Chapter 7: Fae Claiming
The apartment door slammed shut behind Cassie, the sound like a gunshot in the tense silence. Brook and Aiden were on their feet, having clearly spent the waiting minutes pacing. The scent of their anxiety—sweat, ozone, musk—hit her like a wall, mixing with the lingering taste of Cressida on her tongue.
Brook’s eyes raked over her: the wild hair, the bruised lips, the frenzied light in her green eyes. “Christ, darling,” he breathed, his usual flamboyance absent. “What did she do to you?”
Aiden didn’t ask. He crossed the room in two strides, his hands gripping her shoulders, his nose dipping to the hollow of her throat. He inhaled sharply and recoiled, a growl building deep in his chest. “Fae. All over you. Her.” His wolf eyes glowed amber with a possessiveness that should have frightened her but only stoked the strange, hungry fire Cressida had ignited.
“We don’t have time,” Cassie said, her voice ragged. She held out the pulsing river stone. Its green light painted their faces in sickly shadows. “Moonrise. The Alpha’s enforcers are coming. Cressida gave us a head start. We have to get to the Hellplex.”
“The Hellplex?” Brook’s voice climbed an octave. “That’s not a head start, that’s a suicide pact wrapped in barbed wire!”
Aiden was still staring at her mouth, at the subtle shimmer of foreign magic on her skin. His jaw worked. “She marked you.”
“She paid me,” Cassie corrected, the memory surging back, not as a clean recollection but as a sensory assault that stiffened her spine.
Cressida’s hand on her cheek had been deceptively gentle. “You reek of fear and wolf and warlock spunk,” she’d murmured, her thumb stroking Cassie’s bottom lip. “A fascinating cocktail. Let’s add something… older.”
Before Cassie could react, Cressida had spun her, pressing her front-first against the living-wood desk. The bark was warm, impossibly smooth against Cassie’s bare stomach. The Fae’s body covered hers, one hand tangling in her red hair, pulling her head back. “Spread your legs.”
The command was in the air, in the pressure of Cressida’s hips against her ass. Cassie complied, her breath fogging the polished wood. Cressida’s free hand skimmed down her thigh, then inward, fingertips brushing through the damp curls at her apex. A sharp, shocked gasp escaped Cassie.
“So eager,” Cressida purred. Her fingers parted Cassie’s folds, not entering, just exposing her. “Such a pretty little sacrifice, all laid out.”
Then her mouth was there. Not a kiss, but a slow, flat stroke of her tongue from Cassie’s entrance all the way up to her clit. Cassie cried out, her fingers scrabbling for purchase on the desk. Cressida did it again, lapping at her with deliberate, agonizing slowness, as if tasting a fine wine. Each stroke sent jolts of raw, undiluted sensation straight to Cassie’s core. The Fae’s tongue felt different—slightly rough, textured, and shockingly cool against her feverish heat.
Cressida sucked her clit into that perfect mouth, and Cassie’s back arched violently. “Fuck!” The curse was ripped from her, torn between shame and a need so vast it threatened to swallow her whole. Cressida hummed against her, the vibration making Cassie’s thighs shake. Her tongue delved lower, fucking into her with short, precise thrusts that had Cassie pushing back against her face, desperate for more.
Cressida’s polished nails dug into the soft skin of Cassie’s inner thighs, scoring thin, stinging lines. Cassie felt the warm well of blood. Before a drop could fall, Cressida’s tongue was there, licking the beads away with a predator’s leisurely enjoyment. The tang of her own blood mixed with the overwhelming taste of her arousal on Cressida’s lips.
“You are a distraction,” Cressida whispered against her wet skin, her breath cool. “A beautiful, troublesome noise in the signal.” She straightened, her hands gripping Cassie’s hips, flipping her over onto her back on the desk. Cassie lay sprawled, exposed, the dappled light from the false glade painting patterns on her heaving chest.
Cressida loomed over her, her red hair a fiery frame around her serene, predatory face. She bent, taking one of Cassie’s nipples into her mouth, sucking hard until it was a stiff, aching peak. Her other hand found Cassie’s soaking cunt. Two fingers, slick with Cassie’s own wetness, pressed inside. They weren’t just fingers; they felt longer, thinner, impossibly dextrous. They curled, stroking a spot that made Cassie see white.
“Oh God, right there, please, right there!” Cassie babbled, her heels digging into Cressida’s lower back, trying to pull her deeper.
Cressida fucked her with those magical fingers, a relentless, stretching rhythm that had Cassie convulsing around them. Her mouth moved to Cassie’s other breast, her teeth grazing the nipple. The dual assault—the exquisite pain on her breast, the devastating pleasure inside her—shattered Cassie’s last shred of control. She came with a scream that echoed in the glade, her body bowing off the desk, clenching violently around the invading fingers.
Cressida held her through it, milking every last spasm, her gaze fixed on Cassie’s face with an expression of deep, clinical satisfaction. As the aftershocks faded, she slowly withdrew her fingers, bringing them to her own mouth and licking them clean with a slow, obscene swipe of her tongue.
“Payment rendered,” she’d said, her voice husky. Then she’d stepped back, composed herself, and handed Cassie the stone. “Now run.”
Back in Brook’s apartment, Cassie blinked, the memory receding but the phantom sensations making her knees weak. “She gave me this,” she said again, focusing on the stone’s weight. “It’s a threshold stone. It’ll get us in.”
Aiden finally looked away from her, his gaze meeting Brook’s. A silent communication passed between them. Brook let out a long, defeated sigh. “Right. Okay. The Hellplex.” He strode to a cluttered shelf, sweeping jars and dried herbs into a large satchel. “We’ll need more than a pebble. Aiden, grab the black salt and the iron filings from the workbench. Cassie, put on something less… fragrantly of another woman. It’ll attract the wrong kind of attention, even there.”
Cassie numbly pulled a clean shirt from a pile Brook pointed to. It smelled of him—spell-dust and lemongrass. She pulled it on, the soft fabric a stark contrast to her raw nerves.
“How long?” Aiden growled, shoving vials into pockets.
Brook glanced at a complicated astrolabe on the wall, its silver rings spinning slowly. “An hour. Maybe less. The Alpha’s wolves are fast. And they’ll scent her from blocks away now.”
The next twenty minutes were a blur of frantic preparation. Brook chanted under his breath, weaving additional layers of obfuscation around Cassie. Aiden paced, a caged animal, his form shimmering slightly at the edges with restrained power. Cassie just stood in the center of the room, the threshold stone a cold, living weight in her palm, Cressida’s essence a burn in her veins.
“We go through the Never-Never shortcut by the old brewery,” Brook announced, shouldering his bulging bag. “It’s treacherous, but it drops you at the eastern edge of the Plext. It’ll shave off miles.”
They moved through the city like ghosts, Brook leading them down alleys that seemed to twist in on themselves, past brick walls that breathed, under arches that dripped with iridescent slime. The air grew thick and stale, tasting of iron and rotten flowers. The sounds of the normal city faded, replaced by distant, distorted echoes and the occasional skittering in the shadows.
Finally, Brook stopped before a chain-link fence topped with razor wire. Beyond it lay a skeletal industrial complex, but the space behind the buildings seemed to waver, like heat haze on asphalt. It was a view into a deeper, more chaotic darkness: stacked, slumping structures of impossible architecture, neon signs in languages that hurt the eyes, and a low, constant bass thrum that vibrated in the teeth.
The Hellplex.
A figure detached itself from the shadows near the fence. It was tall, skeletally thin, with skin the color of tarnished pewter. Its eyes were solid black orbs.
“Threshold,” it hissed, a voice like grinding gears.
Wordlessly, Cassie extended her hand, the river stone glowing brightly. The creature leaned in, sniffed, and recoiled. “Cressida’s mark,” it muttered, with something like respect and disgust. It peeled back a section of fence that wasn’t there a moment before. “Pass. And may the Gibbering King find you amusing.”
They stepped through. The world twisted. The familiar gravity of Boston snapped, replaced by a lurching, unpredictable pull. Sounds assaulted them—raucous laughter, shrieks, the clang of metal on metal, and a pervasive, multi-layered hum of active, unfettered magic. The air smelled of ozone, sewage, frying meat, and exotic spices.
They were in a narrow, canyon-like street. Buildings leaned precariously overhead, festooned with glowing signs and makeshift bridges. Things moved in the upper shadows—things with too many limbs.
Brook immediately started chanting again, a shield of shimmering light springing up around them. “Don’t make eye contact,” he whispered, his voice tight. “Don’t accept anything offered. And for the love of all that’s moderately holy, don’t bleed.”
Aiden moved closer to Cassie, his body a solid, protective wall between her and the chaotic flow of the street. He took her hand, his grip fierce. “We find a hole. We dig in. We figure out what the fuck you are.”
Cassie looked around at the terrifying, vibrant, lawless spectacle. The fear was still there, a cold knot in her stomach. But beneath it, under the taste of Cressida and the scent of her two lovers, something new was stirring. It wasn’t just power. It was a sense of… belonging. This was where monsters went. This was where she belonged.
She squeezed Aiden’s hand back and met Brook’s worried gaze. “Then let’s find a hole,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. She took a step forward, into the thrumming, anarchic heart of the Hellplex. The chase was over. The real game had just begun.
The real game had just begun.
The alley they stumbled into wasn't quiet, but it was a pocket of relative stillness away from the main thoroughfare's chaotic roar. The wall here wept a thick, phosphorescent sludge that lit the space in a sour, greenish glow. Brook pressed his hands against the damp brick, murmuring words that made the mortar lines flare a brief, protective gold before fading.
"Here," he gasped, slumping against the wall. "It'll hold. For a bit."
Aiden prowled the perimeter, a silhouette of taut muscle and barely-contained transformation. His nostrils flared. "Scents are all wrong here. Rotting magic. Old blood. Nothing clean."
Cassie slid down the opposite wall, the rough brick catching on Brook's borrowed shirt. The adrenaline was leaching away, leaving a hollow, trembling exhaustion in its wake. Cressida's mark was a cold brand on her soul, and the memory of the Fae's hands, her mouth, her mocking praise, played on a loop behind her eyes. She could still feel the stretch of those unnatural fingers inside her, the shocking, degrading thrill of it.
"Hey." Brook's voice was closer, softer. He knelt before her, his flamboyant energy muted into something more real, more worried. He cupped her cheek. His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth. "You're back with us. Just breathe, darling."
She leaned into his touch, a lifeline in the pandemonium. "I can taste her on my teeth, Brook. It won't go away."
"That's the point of a marker, sweetheart. It's a billboard." He sighed. "We need to get it off you, or everything with a nose and a grudge in this shithole will find us by morning."
Aiden stopped his pacing, his shadow falling over them. "How?"
Brook’s gaze flicked between Cassie and Aiden. A complex, unspoken calculation happened in his eyes. "The oldest method. Overwriting. We need to drown out her signature with something... louder. More immediate."
Aiden’s amber eyes glinted in the dim light. He understood first.
"Precisely." Brook's voice dropped, losing its theatrical lilt, becoming gravelly with intent. "Our scents are already on her, in her. We need to amplify that. Until all she smells of is you, and me, and what we do to her."
Cassie looked up, the hunger that had been a low hum since the shower with them, since the desk with Cressida, surged into a deafening roar. It wasn't just about power or survival now. It was a visceral need to be claimed, to be scrubbed raw and remade. "Do it," she whispered, her voice guttural. "Fuck her away from me."
That was all the invitation Aiden needed. He moved with predator speed, hauling her up by the arms and pinning her against the weeping wall. The luminous sludge was cold through the fabric. "Open your mouth," he commanded, and she did, a willing supplicant.
He kissed her with a bruising, possessive fury, his tongue plunging past her lips to conquer every hidden space. She could taste his wolf, a wild, smoky tang beneath the human heat. He bit her lip, not enough to break the skin, but enough to make her moan into him. His hands went to the hem of her shirt, wrenching it up and over her head in one rough motion.
Brook was there then, his clever fingers unhooking her bra, his mouth finding her newly-freed nipple. He didn't suckle gently; he drew the pebbled flesh deep, his tongue flicking and teeth grazing in a sharp, exquisite punishment that made her cry out against Aiden's mouth. Aiden's large hands groped her ass, kneading the cheeks roughly before one hand snaked between her legs, cupping her through her jeans.
"You're already dripping," Aiden growled, breaking the kiss to look down at Brook working on her breast. "Her magic make you this wet, or was it just the thought of us?"
"Both," she choked out, arching into Brook's mouth, grinding against Aiden's palm. "Always both."
Aiden made a sound of approval and spun her around, pressing her front against the cold, sticky wall. He yanked her jeans and underwear down to her thighs in one brutal tug. The fetid air kissed her exposed skin. She heard the rustle of his own clothes, the metallic slide of a zipper, and then the thick, blunt head of his cock was pressing against her slit from behind.
"No prep," he muttered, his breath hot on her neck. "You're open. You're soaked." He didn't ask, he simply pushed.
The stretch was immense, immediate. He was thick, and she was tight, and he forged into her with a single, relentless thrust that buried him to the hilt. Cassie screamed, a raw sound of pleasure-pain that echoed in the narrow alley. Her claws extended involuntarily, scoring the brick. Aiden didn't pause. He set a brutal, driving pace, each piston-like slam jolting her body against the wall. The wet, filthy sound of their coupling mixed with the distant din of the Hellplex.
"Taste me," Brook whispered in her ear, having moved behind Aiden. He had his own cock out, slick with precum, and he pressed it against her lips. "Suck him clean of her. Get my taste in your mouth."
She opened, taking him deep, gagging slightly before finding a rhythm. She sucked Brook hard, her tongue working the vein on the underside, while Aiden fucked her harder from behind, his grip on her hips iron-tight. The duality overwhelmed her—the fullness in her cunt, the stretch of her lips around Brook—a complete, debasing occupancy.
"That's it, darling," Brook groaned, his fingers tangling in her hair, guiding her pace. "Take it all. Let him fuck her right out of you."
Aiden’s thrusts became erratic, animalistic. He leaned over her, his body a furnace against her back, and sank his teeth into the juncture of her neck and shoulder—not the vampiric bite, but a purely bestial, claiming mark. The sharp pain burst into white-hot pleasure, cascading through her. Her orgasm tore through her with violent, silent intensity, her body seizing around his pounding cock, her pussy fluttering and clenching in relentless waves.
Feeling her convulse, Aiden roared, his own release pumping into her in hot, pulsing jets, filling her up. He stayed buried in her, panting, as the last tremors shook them both.
Brook, seeing Aiden's finish, pulled his cock from her mouth with a wet pop. "My turn," he breathed, his voice shaky with need. He pushed Aiden gently aside. Aiden pulled out of Cassie, a mixture of their spend dripping down her thighs.
Brook turned her to face him, her back against the wall again. He lifted one of her legs, hooking it over his hip, exposing her thoroughly used, glistening pussy. He positioned himself and drove in. Where Aiden was feral dominance, Brook was a deep, precise claiming. He fucked into the mess Aiden had made, his own cock slick with her saliva and her mixed fluids. He watched his length disappear into her, his eyes dark with a focused intensity.
"You are ours," he chanted, each thrust punctuating a word. "Ours. Not. Hers." He angled his hips, hitting a spot that made her see stars, her oversensitive body igniting all over again. She clawed at his shoulders, babbling his name, a litany of please and yes and more.
He kissed her, swallowing her cries, and his hand slipped between their sweating bodies, his thumb finding her clit. He rubbed harsh, tight circles there, matching the rhythm of his deep strokes. The second orgasm was different, a slower, deeper unraveling that started in her toes and flooded upward until she was nothing but a shuddering, weeping conduit of pure sensation. As she clenched around him, milking him, Brook threw his head back and came with a sharp, gasping cry, his release joining Aiden's inside her.
He collapsed against her, both of them sliding down the wall to the filthy ground. Aiden joined them, a solid, warm presence at Cassie's side. They sat there in the glowing, sickly light, a tangle of limbs and spent breath, the mixed essence of them—wolf, warlock, vampire-witch—pooling at Cassie's core and dripping onto the hellish ground.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing. Then Brook lifted his head from her shoulder, sniffed the air around Cassie's neck, and smiled, a tired, triumphant thing. "Gone," he murmured. "Or buried, at least. All I can smell is us. Sweat. Sex. Pack."
Aiden nodded, his nose confirming it. He pulled Cassie closer, his arm a heavy band around her. She felt stripped, scoured, and paradoxically, more whole than she had since waking up changed. The frantic, jangling energy of Cressida's mark was quiet, smothered under the heavier, more primal scent of her lovers.
In the distance, something inhuman shrieked. The temporary ward on the alley wall flickered, a hairline crack of gold light splitting for a moment before resealing.
"We can't stay," Aiden said, his voice back to its rough practicality.
"We need a proper hole," Brook agreed, already moving, pulling his clothes together with a wince.
Cassie stood on shaky legs, feeling their combined come trickle down her inner thigh. She found her clothes, dressed in silence. The fear was still there, the danger immense. But the hollow was gone. She was anchored, for now, by the raw, explicit truth of what they had just done.
She looked at Brook, then at Aiden, their faces etched with the same exhaustion and ferocious determination she felt. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, tasting salt and Brook and her own spent power.
"Then let's find one," she said, her voice low but clear. "Before whatever's out there finds the scent we just made."