Content Warning

Greetings and Salutations.
Because my stories have bite, they can contain content that isn't suitable for work or children. Not a lot of truly graphic sex or violence, but there are some questionable or heated posts. F-bombs are not uncommon, so watch your footing.

Monday, October 22, 2018

The Shalafae Archives - Little Sister

A little something from Lord Shalafae's past. When you're eons old, there's a lot of history to delve.


Ulrin strode through quiet halls, sweat drying under his riding leathers. The spicy scent of argul clung to the young Sidhehan, making him wish he were still flying his reptile. The verlynth was wearing off, and the withdrawals began.

I'm almost out, he grumbled. Mother best bring some back from their little cruise. His stepmother's selfishness knew no bounds.

Dizziness sent him stumbling against a wall. The albino groaned, eyes squeezed shut. Weakness followed, reducing him to a frail and trembling young man.

Curse the Fates who decided my birth. I cannot die, will not die. His research was progressing well, revealing clues to a cure for his condition. Ulrin's father wouldn't mourn his passing, but his stepmother and little sister would. Kyra needs me.

The attack passed, but his strength didn't return. Breathing heavily, he remained against the wall. Blood taste filled his mouth, fluid trickling down the back of his throat. Wiping at his thin nose, Ulrin found he was bleeding. His vision wavered, and he clenched his fist.

Verlynth is strong, but the withdrawal is almost not worth it. Perhaps it's the way the dragon venom is refined. I should visit the gladiator pits, try it raw.

When Ulrin began walking, it was like a feeble old man. Argul riding took precise skill and focus of energy, and he'd burned himself up, using up the drug in his veins. He'd need to feed on someone's lifeforce to refuel before he took another dose.

I think I'll try Mother's little pixan girl. She won't be missed. He grinned, the first stirrings of arousal giving him a boost. And those legs would make a good necklace. Ulrin reached with his mind for the mortal slave.

He found nothing. There was only his little sister's mind, and she was closed off to him. None of the slaves were in his senses.

"Impossible," he growled, anger fueling him. The trembles stopped as he stalked toward Kyra. Impulsive and crazy, the young woman might have sent all the servants away.

As he crossed an atrium, death brushed his senses. Blood soaked the air, drawing his attention toward a low table. A slender hand barely peeked out. Stooping, Ulrin found a murdered servant.

The woman's throat was slashed, her eyes wide, face frozen in terror. Blood was drying, covering every inch of her.

With a sigh, he rose. No one else was on the grounds, and Kyra exhibited no signs of terror. The little girl still waited for him, excited. Making his way to her once more, Ulrin began drawing on death energy. He wanted to be stable when he confronted the little blond.

Kyra waited in the formal dining room. Mother had forbade them entrance, and would punish any who entered there. His little sister had no reason to be in that room. Ulrin's curiosity was further piqued.

More bodies were piled up, and less effort taken to hide them or clean up. The aroma of blood filled his senses, making him hunger. Sanguine intoxication was the name given by their ancestors; he just knew it was a lust brought on by violence.

That lust was in high form when he found Kyra.

She smiled brightly as he entered the dining room. Crimson stained her from head to toe. "Hello, Brother," the young Sidhehan greeted, swinging her feet. The bodies strewn about the great hall belied her cuteness.

Arousal and anger kept Ulrin standing, kept the weakness at bay. "What have you done?" he snapped.

Kyra's smile never faltered. "I thought you'd be in a good mood. Argul that feisty today?" She grabbed a long plait of hair, bringing her knife off the table.

"No. It's my baby sister who's being feisty." He strode further into the room, crossing his arms.

She laughed, cutting at her hair. "I'd hardly call this feisty." Blond strands fell in a shower to the table. She closed bright blue eyes as she lopped off the remaining tresses.

He growled briefly. "You don't consider this feisty?" Ulrin gestured at the dead around them. "And what are you doing to your hair?" Growing it back would be the work of a moment, but that didn't stop him from mourning the lost tresses.

Finished with her hair cut, Kyra leaned back, bracing her arms behind her. Wisps hung around her, stuck on her dress, piled all around her lithe frame. "Do you not like it? It's supposed to make you take a new look at me." She held his gaze, licking her lips.

"Why should I look?" He came another step closer.

She sighed heavily, exasperation pouring from her. "Because I'm sick to death of you thinking I'm a wee girl."

Ulrin froze, anger dissipating. Her need reached to him, and he examined her, reassessing his younger sister. What he found astounded him.

Blue eyes and blond hair were from their birth mother, golden and beautiful. Rosy cheeks and flush lips were signs of the health he never had. Born of an unquiet grave, Kyra always looked at the world with adult eyes, with knowledge she shouldn't have.

Now her body matched her eyes.

Just past nubile into the flush of womanhood, her breasts were full, hips round, legs long. Newly shorn hair was on an even line with her square jaw, her smile defining triangular cheekbones. Kyra was gorgeous, no longer a baby.

"When did this happen?" They were always connected, closer than any of the other siblings. Kyra would know exactly what he meant.

His sister laughed. No more a childish giggle, it was an adult's chuckle. "It happened while you were watching. You're just too focused on finding a cure. For a very long time."

Amazement at her transformation was forced aside as weakness returned. "You think I might have a reason for my focus?" Vision blurred, and he struggled for breath.

Kyra left the table, taking him in her arms. "Of course you do. Once you find it, things go better." She ran a hand through his hair. "Which is why I did this."

His knees weakened, the emotional surge done with, leaving him once more to his breakdown. I need my verlynth. I need fresh energy. Then I can deal with Kyra and her little outburst. The blood aroma made his salivate, and he clutched at her.

"Feed, dearest brother." Her whisper was soft, breath hot against his ear. Hairs rose along his arms.

"On who? You killed anyone I might have used." Ulrin kept his eyes closed, hating the way he couldn't focus when the withdrawals hit.

Kyra ran her nails down the back of his neck. "No I haven't."

The Sidhehan groaned, every nerve suddenly on fire. Hunger roared to life, opening familiar channels. Senses sought any source of life; what they found was the blazing soul of his sister.

"I cannot," he muttered, unable to push her away, unable to pry his hands from her supple back. "I've never fed from another Sidhehan."

"You feed from many after you come back. But you leave soon, and we only had this one chance." Kyra was shifting into her timeless state, where her tenses mixed. She spoke from the future, with no sense of confusion. "To succeed at everything, you must have me at your side. So I set this up."

Fires burned inside, twisting him. "I can't hurt you. You must leave." His arms tightened around her waist.

"Yes, you can. You do." She laughed, tipping his head back. He opened his eyes, staring into beautiful blue irises. They glittered with love and adoration. "I love you," she whispered.

Ulrin accepted her kiss, parting his lips for her. He opened to his sister, opened his soul to her, forging a bond to last an eternity.