Chapter 19: The End of a Bloodline
Consciousness returned to Marcus Thompson like a slow, cold tide of pain. His skull throbbed where Kane’s boot had connected. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. He tried to move, to rise, and found he could not. Heavy leather straps bit into his chest, his biceps, his thighs, securing him to a stout wooden chair. The familiar scent of pine and woodsmoke told him where he was before his vision fully cleared: the main room of the cabin.
The fire in the hearth roared, casting long, dancing shadows. In its light, he saw them.
Kane stood near the fireplace, naked, his demonic form fully on display—the corded muscle, the huge form and the soft fur on his skin that seemed to swim in the firelight. And JT, also bare, knelt before him, one hand resting on Kane’s calf, his head bowed against Kane’s thigh. The image of submission was so absolute it stole the breath from Marcus’s lungs.
“Awake,” Kane said, his voice a low rumble. He didn’t turn around. “Good. I told you I’d show you what you’re afraid of. You thought it was perversion. Corruption.” Now he turned, his eyes glowing like banked coals. “It’s not. It’s oblivion. The absolute, glorious erasure of your world from his mind.”
JT looked up at his father. There was no shame on his face. Only a terrible, focused hunger. The bond that Marcus had sensed as a stain now hung in the air between the two like a visible current, thick and pulsating.
“JT,” Marcus rasped, his voice raw. “Son. Don’t do this.”
JT stood slowly. He walked toward the chair, each step deliberate. He stopped inches away, leaning down so his face was level with his father’s. The scent of demon and sex and sweat clung to him. “You tried to cut my throat,” JT said quietly. “To save me. So let me show you what it is you wanted to save me from.”
He turned back to Kane. “Make him see,” JT said, and there was a hard edge to his voice Marcus had never heard. “Like the first night, but… more. Call me what I am. Tell him what I am.”
A dark smile spread across Kane’s face. “With pleasure.”
Kane closed the distance in two strides, his hand tangling in JT’s hair, wrenching his head back. “You heard your boy, hunter. He wants a reminder. He wants to be my little slut in front of you.” He pulled JT against his body, his other hand groping roughly between JT’s legs. “Isn’t that right, my perfect cocksleeve?”
JT moaned, his back arching. “Yes.”
“Louder.”
“Yes! I’m your slut,” JT cried out, the words meant for Marcus’s ears.
A sound of pure anguish, choked and guttural, escaped Marcus. He strained against the straps, the wood of the chair groaning.
Kane laughed and shoved JT to his knees. “Then worship it, whore. Show your father what you crave.”
JT needed no further prompting. He nuzzled against Kane’s heavy sac, his tongue laving the thick skin, his hands caressing the massive weight of the demon’s balls. “I can’t get enough of these,” he moaned, the words muffled against Kane’s flesh. He took one into his mouth, suckling hard before moving to the other, lavishing them with a reverence that was obscene.
“Look at him,” Kane commanded Marcus, forcing JT’s head to the side so Marcus had a perfect view. “Look at your heir, hunter. He’s a bitch in heat for demon seed. He dreams about these balls filling him up.”
JT moved up, his tongue tracing the thick, prominent veins along Kane’s shaft before he took the broad head into his mouth. He worked it with a desperate hunger, saliva slicking the deep red flesh, his throat working to take more. His hands weren’t idle; they roamed over Kane’s carved abdomen, his powerful thighs, and then, deliberately, up to his armpits. JT buried his face there, inhaling deeply, tonguing the sweat-damp skin with a groan of pleasure.
“Fuck, he loves that,” Kane grunted, his fist tightening in JT’s hair. “Loves the stink of me. Can you smell it from there, Marcus? That’s the scent of your replacement.”
Marcus’s world had narrowed to the chair, the straps, and the scene unfolding in the firelight. His mind revolted, screaming, but his eyes were locked open. This was the exorcism in reverse.
Kane pushed JT away and turned him roughly, bending him over the back of a low sofa. He spread JT’s cheeks, exposing him. “Let’s get this hole ready for what it was made for.”
He knelt and his tongue, pointed and preternaturally agile, delved deep. JT shouted, his fingers clawing at the fur draped over the sofa. Marcus could see the muscle working, the intimate penetration. The wet, sucking sounds were louder than the crackling fire. Kane ate him out with a brutal, possessive thoroughness, until JT was shuddering, his legs trembling, begging wordlessly.
“Beg with your words, slut,” Kane growled, rising.
“Please, Kane… please fuck me. I need it. I need your cock wrecking me,” JT babbled.
“How do you need it?”
“Hard. Harder than before. Use me. Show him.”
Kane lined himself up, the broad tip pressing against the loosened ring of muscle. He didn’t push slowly. He slammed home in one vicious, shearing thrust.
JT’s cry was torn from him, a mix of agony and ecstasy that echoed in the rafters. Marcus jerked against his bonds, a wordless roar trapped in his throat.
“That’s it, take it, you tight little whore,” Kane snarled, setting a punishing rhythm immediately. His hips became a brutal piston, the slap of flesh on flesh a rapid, obscene drumbeat. “This is what you are now. Nothing but a warm, wet hole for my demon cock. Made for this. Born for this.”
With each driving thrust, Kane’s heavy sac swung forward, slapping against JT’s skin. Kane angled them, shifting JT’s weight, until Marcus had a perfect, close-up view of exactly that: the violent meeting of bodies, the thick balls slamming rhythmically into his son. The sight was inhuman, a relentless, mechanical claiming.
“See how he takes it, Marcus?” Kane grunted, never breaking stride. “See how his body opens for me? He was born to be my whore. Your blood, your training… it was all just foreplay to get him ready for me.”
He pulled JT up, his back to Kane’s chest, and sank back onto the thick fur rug before the fire, JT straddling him. From this angle, Marcus could see every inch of Kane’s shaft disappear inside JT’s body as JT rode him, impaling himself again and again with frantic abandon. JT’s head was thrown back on Kane’s shoulder, his mouth open in silent cries.
“Who do you belong to, JT?” Kane growled into his ear, his hands gripping JT’s hips hard enough to bruise.
“You! Fuck, I belong to you, Kane!” JT screamed.
“Say my name like you mean it. Like you pray to it.”
“KANE!” The name was a prayer and a curse, torn from the depths of his being.
Kane flipped him again, onto his hands and knees now. He mounted him from behind, the pace becoming frenzied, monstrously fast. The movements blurred. It was no longer a man fucking another man; it was a force of nature taking what it owned. JT’s cries fragmented into mindless, rhythmic grunts with each drive of Kane’s hips.
JT’s hand flew to his own leaking cock, stroking in time. “Daddy… please, Daddy, I’m gonna come…”
Kane threw his head back and laughed, a sound of pure, wicked triumph. “Hear that, Marcus? He calls me Daddy now. Your title. Your respect. It’s mine. He gives it to me while I fuck the last of you out of him.”
The taunt broke something in JT. His orgasm ripped through him, stripes of white splattering the fur beneath them as his body clenched violently around Kane.
That was all the demon needed. With a final, earth-shaking roar, Kane buried himself to the hilt and pulsed. JT sobbed as he was filled, the volume impossible, a hot flood that overflowed and dripped down his thighs. Kane kept pumping, pumping, as if intent on marking him from the inside out before finally pulling free.
The aftermath was a lewd masterpiece. Semen, thick and pearlescent, dripped from JT’s well-used hole, coated the backs of his thighs. Kane gathered more on his fingers and smeared it over JT’s chest, his stomach, finally taking his own softening cock and painting JT’s lips and cheeks with it. JT’s tongue darted out, eagerly cleaning the tip.
“He loves my seed,” Kane said to Marcus, his breath heaving. “He loves being bred by it.”
Kane stood, pulling JT up with him. He positioned himself directly in front of Marcus’s chair. JT, trembling and covered in the evidence of his possession, knelt again. He took Kane, now half-hard again, back into his mouth, working him with a tired but devoted determination.
Marcus could only watch, his soul scoured empty.
“You fear my stain on your bloodline,” Kane said, his voice dangerously calm as he watched JT suckle him back to full, throbbing hardness. “You’re right to. It’s not a stain. It’s a conquest.”
He pushed JT aside. He fisted his cock, stroking it rapidly, his eyes locked on Marcus’s shattered ones. “Your line will never be clean, hunter. Every generation that springs from him will carry a whisper of me. My superior seed. Your legacy is mine.”
With a final, powerful groan, Kane came. Not on JT this time. Thick, hot ropes of demon semen splashed across Marcus’s face, his chest, into his open, gasping mouth. The violation was absolute, a defilement beyond physical torture.
Marcus gagged, thrashing.
Kane grabbed a handful of his hair, forcing his head back. “Swallow it,” he commanded. “Taste the future of your bloodline.”
Choking, Marcus had no choice. The taste was foreign, bitter, tinged with power.
“Now clean him up,” Kane said to JT.
Without hesitation, JT leaned in. He licked the mess from his father’s brow, his cheeks, his lips. His tongue, which had just been on every part of Kane, now cleaned the demon’s spend from Marcus’s skin with a horrifying tenderness. The ultimate degradation.
Kane released Marcus and pulled JT to his feet, holding him close.
“I’m not going to kill you, Marcus Thompson,” Kane said, his voice dropping to a conversational calm that was more terrifying than any roar. “Death is a mercy. You don’t get that. You get to live. You get to know, every single day, that your son belongs to me. That he craves me. That he loves me. That he is, in every way that matters, mine. The great Marcus Thompson, defeated not by a blade, but by his own boy’s hunger.”
He kissed JT, deep and possessive, right in front of him. Then he swung his mate into his arms, as easily as lifting a child. JT nestled his head against Kane’s neck, spent and pliant.
Kane looked over his shoulder at the broken man strapped to the chair. He grinned, a flash of teeth and malice, and raised his free hand, extending his middle finger in a slow, deliberate obscenity.
Then he turned and carried JT into the deeper shadows of the cabin, towards the bedroom, leaving Marcus alone in the firelight, bound in leather and silence, the taste of demon lingering on his tongue.