The Sacrifice (3 page)

Of course I had nothing else to wear but Lexy had that covered.
She'd brought along an outfit that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a strip
club. Okay, maybe it isn’t
that
extreme but it certainly feels like that
to me.

I have on a deep blue halter top made of some soft, silky material
that twists around my neck in a loop and barely covers my breasts. It leaves my
back bare so there’s no way I could wear a bra—which makes me feel incredibly naked.

Down below I’m wearing a peacock-dyed skirt made of the same
material. It falls in long, soft folds from my hips to my ankles, with a slit
right up the middle. It also leaves my midriff exposed. I keep having the urge
to cover my stomach—exposing my navel feels almost as obscene as hiking up my
skirt and giving everyone a good view of my pussy.

To this lovely but revealing outfit, Lexy has added some peacock
feather earrings but no necklace—tradition dictates that no female eligible to
be chosen as the Sacrifice should wear any jewelry around her throat. Because
if the Sovereign picks you, he has to have unobstructed access to your neck.
This is the same reason everyone is wearing their hair up, as well. Lexy has
pulled mine into a modified bun at the nape of my neck with little curling
tendrils coming out to frame my face. It’s almost pretty but no matter what ‘do
I’m wearing, my hair color is still mousy brown.

Lexy has pronounced my outfit 'gorgeous' and 'perfect' at least
two dozen times since we left my apartment and arrived at the Glen—the large,
clearing on the outskirts of Tampa where all major interspecies supernatural
business is conducted. And indeed, as I look around, I can see that what I’m
wearing isn’t nearly the most revealing outfit on display.

The fairies, keeping to themselves as always, have on shimmery,
diaphanous gowns that are practically see-through and most of the female weres
have apparently decided to treat the Glen as a topless beach. Dryads and nyads
drift around clothed in only leaves and water vapor and the majority of my
sister witches have on lingerie that could charitably be called 'revealing'.
(If you’re not feeling too charitable, however, you could just say slutty—it
amounts to the same thing.)

In fact, what I have on is pretty modest, all things considered.
But I still can’t help feeling like my nipples are too visible through the thin
fabric and wishing I could cover my bellybutton. It’s not like I have six pack
abs. I wrap my arms around my bare waist self-consciously.

“Will you
stop
fussing?” Lexy says again, pulling my arms
away from my midriff. “You have a nice curvy waist, you ought to show it off
more often. Just look around at all the hot guys—you don’t see any of them
complaining about the view.”

She’s right about one thing, at least—the Glen isn’t exclusively
filled with females. Hard-bodied males of every supernatural persuasion are out
in force, no doubt anticipating the sexual free-for-all that will follow the
selection of this year’s Sacrifice. I see muscular weres clad in only tight,
faded jeans, mysterious vamps, mostly sporting black leather that contrasts
nicely with their pale skin, and shimmering, disdainful fairy men, so beautiful
they’d put any human male model to shame. There are satyrs and fauns too, their
bottom halves already transformed to animal form with hairy goat legs and thick
male equipment hard and prepared for action.

One, in particular, catches my attention—Emil Sanchez, leader of
the Curved Horn clan. I don’t know why, but my eyes are drawn to him, his
knotted muscles covered in thick curly black hair that almost looks like a
pelt. He has a swarthy face with two, stubby horns growing from his forehead.
When I look at him, I smell smoke in the air and hear screaming…begging…

Sanchez must feel my eyes on him because he turns toward me and
runs his long, red tongue over his thick lips. Down below, he cups his heavy
cock and thrusts his hips crudely.

I look away quickly, feeling my cheeks heat. The smell of smoke
and the phantom screams fade away as my stomach rolls in disgust. Ugh—what is
it about him? I’ve hated him for as long as I can remember and it’s not just
because of his lewd gestures, though I can’t quite put my finger on any other
reason. I just know that I loathe the slimy satyr with my entire being.

“Oh, this is so exciting!” Lexy bubbles, breaking my train of
thought. “I wonder what the new Sovereign will look like. I hope he’s not old
and ugly.”

“All Sovereigns are old because they’re vamps,” I point out. “How
they look just depends on what age they were when they were turned.”

“Well, somebody ought to make it against the law for them to turn
any males after age forty,” Lexy grouses. “That way there would be less chance
of having to be a sacrifice to an ugly old vamp.”

My thoughts return briefly to the vampire I had in my store
earlier that day. Aiden James looked to be somewhere around thirty when he was
turned—although ages can be difficult to judge with vamps. I wonder if he’s
here tonight, like he said he would be. I’ve been surreptitiously searching the
crowded Glen for him since we got here. But so far, no luck.
Probably
already sexing up one of the fairy girls,
I tell myself sternly.
Stop
thinking about him.
But I can’t—I keep wondering how I’d feel if he saw me
in this outrageous outfit Lexy has all but forced me into. What would he say? Hopefully,
I won’t have to find out.

Suddenly, a trumpet sounds, calling the rowdy crowd of supes to
order. Having all these species in such a small area with no bloodshed really is
a remarkable achievement and it’s all thanks to the vamps.

Over a hundred years ago, all the supernatural creatures kept to
themselves—a kind of self-imposed segregation. It was considered unthinkable
for them to be friends, let alone lovers. Violent feuds and bloodshed over
territorial rights were common and beginning to draw unwanted attention from
the human community. That was when the vamps stepped in and declared martial law.

Figuring rightly that the violence between species could be
replaced with sex, they instituted a vamp overlord or Sovereign, and instituted
the first Sacrifice Ceremony. Eligible females of every supe species were
ordered to appear in the Glen for one night of each year, on midsummer’s eve,
and offer themselves to their Sovereign. The reigning vamp would pick one
female to act as his source of power, blood, and sex for the next full year—the
Sacrifice—and then declare the rest of the night a sexual free-for-all.

The females left behind felt free to copulate with whatever males
were on hand—no matter what their species. This 'festival of fucking', as my Aunt
Cassandra called it, has led to a dramatic decrease in interspecies fighting. There’s
a lot of crossbreeding too, though people still mostly tend to settle down with
someone of their own species.

Of course, there were those who hated the new order, but more than
any other supe, vampires can be ruthless. They crushed anyone who opposed them
in the most bloody and public way possible. Other than that though, they seem
to have a
laissez-faire
attitude toward ruling their fellow supes—they pretty
much let everyone do what they want as long as there isn't any killing to get
the humans upset.

It didn’t take long for the rest of the supernatural community to
take note of this and, aside from a few disaffected minorities, most people
settled down and fell in line. Peace reigned and everyone was happy, especially
the vamps. They’re willing to mostly mind their own business and make very few
demands. In fact, it’s only once a year at the Sacrifice Ceremony that we’re
even reminded we
have
a vampire overlord. So it works out nicely for
everyone.

Well, except the Sacrifice. But I don't want to think about that.

“So who do you think it’s gonna be? Who is he going to pick?” Lexy
whispers to me as we all come to attention following another trumpet blast.
She’s eyeing the crowd speculatively, taking note of the females straining
eagerly forward, all filled with a strange mixture of dread and anticipation.

I wonder if Lexy’s information about the new Sovereign is common
knowledge. I don’t remember feeling this much tension in the air at the other
Sacrifice Ceremonies I’ve attended. But of course, the old Sovereign was just
that—old. As in, well over sixty when he was turned. Females who served him said
he only wanted a sip of blood from their wrist once or twice a day and never
made any other
demands
on them. It was considered kind of
disappointing—at least from a gossip point of view. After all, the Sovereign is
Lord and Master of his Sacrifice—he actually legally owns her for the entire
year of her term. He can do
anything
he wants to her and she can’t do a
thing about it.

Just thinking about it makes me shiver.

Not like I have anything to worry about,
I tell myself consolingly.
After
all the new Sovereign is…is…
My thoughts stutter to a stop as I see a
familiar form striding out onto the raised stage that has been erected in the
middle of the Glen for this night. He’s wearing tight black leather pants that
cling lovingly to his long, muscular legs and a black leather jacket to match
with no shirt on underneath, but there is no mistaking that dark hair or those
cold gray eyes.

“Is that him?” Lexy squeals. “Oh my Goddess, it
is
him!” She
turns to me. “Emma, isn’t that the guy who was in the store earlier today?”

Numbly, I nod. The new vampire Sovereign is none other than Aiden
James.

And for some reason, he’s staring right at me.

Chapter Three

It’s just your imagination,
I tell myself uneasily.
He’s not really looking at you. He’s
searching the crowd for a hot sexy supernatural vixen, trying to find the next Sacrifice.
There’s no way he’ll pick you.

“Supernaturals of the Tampa Bay Area,” Aiden James begins in a
deep, powerful voice that carries without the aid of a microphone. “We are
gathered today to pay homage to an ancient ritual—one which has brought us
peace and prosperity in troubled times.”

“Oh my Goddess, that
voice,”
Lexy moans. “I think I just
creamed my panties.”

“Hush.” I plant my elbow in her skinny ribs. “I want to hear what
he’s saying.”

“The Sacrifice Ceremony is as important as it is ancient—it binds
us together as a community. I and some of the other vampires here tonight well
remember the strife and dissention between our peoples before it was enacted.
Now, we all live in harmony. Long may the Sacrifice continue!”

“Long may the Sacrifice continue!” the crowd shouts back. I try to
join in the shout but my voice seems to be stuck in my throat. Aiden James is
scanning the Glen as he talks but those cool gray eyes keep coming back to me.
I wish I could hide—I want to duck behind Lexy who is so much taller than me
but somehow I can’t move.

“As most of you know, your old Sovereign, the venerable Zandor
Quaid, who served long and well for over two decades, has now gone to his final
rest.” Aiden James bows his head for a moment in respect. When he looks up, his
eyes flash pale fire. “Now the Vampire Council has chosen me as your Sovereign
and as such, I demand my Sacrifice!”

The crowd starts to chant. “Sa-cri-
fice
. Sa-cri-
fice
.”
I see several females, who are closer to the stage than I am, leaning forward
eagerly. Clearly they wouldn’t mind giving their all to the hot new vampire
overlord. I, on the other hand, am shrinking back, trying not to be seen. But
still those gray eyes pick me out of the crowd.

Aiden James raises his hand and silence falls immediately over the
rowdy supes. “There are many ways of finding the appropriate Sacrifice,” he
says, still looking at me. “Some Sovereigns chose to hold a lottery. Some
consult an oracle to learn the name of the right female. Some even brew
divining potions, though this sort of magic is best left to our lovely
witches.”

Lexy and the other witches around us hoot and cheer and fellow
witch yells, “Witches do it on a broomstick!”

Somebody else yells back, "Witches do it
with
a
broomstick. Or is that a dildo? I always get those two mixed up."

"So do the witches," a satyr says, causing a general
roar of laughter.

"You want me to strap the stick on and come after you?"
the first witch asks, making a mock threat. "I'll show you
exactly
how
magical my broom can be."

More laughter and catcalls follow but I can’t join in their
excitement. I feel almost sick with fright—the divination potion—he’s talking
about me. About us, this afternoon in the shop! I’m sure of it.

The new Sovereign raises his hand again for silence. Once again, a
hush falls. “I, however,” he continues, “Need none of these methods to assist
me. I know the name of my chosen Sacrifice.”

From the corner of my eye, I see several of the gorgeous fairy girls
primping their hair and smoothing their iridescent wings. Clearly they think
one of their number is about to be chosen—as always. I think so too—at least I
fervently
hope
so. I hope—

I become aware that the soft murmuring around me has stopped. Even
worse, everyone in the entire crowd seems to be looking at me. I realize that
in my desperate concentration on the fairy girls, I have missed something very
important.