hour of the wolf - post 1
by Silver (Silvers desire@aol.com)
KF – the legend continues / after
“Target”
P/P,
NC-17
All’s well that ends well? No way –
the Brujo’s back. And the real nightmare is just about to begin…
What we can do for another,
Is the test of powers.
What we can suffer,
Is the test of love.
Brooke Foss Westcott
I.
I wake in the death of the night,
my heart rate tripling up in as many seconds. A cry of pure grief and anguish
is still ringing in my ears. Did I cry out? No… no, I actually heard it – and
the power surge that went with it is much too real to be caused by a dream.
Despite the fact it is a warm
night, I feel chilled to my very bones as I rise to sit on the futon. Sweat
covers my body, plasters a strand of silver hair to my forehead. I brush it
away with a shaking hand. Faint tremors rack me, but I seem not able to detect
the cause for my discomfort. I choke; my throat feels like it is stifled with
some soft but unyielding tissue, my tongue is swollen and dry…
Instinctively I reach out for the
mental link connecting our ch’i, my thoughts race along the connection – to
find Peter safe, and sound asleep, in his apartment. I can sense no danger
treating him.
Then maybe I felt a foreboding of a
future menace? I try to centre myself, taking deep breaths to call to my inner
peace – and fail utterly. I will my fingers to unclench and sit down in lotus.
Slowly the terror fades away, the
beat of my heart recedes to a normal pace - but still sleep eludes me for the
rest of the night. I sit and wait for the light of the day to erase my fears.
* * *
Despite it is already past the hour
I usually rise, I pretend to be asleep as Peter quietly enters the loft,
feeling his anticipation for some time now.
I listen to the rustle of the
clothes he sheds in haste, the soft thump of his boots hitting the floor – and
then I feel his naked body slip in between the sheets to nestle next to mine.
He flanges an arm across my chest and drops a tender kiss onto my nose.
“Surprise,” he gently says. “C’mon,
Pop – I *know* you’re awake.”
I blink once to see the happy,
teasing impression on his face before I grab his wrists and flop us both over
until my body envelops his.
With a soft chuckle, he tries to
free himself, but his efforts are only half-hearted for he is now exactly where
he wanted to be…
As I bend down to cover his smiling
lips with mine, he stops his futile wiggles and lays perfectly still, eyes
closed, his lush lashes fanning his rosy cheeks. Well, not all of him remains
quiet… I feel his rapidly growing hardness pressing up against my thigh.
We kiss, very gently at first. I
brush my mouth across his eyelids and draw back, waiting until he opens his
eyes and focuses his soft gaze upon me. For now, I am content to only hold him,
but I feel the first stirrings of raging desire uncoiling in my belly.
“Surprise?” I repeat dryly.
“Yeah.” He smiles and his eyes grew
wide as he shifts his hips beneath mine and rubs his stiffness against my still
soft member. “I’m due at the precinct at
eleven, Pop… and I thought - after spending the night apart – you might be… up…
for breakfast in futon?”
Instead of giving him the answer,
he expects… maybe even needs – I can read it in his eyes – I give a little push
into his groin. A soft moan escapes his mouth before he bites down on his lower
lip.
I smile. “I am definitely… up… to
some… nourishment.” I hear him catch his breath and know he reads desire in my
eyes. But I also sense that he is still in his “teasing mode”.
“Uh… but I’m sorry – I fear… I
didn’t think to bring any food...” His legs spread further to allow me better
access to his groin.
I grind my rapidly
hardening sex against his and hear him gasp in delight. “I believe you brought
my favourite dish…” I bend my head to nibble down his chin and to lick across
the rapid pulse I can feel beneath the soft skin of his throat. “My sweet boy.”
Peter blushes and I can not stop myself from laughing. After all, we shared he
still blushes sometimes like a innocent virgin…
Our lips meet and I
ravish his mouth with tongue and teeth, until he gives a little shriek of pain
and I taste the blood from his bitten lip. He taught me to crave his unique
flavour… My greedy hands slide down the glowing skin of his chest, relearning
its contours and muscles. I feel as if we have been apart for years, not only
for one night. My thumbs rub his stiff nipples, then pinch until he pants hard
and grinds his cock against mine.
“Please… let… me,” he moans against
my lips. “Let me suck you, Pop.”
Still I keep him down with my
weight. “Not this time,” I whisper, then bite down hard onto his chin. He gasps
and I slide a little deeper to let my mouth follow my hands. I settle my lips
around his nipples, suckle and bite them in turn until they are red and sore, then
soothe them with gently blows of air. Peter trashes beneath me, fighting to
touch me in turn, but I keep his arms at his sides. He might have come to my
bed to seduce me but I will not let my son control me. I fear I spoiled him
already too much… I revel in the slight salty taste of his skin, licking the
fine layer of sweat from his shoulder and sink my teeth in the soft flesh below
his collarbone, to relish at his cry of pain.
Suddenly I withdraw, my throat dry
and my hand shaking as I remember the cry that woke me at the midst of the
night… I still falter as Peter opens his eyes – twin pools of fire… and I store
the unhappy memories away. I will later think about it. For now, he is safe in
my arms.
I sense rather than see the
satisfied smile playing around his lips as I return to my earlier
ministrations…
His hips piston upwards as I bend
my head to take his cock in my mouth, grazing my teeth along the length,
knowing it will drive him crazy with need. He is so aroused he will not last
long… soon I hear his sweet cry of delight and his seed fills my greedy sucking
mouth.
Relaxed he sags back, sprawling
limply, helplessly panting while I lick him clean. With a final pet to his soft
sex I shift and return to his lips, for all we did this far served only to wet
my appetite…
He groans as I flip him over and
continue the sucking and biting at his backside. Spreading the lush globes of
his buttocks, I lazily circle the tip of one finger around the rim of his
puckered opening. I can not help but smile as I discover he had prepared
himself thoroughly. This predictable I have come to him?
I hear Peter chuckle softly,
obviously reading my very thoughts - and with an evil grin sink my teeth into
his buttock. He shrieks and shivers, pushing first himself up to his knees,
then back onto my touch.
A slight pressure applied to the
small of his back flattens him once more. He watches me over his shoulder, his
face flushed, his mouth open, his lips wet and swollen. ‘The very image of a
wanton, naughty pixie,’ flashes through my mind and I do not know if the
thought origins from me or from my lover. It does not matter.
I feel my passion rise and see his
smile widen into a happy grin. He relishes too much in my lack of control for
my taste… something I will definitely have to think over. Later.
For now, I grab for the nearby kept
oil and pour some of it onto my stiff sex, coating it thoroughly. Looking
beneath lowered lashes onto my son, I see the tremors of excitement racing his
body – and causing his cock to fill again. Maybe I will please him. Later,
after I found my own release in the beauty of his body.
With a single thrust, I sheath
myself in his heat, pining his trashing body down with my own. Worshipping the
tender flesh of his neck, I set a leisurely rhythm that will bring us both
pleasure. Even as his moans fill my awareness, I keep a close reign on my
passion for I wish not to hurt him, knowing he will leave me to go to work
after our lovemaking…
* * *
“I’m beaten,” Peter whispers,
snuggling up to me.
I lift my head to look at my son,
revelling in the satisfied glow that seems to emit his body, the love radiating
from his living eyes. Sometimes I wonder if anyone besides me can see it, too…
but I find I do not care for the opinion of other people. I have always
followed my own rules.
“Hey, Pop? Where’re you?”
“Here my son,” I answer, returning
my full attention to him. “I do not remember to beat you,” I tease, consciously
misinterpreting his words. His sweet laughter fills my ears and sends a shiver
of sheer pleasure through my hearth. What ever did I to be rewarded with such
happiness? Not only to have him back in my life, but now also in my bed. My
hand travels to his cheek, gently cupping his face. Peter closes his eyes, a
wondrous smile spreading across his relaxed features – and I see my little boy
I have once believed dead. To lose him again… this time I would not survive.
With a gasp, I bend my head to
cover his lips, to drown my fears in his willing mouth.
* * *
“Mmmmh… I hate to say that, but I
must get up, Pop.” Reluctance openly on his face, Peter leaves my arms after a
lingering kiss. “I need a shower…” His stomach growls and he grins. “And some
food.”
I roll to my side and watch him
rise graciously to his feet, stretching his beautiful body with a beaming smile
directed to me. A shiver runs through my body and I feel cold.
“You’re awfully quiet, Pop.
Anything amiss? Did I…”
“It is nothing.” I interrupt Peter
– something I rarely do – and rise. “I will fix breakfast while you shower.”
“Okay,” he answers, the question
clear in his voice but I choose to ignore it.
I feel his eyes on my back as I
turn to fetch a silken robe to cover my chilled body and head for the kitchen.
With a sigh, I take my mind to the tasks at hand and start to heat water. Maybe
some tea will warm me.
* * *
It is a silent meal. I cradle the
cup in both hands to gather its warmth, sip my tea, and pretend to watch the
sunshine outside the window to avoid the worry in Peter’s eyes. Even with our
connection tempered down to the mere knowledge of each other’s existence, he
seems to feel my discomfort. I also know he will not question me. Finally, I
put the cup down and turn to look at my son.
“Pop…” he starts, but for the
second time this morning, I stop him.
“It is time for you to leave, Peter
or you will be late.”
As he pushes back his chair, I rise
quickly, bypass the table, and take his face in both hands. For seconds his
eyes are startled, then he smiles at me, lowering his lashes.
“You know I’m gonna miss you, Pop,
all day.”
I rub his lower lip with my thumb
and am rewarded with a soft moan. “I will miss you, too, beloved. Be careful,
Peter.”
His eyes snap open, bore into mine.
“You’ve seen it, too, Pop? I was afraid I… fancied it.”
“What did you see?” I ask sharper
than I intend.
“A wolf. Tonight… as I returned.
Uh… I was really tired and I thought… well… I didn’t think much, just went to
bed. I’ve almost forgotten about it till now. Do you think it was real?”
I cup his chin, brushing his still
slightly wet hair back with the now free hand. “I do not know.” I let go of him
and step back.
Peter immediately follows me,
gripping my wrist. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you? Father?”
I lift my hand to brush away the
frown and to slip my fingers once again through his silken hair to reassure
him. With a gentle shake of my head, I pull him in my arms. “Never, darling.
Never,” I whisper in his ear before releasing him.
As he lifts his face, the smile is
back on his lips, but a shadow of worry lingers in his beautiful eyes. “I think
we’ll need to talk about this, Pop. I come by after work, okay?” His smile
turns seductive. “Mind, if I stay tonight?”
“I will look forward to your
return.”
Peter cups my face in his hands to
place a gentle kiss upon my forehead like he used to do as a child. Then, with
a final nod, he leaves me.
I remain impassive, watch my son
hurrying down the fire escape, taking two or three steps at once. An icy finger
seems to travel down my spin and I shiver. I shake it off and turn to shower.
There are patients awaiting me this morning and I will meet with Lo Si for
lunch.
I put my uneasiness aside.
Look, I ask you to read this
warning ‘cause I don’t want to get my wings burnt. If I flag rape, you will get
some nasty details. If you can’t take it, please return to post 1 and enjoy
yourself with Peter and Pop. I won’t mind. If you still want to continue –
please follow me into the darkness and let me kiss you…
Silver
hour of the wolf - post 2 A
by Silver (Silvers desire@aol.com)
KF – the legend continues / after
“Target”
P/P, NC-17 – rape
All’s well that ends well? No way –
the Brujo’s back. And the real nightmare is just about to begin…
What we can do for another,
Is the test of powers.
What we can suffer,
Is the test of love.
Brooke Foss Westcott
II.
A. Peter’s POV:
“Too sad I couldn’t taste you then
at the Temple, my dear Peter… old Ping Hai would never let me out of sight long
enough to lure you away… I have a strong tendency towards young, supple and
pure flesh.”
Hot breath brushes my ear and I
feel like throwing up every second now. I am sure, if the man is going to touch
me, I won’t be able to hold back a scream. My head spins. I can’t… what
happened to me? The last thing I remember is leaving the precinct to meet… no…
a trap? The call to meet someone who claimed to have information about one of
my cases… shit. After all, I fell like an idiot for this crap! And no one knows
where I am… I didn’t take the call too serious, just wanted to get through with
it, already thinking about tonight’s talk with Pop. And afterwards… nothing,
another blackout. I shake my head to clear the fog out of my brain and a sharp
pain explodes in my neck as if something had hit me… And now its almost night
and I… It’s hard to concentrate on his voice but I cling to it.
“But you’re still enchanting. Maybe
not so pure anymore… for can I see marks upon your beautiful body, stains left
by a… passionate lover. I can see… where his fingers dug deep in your soft
skin, bruising tender tissue. Where hungry teeth broke your delicious flesh to
draw your sweet blood out. I can smell it… yes, I can smell *him*… his scent is
still lingering on you…. “
“No…” I shake my head in weak
protest, a tremor racking my body and I feel more scared than ever in my life.
The heat emitting from the man standing behind me sears my naked back. My arms
sting and tremble from their strained position, the cuffs around my wrists
abrading the soft skin. My legs are already numb.
“I recognize it… So, who would
think that the holy Kwai Chang Caine, Shaolin priest and master of Shambhala,
likes to… fuck… his own sweet son. However - I must compliment his taste.”
“No.” I squirm, again testing the
strength of the chains, which hold my arms immobile. My panic rises even further
and I wonder, what in hell keeps my father? Something terribly cold slides
across my exposed buttocks – and with a fresh wave of horror, I recognize it as
the blade of a knife… “No, please…”
“Ah… try to plead for your life,
Peter?” The voice mocks at my ear. “That soon? I really feel disappointed…”
I clench my teeth not to cry out in
pain and frustration. I’ll never beg for my life! Never!! Pop won’t let me
down, he is going to find a way to avoid the trap, the Brujo has set up for
him, with me as bait. Surely every minute now he’ll be here, appearing out of
the shadows like a ghost… But why can’t I feel him? Our connection is still
closed off… No, it can’t possibly mean… no, I’ll know if he was hurt. I’ll
know… A cold hand settles around my heart, squeezing it.
Darkness looms near. Yes, it’d be
easy to give in, to simply let consciousness slip away – and there would be no
sight, sound, and no sensation… But I cling to the little shred of awareness
and pray. I will my breath to slow down to stop the hysterical beat of my
heart. I must be able to support Pop in every way. If I pass out… Why can’t I
feel him? He must be near… he must be here! Dad… *Father*, I need you!
Cold… so cold… the fingers
travelling down my spine burn like ice. I try to ignore it, but I cannot
suppress the shiver racing my body. I close my eyes.
Of course * he* sees it – he knows
of my feelings, my every thought – and I hear the Brujo’s laughter.
“It seems to me you do not quite
enjoy our little game, Peter Caine.”
My eyes snap open as the knife
suddenly cuts my skin at the small of my back. It hurts, yes, and I barely
manage to bite back a scream. The cuts seem to be superficial, little more then
a scratch, because only a short amount of blood runs down my buttocks and legs.
For the first time since I woke,
fixed up with chains to a metal frame like a wild animal to be tamed, my arms
above my head and my legs spread wide – the Brujo moves into my sight.
Angel is following him closely,
snarling her teeth at me like a furious beast. Hate emanates in waves from her,
I can feel it battering against me. Shit, I’ve never been good at this
mind-stuff, Pop tried to teach me but I… I kinda hate to think about those
things. It’s not… quiet human… better to watch at a movie then to live with. It
took me months to cope with the bond between me and my father, his knowledge
about my whereabouts – which comes rather handy, I admit – and sometimes
reading my mind. Linking his ch’i with mine felt incredible, but also scared
the hell out of me. Since we became lovers, the closeness I feel is both
reassuring and frightening. He perceives so much more of me, reads me so
easily.
But not now, not this time. Pop,
where are you? I need you…
The Brujo approaches me, one of his
hands travels lazily across my chest.
“Sweat…” he whispers as if
revealing a secret. “…adds to the softness of the body and increases the aroma
of fear, emanating from its pores. Fear is a powerful aphrodisiac I have
discovered.” Brining his fingers to his lips, he licks at them.
My mouth goes dry. He couldn’t
possibly want me… no. No way. I push the thought away. He’s just trying to
frighten me, to humiliate me. It’s his revenge for being defeated by Pop. He
has no longer control over my mind, Dad made sure of that. I dunno know *what*
he did, but he told me, the Brujo would never be able to took over control
again. If I wasn’t fixed to these steel frame I would have beaten him to a
pulp…
He smiles at me, stroking a finger
lightly across my trembling stomach muscles. I try to move away and struggle to
get loose of my bonds. “Really… your stubbornness is futile. Why do you not
save your strength and enjoy the experience?”
For seconds all I can do is to
stare at him. My heart is beating so loud it must roll like thunder over the
area. He even came here to the very place of my first confinement. I
understand… it’s all part of his plan to lure my father into his trap. Same
place, same time… only this time I’ll be there, too. Without letting the Brujo
know, my eyes travel the wrecks behind him, searching for Pop. He must be
there, hiding in the shadows or… doing whatever to fight the Brujo. Soon. Now.
He won’t let me get hurt.
A flash of light and the knife in
the Brujo’s hand blinks. He lifts it and I feel my heart stop for a moment…
He’s gonna to kill me… he’s truly gonna to kill me… races my mind and I feel
myself go very still. Dad, I’m so sorry I wasn’t good enough to escape, too
stupid to see the trap… I’m so sorry. I’ll love you forever… I close my eyes,
my body goes rigid, but the last, ripping pain of the cutting knife never
comes. Instead, I hear the Brujo’s laughter.
“Wonderful!” he calls
appreciatively. “But I see, Angel would love to use her claws on your body…
It’d be a shame to mar your soft skin now. Maybe I will allow her to… play…
with you. Later. After I am done with you.”
“Done… with me?” The words are over
my lips almost without thought.
“Ah, you’re naïve… or at least you
try to give the impression.”
He closes the little distance to me
and again I feel heat closing around me like a stifling cloak. My heart batters
against my ribs and I can’t suppress another wave of nausea.
“I will taste you,” the Brujo
whispers, lifting his hand to touch my lips. “Blame your father for it.”
His mouth brushes my ear but I’m
too scared to even move my head.
“I’d have been satisfied in killing
you and leaving your cadaver for Caine to find. It’d be sweeter than killing
him with my own hands. You’re right… I cannot take your mind, he shields you…
but I can have your body. These chains cannot be broken by human strength and
you’re much weaker than your father. Ts, ts. Must be kind of disappointment for
him… to have a son like you.”
A slick tongue invades my ear and
strong hands move across my back to rest on my ass, circling, stroking.
Suddenly realisation hits with full force and this time I cannot push the
thought away. The Brujo will rape me! He *is* going to rape me if Pop don’t
show up every second.
Nails rank up and down my spine and
I shiver. He wouldn’t dare…
“Weak both in mind and body… but
what a beautiful body. Taking you to bed seems the only way to put your…
abilities… to use…”
Before I can react to his scorn,
his hands are suddenly in my hair, jerking my head back so that my throat is
revealed. I can’t stifle a surprised cry as his teeth bite down hard into the
soft flesh beneath my chin. It hurts! My body snaps back violently, trying to
avoid his touch and I hear my spin crack, a blinding pain explodes in my
nerves, the chains holding me immobile.
“So touchy, Peter?”
The Brujo moves to stand behind me.
Both of his hands run down my back, nails dig into the soft flesh of my ass,
leaving a trail of fire. Now his fingers spread me wide open. Damnit. Damn you,
Pop. Where are you? Why can’t you hear me, feel me? I need you like never
before…
With a rush, all energy seems to
leave my body, my head lolls back. I feel tears rising in my eyes but I won’t
cry, I won’t give the Brujo that.
The tip of a finger circles the
opening to my body and I clench my teeth. Teasing the rim in lazy circles
before suddenly pushing in… I’ve always enjoyed Pop’s teasing… strange to think
now. But all I seem able to think is of Pop’s hands on my body, his mouth on my
skin… taking me like he did this morning…
With a start, I’m back in reality
and feel the Brujo’s finger invading me, breaking the tight constricted ring of
muscles. Stretching and abrading the tight hole. His dry finger burn – but I
know it is nothing against the pain when he will enter me… No, I dare not to
think about that. It won’t come that far. Pop’s gonna to stop him. Pop, please…
I can’t stifle a sob and bite down hard onto my lower lip to stop a cry as the
Brujo adds a second finger.
“Yes, you feel incredible… hot and
tight… I envy your father, Peter,” he hisses into my ear, sharp teeth break the
skin in my neck and I gasp for air. “Maybe I should keep you… at least for a
while...to explore your beauties more thoroughly…”
“No!” No. No. No. No. The words
spinning in my mind like a burning wheel. Pop…Help me. FATHER!!
The invading fingers leave and a
rush of hope and relief floods me. The Brujo moves to stand in front of me, an
amused look onto his features. Slowly he is shedding his coat and I realize…
suddenly I sense a movement behind my back and turn my head the second seeing
Angel jumping at me, silver claws glistening at her hands like Lo Si described
them to me. Her foot hits me at the back of the head, violently pushing me
forward – as far as the tight chains allow it. The world spins around me as
pain explodes in my scull, my vision blurs, and I can’t hold back tears.
Through the roar in my ears I hear – or feel? – a hiss as she strikes again.
But she never touches me for a second time.
“ANGEL!”
The Brujo lifts his voice only a
fragment, but a cold shiver runs over me – the young woman freezes in movement,
huddling down on the ground like a beaten dog.
“You will not hurt him until I tell
you so, Angel. He is mine.” The Brujo makes a gesture with his hand and Angel
moves to his side, hunching at his feet like an obedient pet. He pets her head
without looking at her.
His eyes burn like beacons. I
concentrate on breathing and let the pain flow through my body instead of
fighting him. My stomach jumps and nausea wells up like a spring. Black spots
dance in front of my vision.
“Well… I’d preferred him wide
awake… but maybe you’ve been wiser than I, Angel. Take him down on the ground
for me, my darling. He will not resist. But leave the cuffs on his wrists. I
enjoy the sight.”
Red darkness swirls up around me
and I collapse on the ground, my legs giving in as the strain is gone from my
arms. I am unable to move… unable to fight or to turn away. My throat
constricts as I try to breath the heavy smelling air, I taste rust, oil and
blood on my tongue. I feel myself being rolled over, a stone scratching my
cheek. I cannot see, blood had run down my forehead and into my eyes. I feel
cold hands on my thighs, a heavy weight pressing me down. Something hot enters
me.
Pain.
I feel everything – but as if it is
distant, oddly removed, something happening in another place or to someone
else. I cannot resist or speak or to do anything than simply endure. I even
stop calling for Pop in my mind.
* * *
Afterwards Angel is over me - her
fury and jealousy is overwhelming. It is with gratitude I finally feel
consciousness slip away.
Again, I ask you to read the
warning. Still dealing with the rape, now it’s Pop’s POV
Silver
hour of the wolf - post 2 B
by Silver (Silvers desire@aol.com)
KF – the legend continues / after
“Target”
P/P, NC-17 - rape
All’s well that ends well? No way –
the Brujo’s back. And the real nightmare is just about to begin…
What we can do for another,
Is the test of powers.
What we can suffer,
Is the test of love.
Brooke Foss Westcott
II.
Caine’s POV
Sitting in lotus in my little
garden, I watch the sunset and wait for Peter. Through all day, I have felt his
preoccupation, his thoughts tumbling aimlessly from me to the experience with
the Brujo, then returning to our lovemaking early this day. Finally, I had to
raise my mental shields again to stop the constant flow of his thoughts,
distracting me from my duties.
Unease is slowly invading my mind.
I try but I am unable to focus on Peter now. Something shields me from his
thoughts.
* * *
Earlier I have felt my son’s
eagerness to return to me and his mild anger having to meet someone first as he
left the precinct. I remember my uncontrolled smile… always so impatient, my
Peter. I was helping my master to harvest mushrooms at that time and – seeing
his smirk – I wondered how much my face gave away from my thoughts.
“I think those mushrooms are enough
for today, my friend,” he said, his voice gentle. “I do not want to occupy more
of your precious time, Kwai Chang Caine – for I can sense you are expecting a…
visitor… tonight.” Ancient eyes look at me with bright amusement.
“Thank you.” I bowed. “Peter will
come for dinner.” I saw the trap too late, but could not stop without being
impolite. “Perhaps you will join us?”
“I would love to,” Lo Si said.
“Young Peter seems somehow… reluctant… to visit me these days.”
“I am sure he does so not by
purpose, Master. His work…”
A wriggle of an ancient finger told
me I had not been overly convincing. “Too sad I already have prior arrangements
for dinner.” Another sly smile was distributed towards me. “Have… fun, my
friend. And send Peter my best wishes.”
“I will.” Again, I bowed and turned
to leave, ancient soft chuckle followed me.
* * *
I rise to return indoors, for a
cold wind now sweeps across the terrace. Still my sense of Peter is… diffuse.
As far as I can tell is he not hurt, neither is he in danger... but he seems to
shield himself now like I did earlier this day. I could overcame his barriers,
because there is still much he has to learn and practice, his defences are yet
weak – but I will respect his privacy. There had been other opportunities when
he shielded his mind… when he was with a woman… at the time before we became
lovers.
I close the French doors and start
to lit more candles to banish the shadows – both in the room and in my
thoughts.
Restlessness rises again and this
time I do not try to discipline it. Instead, I close my eyes and open my mind,
softly calling for my son. ‘Peter?’ There is no answer... I hesitate, my hand
is absent-minded clamping down on an candle, hot wax splashes over my fingers,
but I do not feel it.
Slowly exhaling a breath, I open my
eyes, fighting a wave of frustration.
At the outside, darkness approaches
and it feels like it is filling the very air… a dark liquid, making it harder
to breath. I turn to Buddha for advise, but receive no answer, no help.
“Peter?” I do not know I spoke
aloud until I hear the word vibrating through the room. My voice sounds
strange, as if it no longer belongs to me. An odd silence follows and I can
hear only the steady, low beat of my own heart thundering in my ears. I reach
out with my ch’i for my son, along the silver thread of our connection... The
candles start to flicker and I press my palm to my forehead as if my physical
strength might aid my mental abilities.
Suddenly a cry… the very cry that
woke me last night… reverberates in the air. A wave of pain hits me with full
force and I hear Peter frantically call my name. An image flashes through my
mind… my son, his naked body limp on the ground, blood smearing his skin. I can
not see his face because it is turned into his arms… but I see chains around
his wrists and ankles. Dark clouds loom around his too still figure, about to
cover him.
No, this can not be real! If
something happened to Peter, I would have known! Our connection is deep and it
is strong… I drop to my knees. My mind is clouded, a fine, steady trickle of
blood runs down into my neck. There seems not enough air in the room to ease my
breath and I cough. A sharp pain explodes in my ribcage as if I had suffered
broken ribs. No… not I… I feel Peter’s injuries. My left knee… Peter’s knee…
pulsates after receiving a savage kick. My right wrist is twisted in an awkward
angle, some more pressure applied would break it. There is more… a crushing
black abyss of agony inside… mingled up with grief and sorrow…
And than it is over and I am back
in my own body again, sprawled on the floor of my loft. For long seconds I lie
breathless – not able to catch a decent thought. All I know is that my boy…
Peter… he needs me. He was… attacked and I did not feel it!
Collecting my strength and control
I stumble to my feet. The world swirls around me, before it suddenly turns
black. I feel Peter losing consciousness. “No!”
Savage laughter fills the air and
now I know who did this to us – the Brujo. For the first time in my life, I
taste unleashed hate and the desire to kill. It is such an intense emotion I
physically shrink back and impact with the wall behind me. Its smooth, cool
surface helps me to regain some control.
Peter is still alive. This thought
finally enables me to move. I grab my satchel, not caring for shoes or my
jacket and run into the night. My only lead the too slow, irregular beat of my
beloved child’s heart…
* * *
I can sense no other presence than
Peter’s as I arrive. The smell of blood hovers sickens over the deserted area
as I break into the chaos of rubbish and wrecked cars, not caring for any
injury, I might receive.
Strong lights guide me to the place
Peter is and as I break free of the shadows, I have to shield my eyes for a
moment.
“Peter.” My voice is not more than
a breathless whisper as I drop to my knees next to the motionless body of my
son. I carefully cradle his head in my lap, tenderly stroking his cheek while
with my free hand I ramble through the contents of my satchel. “Peter? My love,
can you hear me?”
Peter’s lips move as if he tries to
say something, an anguished moan cuts like a knife through my heart. I bring a
vial to his mouth and gently urge him to empty it. Only then, I dare to take
him in my arms, pulling him up to my chest to ease his breathing. I rest his
face against my shoulder and run my hands down his body to assert his
condition. Two of the lower ribs are splintered, I feel their sharp ends move
beneath Peter’s too cold, clammy skin. Peter moans again and a violent shudder
runs through him. Dark finger marks imprinted upon his hips make me wince. I
move my hand to cover them without actually touching the bruised skin and a
vision flashes through my mind… fingers digging like claws deep into my son’s
soft flesh and a voice whispering: “Blame your father for it.” I wrench my hand
back and the horrifying picture dissolves.
Cradling Peter close to my body to warm him, I gently rock him in my arms like I used to do when he was a child, crying for his mother.
Slowly I ease one of my hands down
his back, rubbing soothing circles on his skin while I wait for his breath rate
to recover. I trace a cut across the small of his back and the picture of the
knife Angel tried to kill me with, comes unbidden to my mind. Dried blood
clings to my fingers, fortunately the wound seems to be only superficial. I
gently arrange Peter more to the other side, careful not to restrict his
breathing, to take a closer look at his back. There is more blood on the back
of his thighs, mingled with white splashes of a dried fluid. Inexplicably it
reminds me of the morning and our lovemaking… My breath gets caught in my
suddenly tight throat. No. It can not be what I think… NO!
My hand shakes violently and I will
it to be calm as I slip my fingers down the crack of Peter’s buttocks. I feel
more blood, still wet and more of the white fluid. As I touch the torn and
swollen rim, Peter flinches and arches his back to escape my probing.
Blinded by tears I can not
suppress, I turn my head and press my lips to Peter’s ear, whispering assurance
to him, caught in a living nightmare.
Peter has been… the Brujo did… he
raped my son.
* * *
“Pop?”
The pain in his weak voice startles
me and I dare not to look at his face. “I am here, my Peter.”
“I’m… cold…”
“Do not speak, darling.” The skin
of his cheek burns like icy beneath my lips. “I will take you home.”
“We’re… safe…?”
“Yes… my love. We are secure for
the moment. The Brujo is gone.”
I hear a soft sigh from Peter. “You
know… I feared… a trap… he’d killed you…”
“No more words, you must rest.” I
slip my hand in his hair and feel warm wetness on my fingertips. The head
injury still bleeds. Realising this I finally snap out of my trance-like state
of grief and sorrow. Gently lowering Peter to the ground I look for his clothes
and find them at the engine bonnet of a nearby car. With the outmost care I
dress Peter, but it is with a sense of gratitude as I feel him loosing
consciousness again.
Taking him in my arms I prepare
myself for the long way home.
* * *
Peter moans, but does not open his
eyes as I lower him to the futon. I leave his side to fetch bandages and herbs
from my workbench. The bleeding of the head injury had stopped, but his broken
ribs still cause him trouble with breathing.
As I return my darling son blinks,
his lips part as if he tries to speak – but I take the opportunity and put a
few drops from a vial in his mouth. The medicament will both ease his pain and
allow him to sleep. Gently brushing his face with my fingertips, I wait for the
mixture to work. Finally his breath deepens and I see his muscles relax in
sleep. Covering him with a fresh linen, I start to bandage the broken ribs to
stabilize them. And try not to think about what happened to him…
I leaf to get water to clean
Peter’s wounds as the world suddenly moves beneath my feet. I have to grab for
the kitchen sink to steady me. I open the tap and splash with both hands cold
water into my face. Head bowed, my breath harsh and irregular in the nightly
silence I wait for the vertigo to go by. Something inside of me tears and claws
to be freed but I dare not to let loose my feelings. I must be in control. For
Peter.
My hands steady once more, I fill a
bowl with fresh water and fetch some towels.
Fine, so you made it that far with me… ready to take the last step? C’mere, let me take your hand and walk with me “where Angels fear”...
Silver
hour of the wolf - post 3
by Silver (Silvers desire@aol.com)
KF – the legend continues / after
“Target”
P/P, NC-17, h/c
All’s well that ends well? No way –
the Brujo’s back. And the real nightmare is just about to begin…
What we can do for another,
Is the test of powers.
What we can suffer,
Is the test of love.
Brooke Foss Westcott
III.
Peter’s POV
My first awareness is of the
metallic taste of blood in my mouth. I shake my head and instantly regret it.
Pain flares, the darkness nearly takes me again. I blink but cannot see. I wipe
my eyes… my hands are free, yes… now I faintly remember Pop breaking the cuffs…
not taking the time to open them with his little Shaolin trick… My fingers are
sticky. More blood. Finally, I manage to open first one eye, then the other.
I lie on the sleeping platform in
my father’s loft. I’m still nude, covered only by a light linen. My body hurts.
I try to control it like Pop taught me, but find only dizziness and nausea.
Ahh, my head…
So return to the essentials. One
thing at a time… Maybe I can sit up? Yes, but it is difficult. The pain in my
head is sickening. What has happened to me? I cannot seem to remember. But I
feel cold. My skull threatens to self-destruct, the world spins and I hastily
close my eyes.
I cough, wince at the pain in my
ribcage. Now I can feel a bandage covering most of my lower chest. “Pop?” My
voice is little more than a croak.
“Be still, Peter.” Warm hands grip
for my shoulders, gently pushing me back. Something soft, wet and cool dabs at
my face, to remove the blood. “Lie quietly. I am here, Peter, my darling.”
There is an edge in my father’s voice… but I’m way to tired to wonder what
troubles him.
Pictures flash behind my closed
eyes. A body covered with bruises, scratches, scrapes – and blood? Whose body?
Blood? Yes, blood… a trickle of it running down my leg. NO! Not me. Not MY
body! I pull back from Pop’s touch, suddenly unable to bear it. I try to
concentrate on anything else. A shower. Yes… I surely feel I could use one. “I…
need to get up… and shower.”
“You need to rest first, Peter. To
recover your strength.”
Anger flares inside of me and I
open my eyes. “Don’t tell me what to do!” I snap at him, instantly regretting
the harshness of my words. I look at my Dad… a strange… there is a strange
expression on his face… almost as if he is in pain… Did the Brujo hurt him,
too? I find I cannot interpret the look in his eyes. “Sorry… but I really must
shower. I’m… sticky all over.”
His eyes leave mine. “If you wish.”
He carefully steadies me while I try to come to my feet. Again, the world spins
around me, but finally I am able to rise and stand, if a trifle unsteady. I
shrug free of my father’s hands and very carefully, not trusting my treacherous
legs, make my way to the bath, get in the shower and turn it on, full hot water
mode. The relief is so great I sag against the wall and just stand there,
breathing, letting the heat and the water pound some of the soreness out of me.
I duck my head under the stream and hiss, as the water strikes a knot at the
back of my skull. Red washes down from my hair and huddles at my feet for a
time. Finally, the flow is more or less clean and I straighten up again.
Self-assessment. I have a head
injury of unknown severity – but I trust Dad would have me tied down to bed if
it had been really dangerous. Maybe a laceration, even I can’t quiet remember
how I came to it?
It feels as if I have one, possibly
two cracked rips. Shit – I should have stripped down the bandages first before
stepping into the shower. Now they’re soaked wet and partially loose. My left
knee is bruised and very tender. Did I fetch a kick? My right wrist is slightly
swollen, but not broken. The skin is abraded from the cuffs. But those bruises
on my hips… finger marks. Dark and quite painful. I touch them gingerly.
More of the sweet smelling soap to
wash away the sudden feel of being dirty.
I am almost finished now as I
remember being cut with a knife… at the small of my back. It’s not a deep cut -
I can trace it with my fingertips, then let my fingers wander deeper. Another
hiss comes over my lips as I discover pain where I didn’t expect to find some.
My fingers… brought around… prove to be splashed with blood.
There? But that would mean…
I sway, almost fall. Memory looms
and then recedes. I let go of it, realizing, suddenly… that perhaps I am not
yet ready.
Not ready for what?
No.
Not yet.
Wait.
Finally, thoroughly warmed, I turn
off the shower and walk out of the stall. With a shaking hand, I brush my hair
back, lift my head – and have to face Dad. He’s standing there - who knows how
long - and watches me. I hastily gaze away but am grateful for his arms,
holding me, covering me with a large, soft towel. I lean against his strong
body.
I remember the Brujo… being chained
and… touched? There is even the memory of some of his scorn. What else? Cold.
Darkness. Icy fingers on my skin. My fall to the ground. A splitting pain… the
knife? No… I didn’t found cuts on my body, except the one at my back.
Was that all of it?
I shiver again, thinking of blood
on my fingers. Blood where no blood should be. There could only be one reason
for that. I had not just been… attacked by the Brujo… he also did… NO! I cannot
remember so I cannot know. There must be another explanation.
“Peter, please… you need to rest. I
still have to tend your injuries.”
I let Pop sweep me in his arms and
carry back to the futon, I feel dizzy, exhausted. I close my eyes and stop
thinking…
* * *
A cup pushes gently against my lips
and I feel my father’s hand in my neck, helping me to lift my head. I sip the
cool liquid and try to ignore its awful taste. But soon a wonderful coolness
spreads through my body till I feel weightless, like drifting at the surface of
a quiet lake. Like the water of my secret place at the Temple.
Maybe I’ve finally returned… I
wonder if Pop will join me and wait for his voice… I’m safe here. No one but
Pop will find me… protected… my memories are safe here. Somehow I understand
I’ll have to leave soon… but I won’t take the memories back with me. No one
will know. Pop will never know… But know *what*?
Memory looms and then recedes.
Never think about it, Peter… never
talk about it, Peter…
Nothing happened.
Nothing…
I give in to the darkness and let
it take me away.
Caine’s POV
I watch the night turn into day…
wait through the hours of the day… and watch the sunset again. Time has no
meaning. Peter mostly sleeps and I dare not to leave his side for more than
minutes. The fever is gone and so seem his nightmares – at least for the moment.
I can sense the progress of healing in his body but I do not know about the
injuries of his soul.
For the first time
since I found him I allow myself to think, to feel… but what are my feelings? I
shy away from the hate and rage I sense within myself. I turn away only to face
shame… of not being able to save Peter, again I have failed him. He needed me
but I… It is no justification that because of the Brujo’s manipulations I did
not know he was in danger – because I should have known! He is my child, a
precious gift to be protected and loved…
>>Blame your father for
it!<<
The words cut like a knife through
my heart. Nevertheless I accept their truth. I failed Peter. I did not come to
rescue him and I did not discover the manipulation of both our thoughts until
it was too late – because in my arrogance I underestimated the Brujo’s mind
powers.
I gently reach out
to cup Peter’s cheek – but he flinches from my touch. I will my fear down. What
will do this to my sensible, pained son? The Brujo… assaulted… only his body –
but I…
“Father?”
His childlike voice and the now
seldom used formal address startles me and I am grateful for the shadows still
filling the room – so he will not see my face. “Yes, Peter.”
His hand skims the linen and I take
it, bring it to my lips to lie a kiss into his palm. A fleeting smile crosses
his lips. “You’re not hurt, Pop? He didn’t get you?”
“No, my son.” It is only with much
effort I keep my voice steady, but I must not alarm him.
“You know… it’s kinda funny… I
can’t remember what happened. It’s like the first time – I’ve lost a whole
night.” He blinks. “How long…?”
“You slept a whole day and a whole
night, Peter. You needed to rest after you went through a fever. And do not
concern yourself - I have sent word to Mary-Margaret, that you will not be able
to attend your work for some days. She will… cover up… for you.”
He tries to laugh – but his voice
breaks in a cough. “I really got it this time… my ribs… and my back… hurt,
Pop.”
“I am so sorry I… arrived too late,
Peter. I was unable to sense your… distress. There is… no justification that I
did not discover the Brujo’s manipulation…”
“Don`t, Pop! I always knew you’d
come and find me. It’s not your fault…”
I brush his sweat-soaked hair back
and bend to kiss his forehead. “I will give you more of the herbs to ease your
pain.” I am relived to find a reason to leave him – if only for a minute – to
recover my facade of composure. But as I start to rise his hand grips my wrist,
holding me back.
“Something happened to me,” he
slowly says. “Something I can’t remember… But you know, right? Pop?”
I turn my head, unable to met his
eyes and start to loose his fingers. “Your memories will return.” Even if I
pray they will not… “Sleep, Peter. We will have time to talk… later.”
His hand falls back next to his
body. “Okay… but don’t leave me.” He tries to smile to take the edge of panic
out of his voice – but fails.
“Never. I will be at your side,” I
promise and bend to kiss his cheek.
* * *
Another two days have passed since…
the attack. Peter’s injuries are much improved and he is eager to get up and to
return to work. His memories are still elusive. He remembers little of the
night – and I can not find I feel regret for this. If I could, I would gladly
take his memory, I would wipe out this night of pain and horror to leave him as
pure as he was before…
But all the same he has changed.
There is no light in his eyes and even his smiles are grey and wary. He
flinches even at my touch and it tears at my heart.
The day before he insisted to
return to his apartment but I could convince him to stay another night. I
wished I could keep him safe in my arms for the rest of his life… But all I can
do is to watch his sleep.
Now I feel him stir, he turns his
head and looks at me – but gets up without a word and retreats to the bathroom.
I flee into the kitchen, my hands
shake so badly I drop a cup to the floor while making tea. Picking up the
fragments I feel Peter’s eyes upon my back, but I am unable to lift my face and
to meet his gaze.
“I… don’t know when I… find time to
stop by,” he says. “There’s a lot work to catch up…”
“I… understand.”
“Well… can’t stay for breakfast,
Pop. I’ve got to change my clothes before I go to the precinct and I’m in a
hurry.”
I remain silent for I do not know
what he wants me to say.
“Äh… see you, Pop.”
“Be well.” The words barely make it
over my dry lips. I rise and turn – and watch Peter leave, see him walking into
the light of a new morning - and I know it is an error to let him go. But I
feel rooted to the floor, unable to move.
A wall of pure, solid ice has been
built between us – and I can not tell by whom…
I have failed Peter... again...
final. Something dies in me but I feel no pain. My mind is numb.
“Peter…” I whisper – but only
silence answers me.
Slowly I sit down on the floor,
support my back to the wall – the pain even too strong give in to tears... I
open my hand where I still clutch the pieces of the broken cup. Their sharp
edges had cut deep into my palm. A trickle of blood slowly eases his way down
my wrist.
* * *
Outside the city the Brujo opens
his eyes, a gruel, satisfied smile crosses his lips as he reaches for Angel,
pulling her face down for a kiss. He releases her, pets her shoulder and pushes
her away as he tilts his head – listening to something than cannot heard by
other’s ears. His laughter fills the crisp morning air. From far the howl of a
wolf answers him.
end
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * *
But he can touch your trembling
heart,
Can touch your very soul.
Take you with him when he leaves
And make your dreams turn old…
(Horslips, Ride to hell)