Chapter 6: Champagne Blood
The steam from the shower was a thick, perfumed fog, scented with sandalwood and something darker—patchouli and ozone. It curled around the claw-foot tub where Brook already stood under the torrent, his head thrown back, water sluicing through his blond hair. The protection wards hummed differently in here, a higher, steadier frequency that vibrated in Cassie’s teeth.
She stepped over the rim, the hot water a shock against her skin, washing away the dried blood and sweat and come of the morning’s chaos. Aiden followed, a solid, warm presence at her back. The space was tight, their bodies fitting together in the steaming cascade like pieces of a puzzle made in heat and urgency.
“No politics in here,” Brook murmured, his eyes opening. They were vivid, mischievous. “Just physics. And hydraulics.”
He reached for her, his hands sliding around her waist, pulling her against him. His cock, already hard, pressed against her stomach. Cassie let out a shaky breath, her own desire, a constant low thrum since her change, flaring hot and immediate. She kissed him, a deep, searching kiss that tasted of coffee and magic. His tongue met hers, and she felt the subtle pull of his power, a warm, drawing sensation deep in her core.
Aiden’s hands were on her hips, turning her gently. “My turn,” he growled into her wet hair, his voice still rough from earlier. He guided her to face the tiled wall, his body caging hers from behind. The cool ceramic was a contrast to the scald of the water and the heat of the two men surrounding her.
Brook moved behind her, his hands spreading her ass cheeks. She felt the blunt, slick head of his cock nudge against her entrance from behind. Aiden’s thicker, tapered werewolf cock pressed against the tight furl of her ass. The dual pressure was an exquisite, impossible promise.
“Yes,” she hissed, arching her back, pushing against them both. “Please.”
Brook’s laugh was a warm puff against her shoulder. “Such lovely manners.” He didn’t wait. With a steady, insistent pressure, he pushed into her pussy in one smooth, deep stroke. Cassie cried out, her nails scraping against the tile. He was thick, stretching her beautifully, filling the aching emptiness Aiden’s earlier claim had left.
Before she could adjust, Aiden spit on his fingers, worked the saliva into her other hole, and then, with a low, possessive grunt, he pushed into her ass. The stretch was breathtaking, a burning, overwhelming fullness that stole the air from her lungs. She was impaled, perfectly held between them, every inch of her occupied.
“Fuck,” she sobbed, the word breaking into a moan.
Brook began to move first, a slow, rocking withdrawal followed by a hard, precise thrust. His rhythm was jazz, not primal rock – syncopated, surprising, deep. Aiden matched him, his own thrusts harder, more forceful, a counterpoint that shook her whole body. They found a cadence, a brutal, perfect syncopation that made Cassie see stars behind her clenched eyelids. The water beat down on them, mixing with sweat, turning their skin slick.
She felt her fangs descend, a sharp ache in her gums. The scent of Brook’s blood, so close beneath the thin skin of his throat, called to her. She turned her head, nuzzling into the space where his shoulder met his neck. He smelled of spell-dust and clean sweat.
“Do it,” he whispered, his thrusts never faltering. “Take what you need, darling.”
She didn’t hesitate. She sank her fangs into the cord of his tendon, piercing the skin. His blood flooded her mouth—a sparkler on her tongue, effervescent and laced with the unique signature of his magic. It wasn’t just sustenance; it was a potent, thrilling high. Brook gasped, his hips stuttering, then driving into her with renewed vigor.
“God, yes,” he choked out. “Drink.”
As she fed, his magic reacted. The water raining down on them changed. It ceased to be simple droplets and erupted into a cascade of tiny, effervescent bubbles that fizzed and popped against their skin like champagne. The sensation was electrifying, a thousand minute pinpricks of pleasure amplifying every touch, every thrust.
Aiden’s hands came around to her front, his calloused fingers finding her nipples. He pinched and rolled them, the sharp pleasure-pain making her jerk between them, her cry muffled against Brook’s skin. He bit her shoulder, not breaking the skin but a claiming, possessive pressure.
The overload of sensation was catastrophic. The dual penetration, the fizzing magic-water, Aiden’s rough hands on her breasts, the rich blood on her tongue—it built into a tsunami inside her, a pressure with no possible release except annihilation.
“I can’t… I’m gonna…” she babbled, incoherent.
“Let go,” Aiden commanded, his voice guttural against her ear. “Come for us. Soak us. Now.”
His words were the detonator. The orgasm didn’t crest; it exploded. A violent, shattering convulsion ripped through her, wracking her body with such force her heels lifted off the tub floor. A gush of fluid, more than just arousal, erupted from her as she clenched around Brook’s cock—a hard, squirting release that mixed with the bubbling water and streamed down her thighs.
Her scream was raw, endless. The convulsions triggered theirs. Brook shouted, a sharp, surprised sound as he buried himself to the hilt, his own release pulsing hot inside her, his magic flaring so brightly the bubbles around them shimmered gold for a second. Aiden followed with a savage roar, his grip on her hips bruising as he pumped his come deep into her ass, his body trembling against her back.
They collapsed in a heap, a tangled, breathing, waterlogged mass of limbs in the bottom of the tub. The water continued to rain down, now normal again, washing the evidence of their union in swirling, diluted circles toward the drain. Cassie’s head lolled against Brook’s chest; Aiden’s heavy weight was a warm blanket on her back. For a long time, the only sounds were the spray and their ragged, slowing breaths.
Brook was the first to speak, his voice hazy with satiation. “Well. My wards are going to need a full recalibration after that energy surge.” He traced a finger along the already-closing punctures on his neck. “And I’ll need a very large steak.”
Aiden nuzzled the place where his own bite had marked Cassie’s shoulder. “Sorry,” he mumbled, not sounding sorry at all.
Cassie could only muster a weak, breathless laugh. Every muscle felt liquid, used. The frantic, terrified energy from Lydia’s visit was gone, burned away in the steam and the sharing of blood and seed and power. In its place was a weary, solid certainty.
The shrill buzz of the apartment intercom cut through the post-coital haze.
All three of them stiffened. Brook sighed, a long, suffering sound. “That will be the Covential Security detail. Right on time.”
Cassie’s newfound calm evaporated. “Security?”
“Standard procedure for a potential volatile hybrid,” Brook said, gently disentangling himself and reaching to turn off the water. The sudden silence was loud. “Lydia might be playful, but the Covenant isn’t. They’ll want to assess you. Contain you, if necessary.”
Aiden was on his feet in an instant, water sluicing off his powerful frame, his body tense and ready. “Like hell.”
“Like hell indeed,” Brook agreed, stepping out and grabbing a towel. He tossed one to Cassie. “But causing a scene here just gives them cause. We need to be smart.” His eyes met Cassie’s, all playfulness gone, replaced by a sharp, tactical gleam. “You’re not a pawn, remember? Time to prove it.”
Cassie wrapped the towel around herself, the soft cotton a stark contrast to the raw intensity of minutes before. The fear was back, but it was a cleaner sort, edged with defiance. She had drunk a warlock’s blood. She had taken a werewolf’s claim. She had shattered a mirror with her climax. They wanted to assess her? Let them try.
She walked out of the bathroom, dripping on the hardwood, heading for the bedroom and her clothes. “Give me two minutes,” she said, her voice steady, carrying a new authority. “Then let them in.”
Cassie dressed in the same clothes from the night before, the fabric stiff with dried magic and sweat. She ran a hand through her damp hair, her fingers catching on the knots. The intercom buzzed again, longer this time, an impatient snarl of sound. Brook, now in a silk robe covered in occult symbols, padded to the wall panel and pressed the button without a word.
“Let them in,” Cassie said, her voice low. “Let’s see what they want.”
Brook opened the door. Three figures stood in the hallway, their presence altering the air in the corridor. It smelled suddenly of loam, ozone, and cold stone.
The security arrives and it’s fucking Fae. Of course, Cassie thought.
Two of them were men, tall and sharp-featured, with an unnatural stillness that made the hallway seem to warp around them. Their eyes held the patient, pitiless depth of deep woods. The third was a woman, short and curvaceous with a generous bust and a severe, chic red bob. She looked hot in a motherly, dangerous way, like a hearth fire that could burn a house down.
Cassie felt a strange appetite waking, a predatory interest that was entirely her own. She kept her face neutral.
“Cressida,” Brook said, his tone respectful but wary. “This is unexpected.”
“Is it?” The woman’s voice was warm honey poured over gravel. Her gaze swept past Brook, past Aiden who had taken a protective stance beside Cassie, and landed directly on her. “We felt the convergence. The spillage. A new, unbound power is a messy thing, Cassie.”
Cassie nodded. She knew better than to ask how the woman knew her name.
“Cressida is sort of a protector of the home,” Brook explained quietly, not taking his eyes off the Fae. “Like a brownie, but higher up. A domestic arbiter.”
“I am a regulator of thresholds,” Cressida corrected gently, her smile not reaching her eyes. “And you have made quite a noise at this one.”
Cassie nodded again, swallowing dryly. “And these are the main guns?” Aiden said, his voice a low growl. “The Fae police.”
Both tall men ignored him completely, their twin gazes fixed on Cassie as if he were invisible furniture.
“Cressida will talk to Cassie,” Brook said, stepping slightly in front of her. “And we will wait outside.”
“No,” Cressida said, the single word allowing no argument. Her warm demeanor didn’t flicker. “Cassie is coming with me. All of you stay here. She needs to feel safe to speak.”
The implication was clear: she wouldn’t feel safe with them present. Aiden tensed, a rumble building in his chest. Brook placed a restraining hand on his arm.
Cassie looked from the implacable Fae men to Cressida’s deceptively soft face. This was the test, the first real move on the board. Going willingly was a show of strength. Being dragged was a confession of fear.
“Okay,” Cassie said, her voice surprising her with its steadiness. She walked forward, past Brook’s protective stance, past Aiden’s rigid fury.
She nodded at the woman and, as she turned to lead the way, Cassie’s eyes dropped to the sway of Crescida's hips, the perfect, juicy curve of her ass outlined in tailored trousers. The hunger stirred again, a low, interested thrum.
Cressida led her down the hall without a backward glance, the two silent Fae men falling in behind them like sentinel shadows. They did not take the elevator. Instead, Cressida opened a plain door marked ‘Maintenance’ which revealed not a janitor’s closet, but a long, polished wood-paneled corridor that smelled of beeswax and dried roses.
They walked in silence. The corridor ended at a heavy oak door. Cressida opened it and ushered Cassie inside.
The scene ended in Cressida’s office. It was not an office in any human sense. It was a glade. Sunlight, impossibly sourced, dappled through a canopy of ancient, whispering oaks. The floor was soft moss and vibrant grass. A desk of living, woven branches sat in the center, upon which rested a single, pristine manila folder.
“Sit,” Cressida said, gesturing to a chair that seemed to have grown from the ground. She walked around the desk, her movements fluid. “You have had an eventful twenty-four hours. Your lineage is a problem. Your awakening is a greater one.”
Cassie sat, the chair conforming to her shape. “I didn’t ask for this.”
“Few ever do,” Cressida replied, opening the folder. She pulled out a photograph and slid it across the living wood. It was a picture of Cassie’s mother, taken years ago, but with eyes that gleamed with a familiar, preternatural light. “Liliana made certain choices. Reckless ones. She hid you from us, from them, from everything. It was a mother’s love. And a catastrophic error.”
Cassie’s throat tightened. “Why?”
“Because what you are isn’t supposed to be,” Cressida said, leaning forward. Her scent, warm bread and wild herbs, washed over Cassie. “A vampire is a creature of stagnation, a void. A witch is a creature of growth, a conduit. You are both. You are a walking paradox. And paradoxes,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper, “have a tendency to resolve themselves. Violently.”
She pulled out another sheet. It was a medical chart, but the script was arcane, swirling. “Your biological readings are… fascinating. You are not feeding like a vampire, not exactly. You are metabolizing magic. The blood is just the carrier. What you did with the warlock? Drinking from him during coitus? That wasn’t just feeding. It was an unbonded symbiosis. Dangerous.”
“It felt good,” Cassie said, the defiance returning.
“I’m sure it did. That’s what makes it dangerous.” Cressida’s eyes held hers. “The wolf marks you, the warlock fuels you. You are building a cabal, not a life. The Covenant sees this. They see a nexus of power forming in a rented apartment warded by a flamboyant heir. They see a threat.”
“What do you see?” Cassie asked.
Cressida’s smile returned, genuine this time, and it transformed her face. “I see a very young woman sitting in a very old chair. I see potential.” She closed the folder. “The official report will recommend containment. A mystical lockdown for your own safety and the community’s. You would be… housed. Studied.”
Cold dread pierced Cassie’s chest. “No.”
“The unofficial path,” Cressida continued, as if she hadn’t spoken, “is messier. You learn control. You learn the rules of the game you are now a piece in. You make yourself indispensable, or at least too troublesome to neatly box.” She stood, walking around the desk until she stood very close to Cassie. “Your aunt fights for the second path. So does the warlock’s father, oddly enough, though he would never admit it. The wolves… your lover’s father, the Alpha, will vote for containment.”
Cassie’s mind raced, connecting the pieces. The politics Brook mentioned weren’t abstract. They were votes. Her life was a ballot.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because thresholds are my domain,” Cressida said softly. “You stand on one. The choice you make next—to be a patient or a player—will define everything.” She reached out, and for a heart-stopping moment, Cassie thought she would touch her face. Instead, she plucked a single, curling brown leaf from Cassie’s damp hair, a remnant from Brook’s artificial glade. “I find I am tired of neat boxes. So I will give you a head start.”
“A head start?”
“They will come for you at moonrise. The Alpha’s enforcers, with Covenant sanction.” Cressida’s eyes were ancient and deeply sad. “You have until then to disappear. I suggest you run to the one place they will not easily tread.”
“Where?”
“The Hellplex,” Cressida said, the word dropping into the room like a stone. “The anarchic district. No faction holds sway there. It is a mess of rogue magic and broken laws. A good place to get lost. A better place to learn what you really are.”
She stepped back, the moment broken. “Now, get out of my office. And Cassie?” Cassie paused at the door. “Try not to fuck any demons on the way. It complicates the paperwork exponentially.”
The glade-office seemed to hold its breath after Cressida’s words. Cassie stared at the Fae woman, the reality of her situation condensing like the vanished champagne-bubbles from Brook’s shower. Moonrise. Enforcers. A hiding place called the Hellplex. The information was a cold, sharp knife placed in her hand.
“Will they kill me?” Cassie asked, the question leaving her in a whisper that rustled the leaves above.
Cressida tilted her head, a predator considering prey. “The Council or the demons?” A slow smile spread. “Both,” Cassie heard herself say, the laugh that followed was brittle, entirely devoid of humor.
“No,” Cressida corrected, her honey-gravel voice softening. “The Council wants you part of them. A fascinating new weapon in a velvet box. And the demons?” She chuckled, a low, warm sound. “Well, you would probably enjoy what they want.”
Cassie’s skin prickled. The hunger she’d felt earlier, the one that had noted the curve of Cressida’s ass, stretched inside her. It was more than vampire thirst, more than witch’s curiosity. It was a deep, wanting void. “And what do you want?”
Cressida’s gaze, ancient and knowing, locked onto hers. She didn’t speak. She simply pointed a single, imperious finger at the mossy floor between her feet.
Get on your knees.
The command wasn’t spoken aloud; it was a pressure in the air, a compulsion woven into the very sunlight of the glade. Cassie’s mind rebelled for a single, fleeting second. Then the void yawned wider, fed by fear and a desperate need for an anchor in the form of sensation. She slid from the grown-chair, her knees hitting the soft, damp moss with a quiet thud.
“Crawl to me.”
Cassie obeyed. The coarse texture of the moss scraped her palms, the earthy smell filling her nose as she moved forward on all fours. Her damp hair fell around her face as she reached Cressida, who stood, a statuesque figure in her tailored trousers and silk blouse. Cassie stopped, her face level with Cressida’s belt buckle, the heat from the Fae’s body a beacon.
Cressida’s hand came down, not harshly, but with deliberate possession, to cup the back of Cassie’s head. Her fingers tangled in the wet strands. “Here,” she murmured, her other hand unbuttoning her fly with a soft shush of fabric. “That’s what you needed, wasn’t it? Some motherly love.”
She guided Cassie’s face forward, into the soft,curls at the junction of her thighs, then lower. The scent was overwhelming—rich, musky, profoundly alive, like a forest floor after a rainstorm. Cassie’s tongue, almost of its own accord, swept out to taste her. Cressida’s flesh was hot, salty, impossibly sweet. A low, approving hum vibrated above her.
“Just like that, babygirl,” Cressida whispered, her grip tightening in Cassie’s hair. “Lick my pussy.”
Cassie drowned in the instruction. She let the void inside her focus entirely on the act, on the slit before her, on the swollen nub she found and circled with her tongue. She lapped at the Fae woman’s essence, her own fangs lengthening in a purely reactive, desirous ache. She worked her mouth and tongue with a frantic, growing need, chasing a taste that was power itself, a primal magic that seeped into her with every lick and suck.
Cressida’s breath hitched. Her thighs tightened around Cassie’s head, a silken vice. Her hips began a slow, undulating grind against Cassie’s mouth. “Yes… there… right there,” she chanted, her voice losing its polished cadence, breaking into something raw and guttural.
Cassie felt the moment Cressida’s control shattered. A tremor ran through the powerful thighs, and a flood of wetness, potent and laced with a dizzying, floral magic, burst onto her tongue. Cressida cried out, a sound that seemed to shake the leaves from the oaks, as she came, her release pulsing against Cassie’s eager mouth. Cassie drank it down, swallowing the essence hungrily, feeling it ignite like a sun in her belly, a counterpoint to the cold dread of minutes before.
For a long moment, Cressida just trembled, her hand still fisted in Cassie’s hair. Then, slowly, she pulled Cassie’s face back. Her eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. She looked debauched and utterly in charge. “Take off your clothes,” she said, her voice husky with spent pleasure.
Cassie, still on her knees, mind humming with stolen power, fumbled with her own buttons. Her fingers, slick with Cressida’s cum, struggled. The shirt, the jeans, the underwear—all were discarded onto the moss in a heap. The dappled light played over her naked skin, over the bite marks and love bruises Aiden and Brook had left.
Cressida looked her up and down, her gaze appraising, clinical in its hunger. “I’m not done with you,” she stated, walking over to the living-wood desk. She leaned against it, spreading her legs again, her trousers still open, her own wetness glistening. “Come here. Finish what you started. And then… you’ll take something of mine with you to the Hellplex.”
This wasn’t kindness. It was a transaction. Cassie understood that now, the power from Cressida’s orgasm swirling in her veins like a heady drug. She rose and went to her, dropping again to her knees before the V of the open trousers. She buried her face back into that intoxicating heat, her tongue delving deeper this time, seeking the source. She fucked Cressida with her mouth, with a desperate, focused intensity, drinking down every fresh drop of the Fae’s pleasure.
Cressida arched against the desk, one hand braced on the wood, the other once more gripping Cassie’s hair, guiding her pace. “Good… such a good girl… taking your payment…”
Cassie felt another orgasm building in the woman, a tightening coil she worked with lips and tongue and the very edge of her teeth. When it broke, it was quieter, a deep, shuddering release that poured into Cassie’s waiting throat. Cassie swallowed until Cressida gently pushed her head away.
“Enough.” Cressida’s voice was soft again, spent. She righted herself, fastening her trousers with deliberate, slow movements. She looked down at Cassie, naked and kneeling, mouth wet and chin glistening. A complex emotion flickered in her ancient eyes—pity, perhaps, or a form of grim affection.
From the pocket of her blazer, she withdrew a small, plain river stone, smoothed by centuries of water. It pulsed with a soft, greenish light. She pressed it into Cassie’s still-damp palm. The stone was warm, alive.
“A threshold stone,” Cressida explained. “It will get you past the first few wards of the Hellplex. It will also… mark you as under my temporary consideration. It won’t stop an Alpha’s enforcer, but the rogues and the gutter-mages will think twice before eating you alive on sight.” She leaned down, her lips close to Cassie’s ear. “Now run, little hybrid. The moonlight is coming.”
Cassie stumbled to her feet, the stone clutched in one hand, her clothes scooped up in the other. The taste of Cressida was a brand on her tongue, the magic from her release a simmering fuel in her blood. She dressed with frantic haste, the fabrics sticking to her damp skin.
She fled the glade-office, the oak door shutting behind her with a sound like a final sigh. The two silent Fae men were gone. The maintenance corridor was just a corridor. She ran back to Brook’s apartment, her mind a riot of fear, power, and the lingering, shameful echo of pleasure.
She burst through the door. Brook and Aiden were waiting, tensed, having clearly felt the shift in the building’s wards. They took in her disheveled state, her swollen lips, the wild look in her eyes.
“We have until moonrise,” Cassie gasped, holding up the glowing stone. “We need to get to the Hellplex. Now.”