through his body. “No,” she said softly. “I sent a message.”

“Cruel... but effective.” His eyes gleamed, locked on her with a fever-bright hunger that had nothing to do with food.

“Yessss,” she purred. “On your knees.”

The chains clinked as he obeyed, fluid and immediate, sinking before her.

Joan straddled him, her skirt sliding up, and kissed him passionately. His growl vibrated into her mouth, his scent intoxicated her. Her hands roved down his taut body and he squirmed under her, shameless, breath ragged against her throat. His hands twitched desperately, grabbing the chains, not daring to touch unbidden.

“God, I can’t take this anymore. Touch me,” she whispered hungrily.

His hands clamped to her ass with frantic need, kneading her warm, tender flesh, pulling her against the hard line of him.

Her hand slid between them and she freed him with a swift tug of denim, wrapping her deft fingers around his length. A moan tore from his chest and she shifted, panties shoved aside, and lowered herself on his hard cock with a guttural cry.

She felt him shaking beneath her, every muscle trembling with restrained need. She stilled, biting at the crook of his neck.

He shivered and gave a strangled, needy moan of pain-pleasure, and all her restraint broke. She started fucking him in earnest, moaning and rubbing against him, nails dragging fire into his skin.

“God, you make me burn,” she panted, hair falling wild around her face. “If you finish before me, I’ll kill you.”

“Then do not... talk... like that...” he gasped, driving into her with each word.

She shook and her head snapped back with a cry of rapture. “Yes, yes, fuck me, give it to me!”

Frenzied, undone, he let out a fierce roar and shuddered violently, spilling himself inside her.

Breathing hard, Joan stilled and clung to him, still shaking with pleasure. She felt something thrumming in her veins, strangely alive, as though some echo of him had taken root inside her. She guided his head against her chest, kissing and stroking his hair.

“My tiger... my beautiful man,” she whispered fondly.

“My Queen...” he murmured. A strange, sweet pain was spreading through his chest. “Light of my eye, stay with me.”