Page 60 of Crown of Storm and Silence
"Please," I whisper, fresh tears streaming down my face. "Please don't hurt my baby. I'll do anything?—"
"Anything?" One of the otherObursteps closer, a female with dark hair and eyes like chips of ice. Her beauty is corpse-like, exquisite but ruined, like a statue half-buried in a grave. Her lips glisten as though perpetually wet, parting with hunger that is far more carnal than simply thirst. "How delicious. It's been so long since we had a volunteer."
Her hands roam over my body with predatory hunger, her palms sliding deliberately over the swell of my breasts, lingering at the hollow of my waist before drifting lower, fingers tracing the inside of my thigh in a grotesque parody of intimacy. She cups me between my legs through the thin fabric, pressing with cruel insistence, savoring the way my body recoils against the restraints. Her nails are sharp enough to slice the thin fabric, grazing the flesh beneath in shallow burns that sting like acid. The touch makes my skin crawl as she explores my helpless form with obvious pleasure, her lips curling in mockery at my shuddering revulsion.
Before I can process what she means, her tongue slides wetly along the side of my neck in a slow, obscene caress, trailing down to lap at my shoulder in mockery of intimacy before her fangs sink into the flesh. Her hot breath fans against my skin, every languid lick performed like a lover’s kiss meant to shame as much as to arouse dread. The pain is immediate and devastating, like liquid fire being injected into my veins, spreading outward until even my fingertips burn with torment. My pulse hammers beneath her mouth, frantic and terrified, while her lips seal tighter as if she were drinking a lover’s sigh instead of my life.
"Exquisite," she murmurs against my skin, her tongue lapping at the wound she's made. "There's power here, ancient and new mixed together. Like drinking starlight." Her lips linger greedily, sucking until the skin around the puncture points bruises, her breath damp and rank against my flesh.
AnotherOburapproaches from my other side, this one male with silver hair and a face that might have been handsome before death claimed it. "My turn," he says with childlike eagerness, his fangs finding the pulse point at my throat. His body presses indecently close as he drinks, the scrape of his cold chest against my arm making me shiver with disgust, and lower still, I feel the rigid press of his erection grinding against me, a vile reminder of how deeply he relishes my torment.
The dual feeding makes my vision blur, weakness flooding through my limbs as they systematically drain my strength. My veins feel like hollowed tubes being siphoned, each swallow tugging at the strings of my soul. Their hands roam while they feed—the female groping my breasts with cruel delight, the male sliding down to stroke between my thighs, prying at me with icy fingers as if to drink from every part of me at once. But even through the haze of pain and growing faintness, I can feel my baby's desperate struggles, their life force intertwined with mine in ways that mean my death would surely claim it too.
"Stop," I gasp, my voice barely a whisper. "Please, the baby?—"
"Will be unharmed," the dark-haired leader assures me, though his smile is anything but comforting. His voice is velvet stretched over broken glass, a promise meant to slice. "We have no interest in damaging such a precious commodity. Your child is far too valuable to waste on simple feeding."
TheOburrelease me reluctantly, licking their lips with obvious satisfaction while I sag against my chains, struggling to remain conscious. One of them drags his tongue over hisown wrist, smearing my blood across pale skin as though wearing me like an ornament. The two who fed from me turn on each other with obscene hunger, mouths crashing together, tongues fighting over the taste of my blood as their hands tear at clothing. They rut against each other like animals in heat, grinding and clawing, their moans of ecstasy mingling with the metallic tang of my suffering. Blood streams from multiple wounds, pooling beneath me to add to the dark stains that map decades of suffering in this chamber.
"Babies have the purest blood," the dark-haired leader murmurs with religious reverence, his hand still resting possessively on my belly. His gaze flicks briefly toward the pair of vampires still locked in their obscene coupling, a flicker of amusement curving his lips before he refocuses on me. His thumb strokes my skin in mock imitation of a lover, pressing hard enough that I feel the pulse beneath as though he is testing the rhythm of life he intends to desecrate. He leans closer, inhaling deeply as he sniffs along my neck and face. His breath reeks of copper and decay, coating me in the scent of my own mortality. His cold tongue darts out, trailing along my cheek in a grotesque caress. "But yours... yours smells even more divine, like nothing I have smelled before." His smile widens, revealing fangs that gleam like polished bone. "Such a rare delicacy deserves... special attention."
The words chill me to the bone, but before I can ask what he means, he's moving with inhuman speed. Sharp claws slice through my dress, the fabric parting like silk beneath a blade. The sound is obscene, like the tearing of skin instead of cloth. The bodice falls away in tatters, exposing my breasts to the cold dungeon air. TheOburmurmur in approval, low growls of hunger vibrating around me. My skin erupts in goosebumps as the chill hits me, and I feel my light magic flicker desperatelybeneath my skin before the chains drain it away, leaving me dim and powerless.
The otherOburclose in like wolves sensing weakness. Cold tongues dart out to taste my exposed flesh, lapping at my nipples with grotesque hunger. Their mouths leave trails of saliva that mix with the blood already drying on my skin, a slick, revolting sheen that makes me gag. I arch away from their touch, sobbing as they sample me like some exotic delicacy, their eyes rolling back in ecstasy at whatever power they taste in my skin.
"Stop," I sob, trying desperately to cover myself with my chained hands. "I'm begging you, don't do this. My child?—"
"Will be exquisite," theoburfinishes, his tongue extending with serpentine length. The muscle shifts and writhes with unnatural flexibility, growing longer, thinner, as his eyes roll back with anticipation. The others gasp in anticipation, their eyes glassy with lust, their own hands roaming between their legs and over their chests with obscene hunger. Fingers slick with arousal pump and claw, some moaning openly as if my suffering were the most exquisite form of pornography, their gasps rising in chorus while they devour the spectacle of my violation. "I want to taste the source. To sample the power that created such an impossibility."
"No!" I scream, struggling against the chains with desperate strength. "Don't touch my baby! Please!"
But the shackles hold firm, draining away what little magic I can still access, leaving me helpless as he positions himself between my legs. The other vampires watch with eager anticipation, some of them touching themselves with obvious arousal at the spectacle about to unfold.
The agony that follows defies description. His elongated tongue pushes inside me like a living snake, probing, searching, trying to reach the innocent life growing in my womb. Every thrust feels deliberate, cruel, his muffled moans vibratingthrough my body as though savoring each layer of violation. The violation is complete, absolute, tearing through every barrier of dignity and strength I possess.
I scream until my throat burns raw, until the sound echoes off stone walls like the cries of the damned. Around us, other vampires feed from their hanging victims with renewed enthusiasm, my terror seasoning their meal with exquisite spice. The chamber becomes a chorus of wet feeding sounds, my screams weaving into the soundtrack of their ecstasy.
"Magnificent," theoburbreathes, his voice muffled as he continues his horrific exploration. "The power... It's like nothing I've ever tasted. Pure creation mixed with shadow, life and death dancing together..." His words are thick with saliva and my blood, every syllable a desecration.
Pain lances through me as something tears inside, and I feel warm wetness on my thighs that might be blood. The baby's frantic movements become weaker, more desperate, and terror floods my system with ice-cold certainty.
He's going to kill us. Both of us. He's going to tear my child from my womb and feast on the impossibility of its existence.
"Please stop," I sob, my voice breaking completely. "You're hurting it. You're hurting my baby."
But he only pushes deeper, his serpentine tongue writhing inside me as he seeks the source of the power he craves. Each thrust sends agony through my entire body, and I can feel something warm and sticky running down my legs—definitely blood now, too much blood.
The otherOburbegin to circle closer, drawn by the scent of my pain and the power that bleeds from my wounds. One of them, a young-looking male with wild eyes, drops to his knees beside the growing pool of my blood and begins lapping at it like an animal. He groans obscenely, smearing crimson across his chin and chest as though bathing in my suffering. "Delicious,"he moans, his face smeared with crimson. "The fear makes it so much sweeter."
Hours pass—or maybe minutes, time has no meaning in this place of horror. They take turns feeding from me, careful never to drain too much at once, keeping me conscious and aware of every violation, every tearing pain as the leader continues his assault on my most intimate places. Their rhythm is relentless, a cycle of torment designed to keep me dangling between life and death, pleasure twisted into torture.
My baby's movements grow weaker with each passing moment, and the knowledge that I'm failing to protect it tears at my soul worse than any physical torment.
The dark-haired leader steps back, admiring his handiwork with the detached appreciation of an artist studying a particularly challenging canvas. "You know," he muses, circling me like a shark scenting blood, "pain is such a crude instrument. So... unimaginative." His fingers trail through the blood pooling beneath me, then smear it across my lips in mock communion. His pale fingers trail along my cheek with grotesque tenderness. "But terror? Terror is an art form."
He gestures, and the otherOburbrings something forward that makes my stomach clench with horror—a small cage containing what looks like a child's toy, except it's moving. Writhing. The thing inside is no bigger than my fist, but it pulses with malevolent hunger that makes my skin crawl.
"Do you know what a soul-mite is, my dear?" he asks pleasantly, as if the answer won't destroy everything. "Fascinating little creatures. They feed on the essence of unborn life, growing stronger with each precious drop they consume. And yours..." His eyes fix on my belly with feral hunger. "Yours promises to be such an exquisite feast." The creature’s many tiny teeth clatter against the bars, dripping saliva that sizzles where it hits the stone.
