The Killing Moor
folder
M through R › Pitch Black
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
14
Views:
2,673
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
M through R › Pitch Black
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
14
Views:
2,673
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Pitch Black, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter 8
Part 8
************
The kitchen was dark and quiet at that time of day. The only light came from the flickering of the low burning fire in the hearth, the smells of a well cooked meal having long faded. And Duncan sat with his soiled boots thrown uncaringly on the chopping block, chair tipped backwards with his thin frame lounging, his hair hanging long over his shoulder. This place was his most favored of all the keep, the dark hiding him when need be, the warm closing around his perpetually chilled body. The dark orbs of his eyes followed the girl that entered kitchen, her generous curves firing his blood and sending it straight to his groin. He was hard and ready for her as she bent low to tend the fire. Soundlessly he stood and moved behind her, hands inches towards her firm young body. The same body he had listened to Johns groan and gasp over in the throws of his release.
"You're with Johns' bastard, are you not?" he asked, his face near hers.
"I'm not sure, mi'lord. I think it may be the truth of the matter but have no proof of it." Her bright oval eyes shown with unshed tears and she quaked before him.
His mood was sour and brooding without Johns near, without his apprentice to commiserate with. With a feral growl of frustration and anger he grabbed the girl and swung her past him, her hips impacting the chopping block hard, pulling a yelp of pain from her. He was behind her before she could turn, before she could mount any defense. He grasped the thick folds of her skirt and jerked roughly, ripping the material from the waist to the hem.
"Johns WILL thank me for this," he growled, lifting the edge of his kilt, stroking his semi-erect member to fullness.
"No, please.....I will leave the keep, mi'lord. Johns shall never know of the babe inside," she pleaded, begged, until her throat was parched, until the screaming started.
With fury rolling through his veins, with her pain and fear spurring him on he shoved roughly into her unprepared portal tearing and ripping his way in. He grunted with each brutal thrust calling out his ward's name as his seed spilled into her mixing with her blood, the scent driving him into another sort of lust.
"Oh, dear lord, it's Johns that you....." She gasped out, pain ripping through her small frame. Her legs gave way and she slumped to the floor as Duncan stepped away from her. Cutting her eyes towards him she was afraid to take her eyes away, afraid to be met next with his cruelty and be unprepared, but what she saw she could never be prepared for. His eye were wild and distant, churning with an unseen force, his body fairly hummed with menace. She clutched the remnants of her skirt to her and tried to crawl away quietly, move without drawing his attention. But her effort was for naught as he turned on her, glimpsing movement from the corner of his eye. With one fluid movement he swiped a long thin blades from the block and with a howl of rage stood over the maid, stood over the ever obedient Constance, and drove the knife through her shoulder with such force the tip broke against the mortar below. Falling heavily on her withering body he lapped at the flow of blood from the wound.
He practically purred at the coppery spice that flowed across his tongue, that began to make the room brighten to his lifting spirits. His body felt leath and light, ready to do anything he asked of it. His thoughts, as always, were on Johns and how he would share this with him one day, how he would watch another's life force fill him and make him twice as strong, twice as virile. Moments later he had enough of sweet Constance and dealt her the final blow with his own hands, breaking her neck clean.
He stood, smiling, running the back of his hand against his dripping chin and admiring his work, admiring his artistry, because killing to him with no care about it was art of the highest degree.
**************
Johns took the stairs two at a time, his long legs carrying him quickly above. He stopped outside Duncan's room, his heart pounding wildly inside his chest. Without knocking he slipped inside and there he was, waiting from him, waiting as if he had expected him to enter that very moment.
"Duncan......." He dropped his eyes to the floor, confusion coursing through his young body. "Constance...."
Duncan glided from the bed and across the room to Johns, wrapping him in his arms, kissing his soft thick mat of hair. "She dealt herself death in the kitchen this afternoon while you were away," he lied, his face twisting in a satisfied smile above Johns head.
"Why?" Johns pulled slightly way his voice detached, emotionless. Duncan would make sense of it all for him, he always did, always helped him to see reason in everything.
Duncan saw his opportunity and struck. "You're a noble, love. She knew you would do nothing more than use her body. I fear, rather than waiting for you to tire of her she ended it by her own hand."
With the explanation Johns nodded and hugged closer to Duncan, his arms winding around the other's waist. "I heard her sister whispering of a child."
"It's likely, Johns. Women produce uselessly more often than not." Duncan turned, pulling him towards the bed with him. Easing onto the thick down mattress he sighed feeling Johns curl against him. "I'll find you another if you wish it." Duncan offered.
Johns lifted his head and starred into the fathomless depths of Duncan's eyes, drowning there with his fading innocence. Finally, he shook his head and lay it gently in Duncan's lap. "There's no need."
************
The kitchen was dark and quiet at that time of day. The only light came from the flickering of the low burning fire in the hearth, the smells of a well cooked meal having long faded. And Duncan sat with his soiled boots thrown uncaringly on the chopping block, chair tipped backwards with his thin frame lounging, his hair hanging long over his shoulder. This place was his most favored of all the keep, the dark hiding him when need be, the warm closing around his perpetually chilled body. The dark orbs of his eyes followed the girl that entered kitchen, her generous curves firing his blood and sending it straight to his groin. He was hard and ready for her as she bent low to tend the fire. Soundlessly he stood and moved behind her, hands inches towards her firm young body. The same body he had listened to Johns groan and gasp over in the throws of his release.
"You're with Johns' bastard, are you not?" he asked, his face near hers.
"I'm not sure, mi'lord. I think it may be the truth of the matter but have no proof of it." Her bright oval eyes shown with unshed tears and she quaked before him.
His mood was sour and brooding without Johns near, without his apprentice to commiserate with. With a feral growl of frustration and anger he grabbed the girl and swung her past him, her hips impacting the chopping block hard, pulling a yelp of pain from her. He was behind her before she could turn, before she could mount any defense. He grasped the thick folds of her skirt and jerked roughly, ripping the material from the waist to the hem.
"Johns WILL thank me for this," he growled, lifting the edge of his kilt, stroking his semi-erect member to fullness.
"No, please.....I will leave the keep, mi'lord. Johns shall never know of the babe inside," she pleaded, begged, until her throat was parched, until the screaming started.
With fury rolling through his veins, with her pain and fear spurring him on he shoved roughly into her unprepared portal tearing and ripping his way in. He grunted with each brutal thrust calling out his ward's name as his seed spilled into her mixing with her blood, the scent driving him into another sort of lust.
"Oh, dear lord, it's Johns that you....." She gasped out, pain ripping through her small frame. Her legs gave way and she slumped to the floor as Duncan stepped away from her. Cutting her eyes towards him she was afraid to take her eyes away, afraid to be met next with his cruelty and be unprepared, but what she saw she could never be prepared for. His eye were wild and distant, churning with an unseen force, his body fairly hummed with menace. She clutched the remnants of her skirt to her and tried to crawl away quietly, move without drawing his attention. But her effort was for naught as he turned on her, glimpsing movement from the corner of his eye. With one fluid movement he swiped a long thin blades from the block and with a howl of rage stood over the maid, stood over the ever obedient Constance, and drove the knife through her shoulder with such force the tip broke against the mortar below. Falling heavily on her withering body he lapped at the flow of blood from the wound.
He practically purred at the coppery spice that flowed across his tongue, that began to make the room brighten to his lifting spirits. His body felt leath and light, ready to do anything he asked of it. His thoughts, as always, were on Johns and how he would share this with him one day, how he would watch another's life force fill him and make him twice as strong, twice as virile. Moments later he had enough of sweet Constance and dealt her the final blow with his own hands, breaking her neck clean.
He stood, smiling, running the back of his hand against his dripping chin and admiring his work, admiring his artistry, because killing to him with no care about it was art of the highest degree.
**************
Johns took the stairs two at a time, his long legs carrying him quickly above. He stopped outside Duncan's room, his heart pounding wildly inside his chest. Without knocking he slipped inside and there he was, waiting from him, waiting as if he had expected him to enter that very moment.
"Duncan......." He dropped his eyes to the floor, confusion coursing through his young body. "Constance...."
Duncan glided from the bed and across the room to Johns, wrapping him in his arms, kissing his soft thick mat of hair. "She dealt herself death in the kitchen this afternoon while you were away," he lied, his face twisting in a satisfied smile above Johns head.
"Why?" Johns pulled slightly way his voice detached, emotionless. Duncan would make sense of it all for him, he always did, always helped him to see reason in everything.
Duncan saw his opportunity and struck. "You're a noble, love. She knew you would do nothing more than use her body. I fear, rather than waiting for you to tire of her she ended it by her own hand."
With the explanation Johns nodded and hugged closer to Duncan, his arms winding around the other's waist. "I heard her sister whispering of a child."
"It's likely, Johns. Women produce uselessly more often than not." Duncan turned, pulling him towards the bed with him. Easing onto the thick down mattress he sighed feeling Johns curl against him. "I'll find you another if you wish it." Duncan offered.
Johns lifted his head and starred into the fathomless depths of Duncan's eyes, drowning there with his fading innocence. Finally, he shook his head and lay it gently in Duncan's lap. "There's no need."