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chaoshaswon · 3 years ago

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Wasteland, Baby Chapter Two

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She was pinned to a bed, softer than any she had ever known, even before the blasts. There was a weight on top of her, pushing her further into the mattress. Silk sheets cooled her even as her body burned.

A warm, wet mouth was pressing kisses to her neck. Stubble grated at her skin in a way that made her gasp, writhing beneath him.

Maddie looked down her body to meet Michael Langdon’s beautiful cerulean eyes, eclipsed by black. He lunged forward, propping on his forearm to gaze down at her. His blond hair fell around them, encasing her completely as his hips rolled gently against hers.

His face lowered tantalizingly slowly before he finally, finally captured her lips. The moment they collided, the teasing was done. He devoured her mouth; tongues clashing, teeth biting.

She couldn’t breathe.

She didn’t want to breathe, if it meant losing his touch.

Her arms wrapped around him, pulling him impossibly closer.

Her entire body burned with need. She had never wanted anything the way she wanted to consume him. Her leg wound around his hips, forcing him to rock against her as she desperately tried to alleviate the ache between her thighs.

He broke the kiss, scraping his teeth harshly along her bottom lip. She whimpered from the pain and the loss.

“So. Fucking. Needy.” Michael scraped his teeth along her jaw and she fucking prayed he left a mark.

“Please!” she begged.

“Please, what?”

Kiss me. Fuck me. Hurt me. Love me.

“Tell me, little one," he taunted.

“Touch me!”

“Where?”

“Everywhere!”

“Your wish is my command.”

Michael descended, crawling down her body and between her legs...

.............................................................................................

Maddie awoke with the loud crooning of the oversized cuckoo clock that Venable had fitted with each room.

One day, I’m going to take a fucking hammer to that thing .

Her breath was still unsteady as she rolled to her back. She could feel the wetness gathered between her legs. She ground her thighs together, trying to stifle and alleviate the neediness while her roommates began moving around.

Christ, that had been intense.

She’d had dirty dreams before but never one that felt so fucking real. Even now, she could feel his breath on her neck, the heaviness of his body above hers.

Still, she wasn’t blind. Michael Langdon was an objectively attractive man who had offered her the first scholarly conversation in eighteen months. It was no surprise that he haunted her dreams.

That was going to make her interview difficult. Then again, he had told them all last night that no one would be forced to sit the interview. She could always respectfully decline.

She had no illusions about their encounter and polite conversation. Despite his claims of saving the worthy, bringing them to Sanctuary, she had the feeling that Langdon would just as soon leave with none of them.

“Get up, Mads,” Mallory said, smacking her with a pillow.

Groaning, she pushed herself up to a sitting position. Her uniform was crumpled at the end of her bed. It was a miracle she had gotten it off before falling asleep.

“You look like shit.”

“I was going for apocalyptic-chiq. Did I not make the cut?”

“Not today, sweetums.”

Maddie grabbed the grey dress and slipped it on over her head, standing to let it hang it’s naturally shapeless form. She buttoned it as Jane and Emma waved their goodbyes, heading out to the kitchen.

She peaked on Mac. He was curled into a little coil.

She would have to figure out food for him soon. Snakes probably couldn’t survive on gelatinous cubes. Luckily, they only ate once every week or two. That would buy her some time to figure it out, along with where the hell to hide him permanently.

Closing the lid, Maddie headed into the bathroom. Her hair was a mess but that made it easier to hold the shape of the knot assigned to all long-haired greys. And due to the insane requirements, she wasn’t even allowed to trim her hair, let alone cut it. Were the option available, she was pretty sure they all would have sheared their heads to avoid rocking the World’s Most Phallic Bun.

There was a knock on the door.

“I got it,” Mal said with a final check to her own hair.

Maddie cinched the elastic around her own twist.

Looking in the mirror, she frowned. There were noticeable bags under her eyes, the lack of sleep finally seemed to be catching up with her.

She should have left earlier last night. Instead, she’d gotten lost in the texts, repeatedly promising herself just one more until Langdon--Michael-- had shown up in her personal haven.

He had impressed her with his knowledge of languages. Surprised her when he had protected her from the Fist when he could have just as easily given her away.

During his speech about Sanctuary, he had seemed so cruel. Cold, even.

Yet his touch had her burning.

His insistence that he walk her back to her room was damn near gentlemanly. A strange juxtaposition from the man who had callously informed them that he had brought poison to save them from the cannibals.

A part of her had wondered if she had dreamed it all. He had been so different in the wee hours of the morning. But then, he’d probably be just as dickish as in his speech when she was eventually called for her interview.

“Maddie?” Mallory called.

“Yo!” Maddie called back, grateful for the distraction. She came around the corner to their bedroom, freezing as she caught sight of Michael fucking Langdon in their quarters.

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

His mesmerizing blue eyes trailed up her body to the bun atop her head, lips twitching in amusement.

“Your hair looks ridiculous,” he pronounced.

That kicked her out of momentary shock.

She looked him over. “I’m not sure you’re in a position to talk with that eyeshadow. Also, that coat makes you look like an Interview with a Vampire reject.”

“Maddie!” Mallory hissed but Langdon seemed to be fighting a smile. Maybe she hadn’t dreamed it all up.

“You’re rather brave first thing in the morning.”

“Sorry. I’m a bitch before I have my coffee and I’m going on eighteen months without so…” She shrugged a shoulder, leaning against the wall. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Langdon’s eyes flickered between her and Mallory, then back. “I need a quick word with you .”

Mallory narrowed her eyes. Caution was ever her friend and, though Maddie was certain Mallory was terrified of Langdon, she stood her ground. Looking at her, Mallory quietly asked, “What about Venable?”

The million dollar question.

While Maddie was certain Michael would be safe from Venable’s wrath, she would likely be flogged just for being alone with a man. Not that she thought Michael would run his mouth. Strange as it was, she trusted that he wouldn’t knowingly put her in harm’s way.

While he was sadistic, appearing damn near sociopathic while addressing the Outpost, he had been remarkably gentle around her when they were alone.

But all it would take was for Venable or Mead to choose that morning for a surprise inspection…

Even with that knowledge, how easy it would be to be caught and punished, she wanted to talk to Michael. She was curious as to what brought him there when he just as easily could have spoken to her at the interview. More than that, she just craved his presence.

Before she could tell Mal that it was okay, that she was willing to take the risk, Michael spoke up.

"I will ensure Madeline is safe."

The conviction in his words nearly stunned her.

Mallory inclined her head. With a final glance to Maddie, giving her one last chance to turn back, she left.

When the door closed, Michael faced her. His easy assurance flickered. For a moment, he appeared uncertain. Almost boyish.

Then it was gone.

He reached into the pocket of his massive coat and pulled out a small package, wrapped in red silk.

She immediately recognized it as the scarf he had worn at the library the night before.

Michael reached out in offering. "A token of my appreciation for your conversation last night."

Maddie inhaled softly. A present. "That's unnecessary, Mister Langdon."

"Michael," he corrected with a small growl. Then, "It's a gift. Please accept it."

Maddie bit her lip and held out her hand. The package was soft, weighing less than a pound. Her eyes slipped back to Michael, who suddenly seemed nervous again.

She knew the feeling.

With great care, Maddie unwrapped the silk scarf, unwinding it to reveal a soft, leather-bound journal.

She gasped at the buttery feel of it. It was intricately carved with neo-pagan symbols, a piece of art itself.

She opened the cover and found clean, lined-pages. Untouched by the horrors of the world. Pristine.

"Michael…" she whispered, almost afraid to accept it.

"I detest pointless arguments. Accept it."

Somehow, amidst the shock, she managed to nod. "Thank you. I'll treasure it."

It had been years since she received any sort of present. And now, in the midst of the apocalypse, she couldn’t imagine cherishing anything more. She could write out a separate Koine dictionary… or she record various myths that might otherwise be lost to humanity… or summaries of historical events and political uprisings… the possibilities were endless.

Michael’s lips twitched as he seemed to pick out her bedside table. While Mal, Emma, and Jane had loose trinkets they had carried the day of the blasts and a few surviving photos on their tables, Maddie’s held a stack of notebooks and books, as well as the box containing Macula.

“Yours?” he asked, walking around to examine her small collection.

“Would you believe me if I said no?”

He offered a quick smile that left her breathless.

It really was unfair for any singular person to be so attractive.

He reached for the box.

“You might not want to open that,” she said quickly.

He glanced back, a brow arched in question.

Maddie shrugged a shoulder. “You squeamish?”

He seemed amused by the question. “Not at all.”

“No fast movements,” she warned.

Michael snorted softly, opening the lid. Sure enough, there was a small black snake inside it. One of his. An unfortunate side effect of his father’s gifts. Serpents always seemed to find and follow him, something he had learned to use as an advantage.

The little snake uncurled his head and looked up. It took note of him, then settled back into it’s little coil.

He knew it wouldn’t attack him but Madeline was another story. His little beasts were ferocious and, despite their size, their venom could take down an elephant. A single slip of the fang could kill her. And Madeline wasn’t stupid, she had to know that there was a risk with such a creature.

“Why the hell do you have a snake?” he asked, incredulously.

“Hey! Be nice to Macula. He’s a scrappy little guy. Yesterday, he survived being turned to soup.”

Not exactly, Michael knew. In fact, Michael had been the one to revive the dead snake to see how Venable and her precious elites would react. He hadn’t been disappointed with the screams and crashing furniture from down the hall.

“Yes, I’m aware of that little lunchtime incident. I was just under the impression that they had all been rounded up and killed.”

Maddie crossed her arms over her chest. “Yeah, well. Most of them were. I found Macula, here, hiding under a chair. So I brought him here.”

It was a miracle the little thing hadn’t bitten her.

Michael subtly aimed his hand at the snake, rendering its venom harmless. To Madeline. If her roommates or Venable opened the box, well, they better be prepared to see a bright light. But she would be safe.

“I’m surprised your roommates allow its presence.”

Maddie shrugged again, not admitting to the fact she had taken on extra chores in order to ensure their silence on the matter. Unfortunately, it was only a matter of time before an inspection revealed Mac to Venable and her security team. By then, she hoped to have found him a new home.

Michael closed the box, pausing as something in his brain kicked off. “Macula,” he repeated the snake’s name. He turned back to Maddie. “You named your pet snake 'spot ?'”

She rewarded his knowledge of the Latin language with a smile that nearly knocked him off his feet.

“You’re the first person to get the reference.”

“Yes, I imagine I am.” He knelt down to examine the neat stack of books next to the box, his hand skimming down the titles.

“An interesting collection.”

Maddie set his gift down on the end of her bed, explaining, “The plays belonged to Miss Gallant before she tired of them. The rest were sources I was using for my thesis. I had them in my backpack the day the bombs went off.”

That caught his attention. Michael turned, looking over his shoulder, his long hair partially obstructing his face. “Three Greek and one Latin source. What was your thesis on?”

“Cross-cultural Depictions of Hell."

The softness melted from his eyes, his face turning to stone. “What?”

“Depictions of Hell in--”

In a heartbeat, he was up on his feet and stalking towards her. She took a step back instinctively. He didn’t stop until she was pinned against the wall, his hands blocking her in.

“Who are you?”

Maddie blinked in confusion. “I don’t--”

“Who. Are. You?”

Her face steeled, her eyes flashing that same fire that had attracted him the night before. “Madeline Sage.”

“Who sent you?”

Her brow furrowed in what seemed to be genuine confusion. “I don’t understand the question.”

“You weren’t on the original roster for this, or any, Outpost. I would have remembered. Yet, when I double-checked the records-- there you were. How did you get here?”

Maddie shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. I was sitting in the library when a fucking SWAT team came and literally dragged me here. I didn't know this place existed until then.”

His eyes narrowed, scanning her face like he was looking for something. What, she couldn’t begin to guess.

Then, as quickly as it happened, it was over.

Michael released an arm to catch her jaw in hand. He was gentle in his force, turning her face to the side. His thumb brushed across her neck, just below her ear and she wondered if he was staring at her birthmark. It was just a tiny blemish, no larger than a penny.

Michael's breath caught in his throat before he released her, stepping back.

“I will return shortly,” he announced before disappearing from sight in a flash. One minute, directly in front of her. The next, gone.

Maddie exhaled as she was left alone again. Running a hand down her face, she was forced to wonder what the fuck just happened.

...............................................

Michael reappeared in his own quarters. He undid his jacket quickly, casting it aside as he walked over to his bed. He didn't bother to kick off his shoes as he leaned back, reclining until he was laid out flat.

He recited quietly in Latin, trying not to be distracted by thoughts of the pretty little grey who would be able to understand his words without him translating.

“Descensum.”

Immediately, he felt himself splitting into two, his essence plunging downwards and into hell. He directed himself in a way that no one else could, choosing to land in his father’s throne room rather than his own personal hell.

He landed easily, both noting and ignoring the fact that his father was in court.

“Madeline Sage,” he growled as his father observed him from the throne.

The King of Hell waved a hand and, immediately, his court and all the attendants disappeared, leaving them alone in the hall.

“Who the fuck is she?” Michael pushed when his father didn't respond.

“Why are you asking me?”

“Because she has your mark on her neck, yet her soul is intact.” Michael inhaled deeply, desperately trying to control the rage that rushed through him. “Who is she? What is she?”

His father sat, silent and still, his red eyes locked onto Michael. From experience, Michael knew that his father was reviewing his memories. Seeing what Michael had seen, experiencing his emotions and thoughts from the moment he set eyes on the grey the first night in Outpost 3, standing on the balcony looking bored at his pronouncement of death. He would see their meeting alone in the library, hear their bantering, feel Michael's intense interest as he walked her back to her room.

For that reason, alone, he almost left. He hated the invasion of privacy but he needed answers.

His father continued watching through the night as Michael reviewed the rosters, then wrapped her little present in his own scarf. Everything that led up to where they were now.

“She’s human,” his father answered, finally.

“Obviously,” Michael drawled. “Why does she bear your mark?”

Satan looked almost bored as he replied, “I visited her when she was small. She would have been too young to remember. She was an infant at the time. Completely helpless, unable to take care of herself or make demands. Sickening. Leave the babies to Papa Legba.”

Ignoring his father's remarks, he asked, “Why would you visit a human child?”

When it took you years to visit me.

“My reasons are my own.”

Michael felt his face grow cold and he knew without seeing that the demonic part of him was rising to the surface, turning his skin ash-white. His own eyes would be flashing red in his anger.

“You sent me on this mission through the Outposts,” he growled, his low voice causing the throne room to shake. “ You told me to find the worthy and kill the rest. But this whole time, it’s only been about finding her . Why?"

Satan landed on his cloven hooves, rising to his full height. His own appearance was changing rapidly, from that of man to demon. Horns sprouted from the top of his head. “I would remind you, Michael, that though you are a king on earth, you are in my kingdom now .”

Michael felt his nostrils flare before he exhaled, long and steady the way his father had taught him all those years ago on his first trip to Hell. And with that breath, he pushed out the white-faced demon.

He had only been a child. Five or six. He couldn’t really remember. He’d never been allowed to go to school and his grandma Constance wasn’t exactly the maternal type to celebrate anything other than her own accomplishments.

One night, he’d gone to sleep in his bed. When he’d opened his eyes, he was in that very throne room in front of his true father for the first time.

In the span of a single Earthly night, he had spent decades learning history and magic. He’d learned the joys of hedonism and to ruthlessly pursue self-interest from the lower kings in his father’s army. They had taken turns in tutoring him, all while his father kept a distant watch over him.

In that time, his father had only taught him one lesson. To control his temper. His magic was given free reign, but his anger was to be watched. Used like a well. Controlled by him so that it did not control him.

And then, he’d been abandoned back to Earth. His memories of Hell were more like a dream than anything. He’d woken up in his childhood bedroom, too big for his bed, but too groggy and confused to care.

It was months before he was able to make sense of it all. Years before he’d learned to descend to Hell at will rather than waiting for a summons from his father.

But lessons of Hell tended to stick. Michael felt himself calming, his face once again becoming his own.

When he came back down, he tried again. “Did you put her on the roster for Outpost 3?”

“Yes.”

“So I would find her?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” Michael asked, growing quickly tired of the answers without explanation.

Satan’s shoulders visibly sank as he looked at the Antichrist. “You are my son, Michael. And I am endlessly proud of all you have accomplished. You destroyed the world to build it back. Better. But your work is not done yet.”

He frowned. “What haven’t I done? The strongest, the smartest survived. They worship in your name and thank you for saving them. Your tenets, your rules govern the new world. All ordinances of old world religions have been demolished! I sank churches into the ground, eviscerated the pope! What more do you ask?”

“Your work is only beginning.” Satan took his seat again, lazily draping across his throne. “It’s all well and good but it must be sustained. ”

“It will be!”

Satan shook his head, rolling his eyes. “You are still young, Michael. You are too naive to see the big picture.”

“I’m pretty sure I lost all naivety when you allowed Ms. Mead to die and abandoned me until I set the fucking world aflame.”

“Language,” Satan scolded. “For Hell’s sake, you aren’t a pleb. You’re a prince in Hell and a king on Earth.”

Michael counted to six, slowly and silently. Ms. Mead had taught him that.

He swallowed back the snarky retort that would only lead them further from the path they needed to pursue and, instead, asked, “What would you have me do, father?”

“I would have you be wary. Outside the walls of Sanctuary, many others survived.”

“Yes. The plagued and those sick from radiation. They’re so starved for food, they’ve taken to eating one another. Soon, they’ll wipe themselves out. Hardly a credible threat.”

Satan shook his head. “Have you forgotten the rules, Michael? The grand order of this world? My father and I may not ever meet, nor may we possess any but the dead. But we can still influence any living soul. And those plagued, sick individuals you speak of are still living. Which means God and his angels are already at work. Rallying. Preparing.”

The news caused a wave of irritation to flow through him. “Fine. Tell me where they meet and I will destroy them all.”

“If I knew where they met, my demons would already have descended. Right now, all you can do is prepare. You must never forget that your victory is only that-- a victory. The war persists, even as we win. And God and his armies cannot touch me so they are gunning for you."

Michael knew all that. And he wasn't as ignorant to the war as his father thought. But they were taking precautions at Sanctuary for such an attack. They were prepared.

God and Satan had each been allowed one prodigy to carry out their work. God had been stupid and used his too quickly, unleashing Jesus Christ at a time when his message could only be spread to those within earshot.

Satan had been clever, biding his time until cars and planes made travel possible. The internet made information accessible. And everything could be destroyed with the push of a button.

But just as Satan had worked tirelessly to destroy Christ and his message from being spread, similar forces were already at work to dispose of Michael.

“You’ve read Revelations.” Satan closed his eyes, conjuring a misty haze. “And I saw the beast, the king of the earth, and their armies gathered together to make war against Him who sat on the horse and against His army. ” As he spoke, each image appeared in the mist. “ Then the beast was captured, and with him the false prophet who worked signs in his presence, by which he deceived those who received the mark of the beast and those who worshipped his image. These two were cast alive into the lake of fire burning with brimstone.”

Michael watched as his own figure was hoisted into the lake that was, somehow, hotter than hellfire.

He glanced up at his father. As Satan opened his eyes, the mists disappeared.

“You’ve told me, yourself,” Michael said, “that the Bible was written by man. Therefore, it is fallible.”

“Sometimes. Often. But not always. Before you even drew your first breath, there were forces preparing to kill you. So I took measures to protect you.”

"Measures?"

"Measures to protect what is yours."

Michael inclined his head, his breath catching as he realized. “Madeline.”

“You feel it already, don’t you?” Satan asked, watching Michael closely. “The red thread of fate that binds you?”

“That wasn’t your doing?” Michael asked at the reference to the fates, relieved that his father hadn't completely interfered with his life. A weight lifted from his shoulders.

“You are Christ’s antithesis. The fates have taken great care to mirror your lives in diametrically opposing ways. Christ was born of a virgin, raised by his loving parents. You were born a bastard, abandoned by everyone--”

“What’s your point?” Michael interrupted, nostrils flaring.

“The fates have a warped sense of humor. Jesus Christ was bound to a whore. Thus, you have been bound to a woman with an unblemished soul.”

Michael glared at the acid dripping from his father’s words. “And you never thought it worth mentioning that there was a woman that I was bound to somewhere out there before I set fire to the world?”

“I kept her safe for you.”

“Safe?” It was all he could do to maintain his control. “You set her in an Outpost where she is little more than a slave!”

“You weren’t ready for her yet,” Satan calmly replied.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Exactly as I said. Before you destroyed the world, you were already overwhelmed with your tasks. Naive and uncertain. The last thing you needed was a woman to complicate matters further.”

“And after blasts?”

Satan gave him a pointed look. “I’m sure you’ll recall that I advised you to visit the other Outposts six months ago.”

Michael took a deep breath before asking, “And I suppose it was too much for you to have explained why I was supposed to go?”

“Am I supposed to choose your clothes each morning, as well? Pack your lunch?” His father shook his head. “I saved her from your destruction. I placed her in a puritanical Outpost where she was protected from anyone who might pursue her. Kept her identity as your bride a secret from those who would use her to manipulate you.”

“My queen has been living in squalor, forced to wait on and clean after those who should be kissing the ground she walks on and you expect me to be grateful?”

“She’s alive.” Satan inclined his head. “The rest built character. She’s better for it. Stronger for what she’s gone through.”

The only thing that kept Michael from arguing was that Madeline had said almost the same to him last night. She would have abhorred life as a purple.

Michael sighed, rubbing his forehead.

As the anger faded, his thoughts began to clear.

Madeline was his. She belonged to him. Was made for him.

He had already determined that he was keeping her but to know that she was fated to be with him was near overwhelming.

A queen for the new world, to rule at his side.

He had never imagined such a fate for himself. He had been so desperate to fulfill his father’s wishes, to gain his approval that he had truly never considered a world where he would not be alone.

Fear filled him as he realized his weakness lay outside his body. Worse, his chosen bride was human. Not even a witch, with magic flowing through her veins to protect her.

A small, weak, defenseless human.

He had to protect her, to keep her safe. She was fragile, mortal. And though there were ways to lengthen her life, make her near-immortal, like him, they would take time.

“Madeline is mortal,” he murmured, wondering if his father could sense his newfound fear. He wondered if the old bastard cared at all.

Satan only waved it off. “An unfortunate circumstance of birth, but one that can be rectified.”

Michael wasn’t so certain. While Madeline was devious in her own way, he was pretty certain her moral line in the sand came long before human sacrifice. And she would need to be complicit in the killing of others in order to lengthen her life; he could not simply kill on her behalf.

And while there were other ways to grant her immortality, they would take time. Time they didn’t have.

“Exactly how pure is her soul?”

“Lily-fucking-white.”

Michael swore.

“Another cruel joke of the fates. The son of God fell for a whore. I laughed along with the rest of the world, imagining how pissed the old bastard must have been. Now, my perfectly evil son has been tied to a woman who used to spend her Saturday’s feeding the homeless .” Disgust dripped off his words. “Sickening.”

Michael was inclined to agree.

“I tried to corrupt her when she was young, for your sake. Unfortunately, the fates would not allow any true changes to be made to who she was supposed to become. The best I could do was instill an interest in hell and other relevant mythologies.”

“Her studies.”

Satan inclined his head. “Yes. The knowledge she possesses will give her the tools to make sense of it all. But what’s more, she will be just as drawn to you as your are to her. Against logic, against reason. You should have no trouble producing an heir.”

Michael stood up straighter as the possibilities swam through his head. He hadn’t even considered...

Madeline with a loving hand placed on her swollen belly. A baby in her arms, nursing at her breast. He could picture Madeline reading to their child, telling them stories and legends of the ancient worlds. Teaching them languages, arts, and history.

Satan, their child would be beautiful no matter who they favored, though he secretly hoped they would take after her. With their combined intellect, they would be a genius.

Would their child inherit his powers?

Of that, he wasn’t sure but he hoped so. Another layer of protection to keep both the child and it’s mother safe.

And his child would have everything that he did not. They would grow up with two loving and adoring parents. He would not be absent as his own father had, nor could he imagine Madeline ever trying to kill their child the way his own mother had tried to murder him when he was only a boy.

Protected and adored, as he should have been.

A chance to make everything right.

He’d need to make Madeline immortal first. He wouldn’t risk losing her to the perils of childbirth, the way his own mother had gone.

Fuck.

But he would do whatever it took to protect her.

All at once, the future didn't seem quite so miserable. So boring.

Even Sanctuary, his haven and home, had turned monotonous but the thought of bringing her with him…

All of the sudden, life was full of endless opportunities. There was something to look forward to for the first time since the apocalypse, even more than the the apocalypse.

“And I would encourage you to remember,” his father added, almost as an afterthought, “that while I was unable to corrupt her, Christ turned his whore into a pious woman. You may be able to similarly influence her.”

He could only hope. She would need to be complicit in any rituals to lengthen her life. Consent of the intended party was, unfortunately, necessary. As she was, now, he couldn’t imagine she would volunteer for such.

A clusterfuck of epic proportions.

This wouldn’t just be a sexual seduction. He would need to seduce her to the dark, convince her to revel in sin at his side.

Madeline Sage would be glorious covered in the blood of their enemies, watching crimson flowing down her curves.

Already, he was itching to return to her. To show her all that he could offer her. By the time he was done, even good little Madeline would be unable to resist his temptations.

And little did she know that the game had already begun.

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