Chapter 12: Huy's Ancient Hunger
The gate creaked again. Metal grinding against metal, slow and deliberate.
Mandy's hand shot out, grabbing Ben's wrist. Jess was already on her feet, naked and unself-conscious, her body shifting into a combat stance. Rick moved to the window, his jaw tight.
"Jeeves," Mandy said, her voice low. "Perimeter scan. Now."
The little automaton zipped toward the front of the house, his mechanical arms extending, sensor arrays glowing. His voice came back tinny but calm: "One humanoid figure. Female. Approximately five-foot-six. Approaching the front door at a leisurely pace. No visible weapons. Mistress Stacy identified."
"Stacy?" Rick's head whipped around. "What the hell is she doing here?"
The door swung open before anyone could answer.
Stacy Steinberg stood in the threshold, her dark hair streaked with silver, her leather jacket zipped halfway up. She took in the scene—the naked bodies, the tangled limbs, the faint smell of sex still hanging in the air—and her lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk.
"Well," she said. "This is a hell of a way to end a Tuesday."
"Stacy—" Rick started.
"Don't." She held up a hand, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. "You texted me that Huy showed up and Evelyn Shaw might be in the area. I couldn't sleep. Sue me."
Her eyes swept the room again, lingering on Huy by the window. If the ancient mummy's presence unnerved her, Stacy didn't show it. She'd seen too much weird shit in her four decades of life to be rattled by a reanimated Egyptian priestess.
"You're all worked up," Stacy observed. "Scared. Tense. And apparently, you decided to fuck it out." She unzipped her jacket, letting it fall to the floor. "I approve."
"Stacy, we were just—" Mandy began.
"About to go another round? Good." Stacy crossed to where Rick stood, still frozen by the window. She ran a hand up his chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of his henley. "You look like you need it more than most."
"Stacy—"
"Shut up and kiss me."
He did.
Stacy kissed him hard—no hesitation, no gentleness. Her hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him close, and Rick responded in kind, his arms wrapping around her waist. They'd been together for years now—decades, depending on how you counted—and the fire between them had never dimmed.
When they broke apart, Stacy was breathing hard. She looked at the others, her smirk returning.
"Don't mind me," she said. "I'm just getting warmed up."
She dropped to her knees.
Rick's breath caught as she worked his belt open with practiced efficiency, popping the button on his jeans and dragging the zipper down. She reached into his boxers and pulled out his cock—already half-hard, thick and ruddy—and stroked him slowly, her thumb swiping across the head.
"Been a while since I had this in my mouth, like three whole days," she murmured. "Too long."
Then she took him deep.
No teasing. No buildup. Stacy swallowed him down in one motion, her throat working around his girth, her lips meeting the base of his shaft. Rick groaned, his hand finding her hair, and Stacy hummed her approval—a vibration that traveled straight up his spine.
"Fuck," he breathed.
Mandy watched from the sofa, Ben's arm still around her waist. The fear from moments ago hadn't vanished, but it had receded. Stacy's presence—solid, unshakeable—made everything feel less like a crisis and more like a night that had gotten wildly out of hand.
Jess settled beside Mandy, her hand finding Mandy's knee. "She's something else," Jess murmured.
"You have no idea," Mandy replied.
Stacy pulled back, a string of saliva connecting her lips to Rick's cock. She looked up at him, her eyes glittering. "Still the best I've ever had. You know that?"
Rick could barely speak. "Stacy—"
"I know, I know. Not the time for sentiment." She went back to work, taking him deeper, her hand cupping his balls with gentle pressure.
The room watched, mesmerized. Even Huy, still standing by the window, had tilted her head, her dark eyes fixed on the scene.
Then the ancient mummy stepped forward.
Her bare feet whispered across the floor. The faint glow that had been emanating from her skin intensified, casting soft light across the room. When she spoke, her voice was low and resonant—deeper than her young body would suggest, carrying the weight of millennia.
"Your pleasure is strong," Huy said. "I can feel it. Let me taste it."
Stacy pulled off Rick's cock and looked up at the mummy. There was no jealousy in her expression—just curiosity. "You want a turn?"
"I want to taste," Huy repeated. "I have not felt this in... a long time."
Stacy shrugged and moved aside.
Huy knelt beside her, her parchment skin almost luminous in the dim light. She reached for Rick's cock, her fingers surprisingly warm—no, not warm. Hot. Almost feverish. She wrapped her hand around him and inhaled deeply, as if she could breathe in his scent.
"You smell of life," she murmured. "Of sweat and salt and seed. It has been so long."
Then she took him into her mouth.
Rick made a sound—something between a gasp and a groan—as Huy's lips closed around him. Her mouth was different from Stacy's. Hotter. Somehow wetter. Her tongue moved with a precision that seemed almost unnatural, tracing patterns along his shaft that made his knees buckle.
"Jesus," he managed.
Huy hummed. The vibration traveled up his cock, and Rick's hips jerked involuntarily. She took him deeper, her throat not seeming to have a gag reflex, and her dark eyes stayed fixed on his face—watching, cataloging, learning.
"Your pleasure is... beautiful," Huy said, pulling back just long enough to speak. "I taste your fear underneath. But also your love. For her. For them." She gestured vaguely at the room. "It is delicious."
She went back to work, her head bobbing in a rhythm that seemed to sync with something Rick couldn't name—something ancient and rhythmic, like a heartbeat that wasn't a heartbeat. Her hand stroked the base of his cock in counterpoint, and her other hand cupped his balls, her thumb pressing against that spot just behind them that made stars explode behind his eyes.
Stacy hadn't moved. She watched with her arms crossed, her expression thoughtful. "She's good," she admitted.
"She's..." Rick couldn't finish.
Mandy had started touching herself again, her fingers working her clit in slow circles. Jess's hand had found its way between her own thighs, and Ben was stroking his cock, which had already returned to full hardness.
Mai had crawled closer, her dark eyes wide. "This is the weirdest, hottest thing I've ever seen," she announced. "And I once watched my mother wrestle a kelpie."
"Story for another time," Felicity murmured. She'd gotten to her knees, her hand wrapped around Ben's cock, stroking him while she watched Huy work.
The mummy increased her pace, her mouth a perfect seal around Rick's shaft. Her cheeks hollowed with each pull, and the sounds she made—soft, wet, hungry—filled the room. She was devouring him, consuming him, and Rick felt his orgasm building like a wave about to crash.
"I'm close," he warned.
Huy pulled back, her lips shiny with saliva, her dark eyes glittering. "Not yet," she whispered. "I want more."
She stood in one fluid motion, her hand still wrapped around his cock. "The woman on the floor," she said, looking at Katrina. "She needs. You will help her."
It wasn't a suggestion.
---
Stacy rose to her feet, her knees popping. She looked at Katrina—naked, trembling, her hand still between her thighs—and something softened in her expression.
"Come here," Stacy said.
Katrina obeyed, her movements hesitant. She was still the woman who'd spent thirty years in a timeless void, still unsure how to navigate the world, still learning what it meant to feel. But right now, she wanted to feel. Desperately.
Stacy guided her to the floor, laying her down on the thick rug. She knelt between Katrina's legs and looked at the dark-haired woman with a steady gaze.
"You're beautiful," Stacy said. "You know that?"
Katrina shook her head.
"You are. And I'm going to make you feel good." Stacy leaned down and kissed her—soft at first, then deeper. Katrina responded tentatively, then with growing hunger, her hands coming up to grip Stacy's shoulders.
Stacy worked her way down—kissing Katrina's throat, her collarbone, the hollow between her breasts. She took one nipple into her mouth, worrying it with her teeth, and Katrina gasped, her back arching off the floor.
"Please," she whispered. "Please, I need—"
"I know what you need."
Stacy moved lower, kissing her way down Katrina's stomach, pausing to dip her tongue into her navel. Katrina was trembling now, her legs spreading wide, her cunt glistening in the light.
Stacy settled between her thighs.
She didn't tease. She flattened her tongue against Katrina's clit and licked, long and slow, from entrance to apex. Katrina cried out—a raw, broken sound—and her hips bucked against Stacy's mouth.
"That's it," Stacy murmured against her. "Let go."
She worked Katrina with her mouth and fingers—tongue on her clit, two fingers buried deep inside her, curling just so. Katrina's hands fisted in her own hair, her moans rising in pitch and volume. She was so wet, so ready, so desperate for release.
Across the room, Huy had returned her attention to Rick. She'd pushed him back onto the floor and was straddling his hips, her linen shift rucked up around her waist. She wasn't wet—couldn't be, probably—but she didn't need to be. She guided his cock to her entrance and sank down onto him with a sigh that was almost human.
"Life," she breathed. "I feel... life."
She rode him slowly, deliberately, her internal muscles gripping and releasing in patterns that Rick couldn't predict. It was nothing like sex with Stacy or anyone else—it was something other, something older. Her parchment skin was hot under his hands, and her dark eyes never left his face.
"You will give me your seed," she said. "And I will remember what it is to be alive."
Mai had given up watching and was now fingering herself in earnest, her eyes fixed on the scene. Felicity had crawled to Ben, taking his cock into her mouth while Mandy watched, her hand still working between her own legs.
"If you're going to fuck him," Mandy said to Ben, "do it now. I want to watch."
Ben didn't need to be told twice. He pulled Felicity to her knees, positioned himself behind her, and drove into her cunt with one hard thrust. Felicity screamed—a happy scream—and pushed back against him.
"Yes," she panted. "Yes, fuck me, Ben, fuck me hard—"
He did.
Jess and Calista had found each other on the floor. Calista's fire magic was warming the space between them, and Jess was learning what it felt like to have a half-elf's lips on her skin. They moved together—hands, mouths, thighs—and the glow of Calista's power mingled with Huy's eerie radiance.
Beth watched from the armchair, her camera in her hand. She wasn't participating—not tonight—but she was documenting. "This is going in my private collection," she said. "For science."
"Or blackmail," Calista called out between moans.
"Same thing."
---
The room became a tableau of pleasure—bodies moving together, moans and cries blending into a symphony of release.
Stacy brought Katrina to orgasm once, twice, three times. Each time, Katrina cried out like it was the first time she'd ever felt anything—because in many ways, it was. Thirty years of isolation had left her starved for touch, and now she couldn't get enough.
Huy rode Rick with increasing desperation, her rhythm breaking down into something frantic and animal. She leaned forward, her hands braced on his chest, and her dark hair fell around them like a curtain.
"Give me your seed," she commanded. "Give it to me now."
Rick couldn't hold back any longer. He came with a shout, his hips jerking upward, his hands gripping Huy's hips hard enough to leave bruises. The mummy threw her head back and screamed—a sound that was neither human nor inhuman, but something in between.
When she pulled away, her parchment skin was glowing brighter than ever. She looked almost alive.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Mandy watched Ben fuck Felicity through two orgasms before she couldn't take it anymore. She pushed Ben onto his back and straddled him, taking his cock deep inside her in one smooth motion. He filled her perfectly—stretched her, completed her—and she rode him with abandon, her hands braced on his chest.
"Fuck," Ben gasped. "Mandy—"
"Don't you dare come yet," she said. "I want Jess."
Jess was there in seconds, leaving Calista, positioning herself over Ben's face while Mandy rode his cock. Ben's tongue found Jess's clit, and Jess grabbed Mandy's hair, pulling her into a kiss.
They moved together—Mandy riding, Jess grinding against Ben's mouth, all three of them chasing the same goal.
Mandy came first, her whole body shuddering. Jess followed, a wailing cry that dissolved into broken laughter. Ben came last, buried deep in Mandy's cunt, his hands gripping her hips as he spilled himself inside her.
"Holy shit," Felicity breathed from where she lay sprawled on the floor.
Beth had put down her camera and was watching the scene with a soft smile.
Stacy had moved to check on Katrina, who was crying—silently, tears streaming down her face. Stacy pulled her close, holding her without asking why.
"It's okay," Stacy murmured. "You're okay."
"I don't know why I'm crying," Katrina sobbed. "I'm happy. I'm so fucking happy."
"Then cry," Stacy said. "It's allowed."
Huy rose to her feet, her body still glowing. She looked at the tangle of bodies around her—the Williamsons, their friends, the strange family they'd built—and something like sadness flickered in her ancient eyes.
"I will rest now," she said. "Tomorrow, we plan."
She walked to the guest room and closed the door behind her.
---
The room settled into silence, broken only by the sound of breathing and the distant crash of waves.
Mandy lay on the floor, Ben's arm draped across her stomach, Jess curled against her other side. She felt wrung out, empty in the best way—every muscle loose, every thought quiet.
"Rick," she said.
Her brother was propped against the couch, Stacy's head on his shoulder. "Yeah?"
"You know that thing you said earlier? About protecting what we care about?"
"Yeah."
"Don't go anywhere," Mandy said. "I need you here."
"We're here," Rick said. "All of us."
She felt Stacy's gaze on her—steady, unshakeable.
"You will be," Stacy said. "You always are."
The words settled into the room like stones dropping into still water. Mandy closed her eyes, letting the weight of them press against her chest. Stacy didn't lie. She never had. If she said they'd be there, they would be.
Ben's arm tightened around Mandy's waist. His breath was warm against her shoulder, steady and slow. She could feel his heartbeat through her back, a rhythm that anchored her to the present moment.
"Okay," Mandy said. "Okay."
Across the room, Calista had risen from the floor and was pulling her dress back over her head. Her silver hair was a disaster—tangled and wild—but she didn't seem to care. She caught Mandy's eye and smiled.
"We should sleep," Calista said. "Tomorrow's going to be long."
"Understatement," Beth muttered from the armchair. She still hadn't moved from her spot, her camera cradled in her lap like a beloved pet. "I counted at least three felonies we committed tonight. Four if you count public indecency."
"We're inside," Felicity pointed out.
"The windows are floor-to-ceiling, Flick."
Felicity glanced at the glass and winced. "Oh. Right."
Mai stretched like a cat, her spine arching, her breasts pushing forward. She made no move to cover herself. "If anyone was watching, they got a hell of a show."
"Your livestream audience would be jealous," Mandy said.
"My livestream audience would pay triple for this." Mai grinned. "Maybe I should start a premium channel."
Jess snorted. "Focus, Harata."
"I'm always focused. Just on multiple things at once."
The banter was easy, familiar—a balm after the tension of the last hour. Mandy let it wash over her, let herself sink into the normalcy of it. This was what family felt like. Not blood, necessarily, but people who stayed. People who showed up.
She pushed herself upright, dislodging Ben's arm with a reluctant sigh. "Okay. Everyone find a horizontal surface. We'll figure out sleeping arrangements."
"I'm taking the couch," Stacy announced. She'd already started arranging cushions, her movements efficient. "Rick and I can share. It's not the first time."
"The fold-out is terrible," Mandy warned. "The bar hits you right in the spine."
"I've slept in worse." Stacy paused, glancing at Mandy. "Actually, can we use the fold-out? I don't want to kick Rick in my sleep."
"The fold-out's fine. But you'll regret it in the morning."
"I've regretted worse."
Rick had risen to his feet, stretching his back with a series of pops. He looked exhausted—the good kind, the kind that came after physical exertion and emotional release. His eyes found Calista across the room.
"You okay?" he asked.
Calista nodded. "I'm always okay."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I've got right now."
Something passed between them—a look that Mandy couldn't quite interpret. It was there and gone in an instant, replaced by the easy camaraderie they'd always shared. But Mandy had seen it. She filed it away for later.
Beth had finally abandoned her camera and was helping Stacy unfold the sofa bed. The mechanism creaked and groaned, rusted from disuse, but eventually the mattress flopped into place.
"Jesus," Beth said. "This thing is older than I am."
"Probably older than Mom," Rick agreed.
"Don't let her hear you say that."
"She'd take it as a compliment. She loves old things."
Calista had wandered over to inspect the bed, her expression dubious. "You're really going to sleep on this?"
"I've slept on worse," Stacy repeated.
"You said that already."
"It bears repeating."
Mandy retrieved blankets from the hall closet—a stack of mismatched throws and quilts that had accumulated over the months. She distributed them without ceremony, draping one over Felicity's shoulders and another over Mai's lap.
"You're not my mom," Mai said, but she pulled the blanket tighter anyway.
"Someone has to be."
"My mum would disagree with that assessment."
"Your mum is currently recovering from injuries in a house full of magical artifacts. She's got bigger problems."
Mai laughed—a bright, unself-conscious sound. "Fair."
Katrina hadn't moved from her spot on the floor. She was still lying on the rug, Stacy's blanket draped over her naked body, her dark hair fanned around her head. Her eyes were open, staring at the ceiling.
Mandy crouched beside her. "Hey. You okay?"
Katrina blinked. "I'm... I don't know what I am."
"That's honest."
"I keep thinking about the dream." Katrina's voice was quiet, meant only for Mandy's ears. "The first one. When LeFaye attacked."
Mandy's jaw tightened. Katrina had described it to that dream. The way Rick had touched her. The way Mandy and Beth and Calista had surrounded her, all of them saying they loved her, wanted her, needed her.
Like puppets. Like sex dolls with human faces.
"It felt so real," Katrina continued. "And I wanted it. That's the worst part. I wanted it so badly."
"It wasn't real."
"It was real enough." Katrina turned her head, meeting Mandy's eyes. "Tonight, when I looked up and saw you—all of you—I felt that fear again. Just for a second. I thought... it's happening again. They're going to use me again."
Mandy's throat tightened. "Katrina—"
"Then I looked closer." A small smile flickered across Katrina's face. "Stacy was cuddling with Rick. You were arguing about the fold-out couch. Calista and Beth were fighting over photos." She laughed—a soft, broken sound. "Nobody was saying they loved me. Nobody was pretending to be my perfect fantasy. You were just... people. Real people."
"We are real," Mandy said. "And we do love you. Just not like that."
"I know." Katrina's smile widened. "That's why it's okay."
Mandy helped her to her feet. Katrina swayed slightly, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of pleasure, but she managed to stand.
"I'm going to bed," Katrina said. "For real this time."
"Do you need anything?"
"No." Katrina paused at the hallway. "Actually... can you tell Stacy thank you? For earlier?"
"Tell her yourself. She's on the fold-out."
"I will. In the morning."
Katrina disappeared down the hall.
Beth and Calista were still bickering when Mandy turned back to the room. Calista had retrieved Beth's camera and was scrolling through the photos, her expression shifting from amused to horrified to amused again.
"You can't show these to anyone," Calista said.
"I wasn't planning to."
"You showed the last batch to Mom."
"The last batch was artistic. These are..." Beth paused. "Educational."
"Educational about what?"
"Human anatomy. Very detailed human anatomy."
Rick groaned from the fold-out bed. "Can we not discuss this while I'm trying to sleep?"
"You're not sleeping yet," Calista pointed out.
"I'm pretending very hard."
Stacy had climbed onto the mattress and was arranging pillows behind her head. She looked completely at ease—more at ease than anyone had a right to look on a sofa bed that had seen better decades.
"Beth," Stacy said. "Those photos stay on your camera. I mean it."
"Fine, fine." Beth held up her hands. "I promise they won't go into my next gallery show."
Calista eyed her suspiciously. "You're lying."
"I never lie."
"You lie constantly."
"That's different. That's artistic license."
"It's the same thing."
"Is not."
"Is too."
"Ladies," Jess interrupted. "Some of us have early shifts tomorrow."
Calista and Beth exchanged a look, then simultaneously stuck out their tongues. But they fell silent, settling onto the remaining furniture—Calista on the armchair, Beth on the floor with a cushion under her head.
Mandy made her way to the hallway. Her room was in the basement—a space she'd claimed when they'd first moved in, right next to the stairs alongside her basement workspace. She paused at the door, looking back at the tableau in the living room.
Rick and Stacy tangled together on the fold-out. Jess sprawled on the couch, her charcoal suit folded neatly on the coffee table. Mai and Felicity heading to their respective rooms. Beth still awake, her camera resting on her stomach, her eyes half-closed.
Family. Whatever that meant.
Mandy stepped into her room and closed the door.
---
Katrina's room was small and familiar—four walls painted a lovely shade of blue, a bed from a thrift store, a window that looked out over the side yard where the palm trees swayed in the breeze. She crossed to the bed and sat down heavily, her legs still shaky.
The phone was on the nightstand. She stared at it for a long moment.
It's nearly midnight. He's probably asleep. This is ridiculous.
She picked it up anyway.
Her fingers found Mark's number—saved just hours ago at the club, when he'd punched it in with that disarming smile. She'd laughed at something he'd said—she couldn't remember what—and he'd said she had a beautiful laugh. She'd believed him.
She pressed call.
The phone rang once. Twice. Three times.
She almost hung up.
"Hello?"
His voice was warm, a little sleep-roughened. Not annoyed. Not impatient.
"Mark?" Katrina's voice came out smaller than she'd intended. "It's Katrina. I'm sorry—I know it's late. We just finished our date an hour ago and I'm already calling you like a teenager."
"Katrina." He sounded pleased. Genuinely pleased. "I was hoping you'd call."
"You were?"
"I was thinking about you. Couldn't sleep."
Katrina's heart did something complicated in her chest. "I couldn't sleep either."
"Is everything okay? You sound..."
"Tired. I'm just tired." She paused. "I really felt a spark tonight, Mark. I know that's a ridiculous thing to say—we barely know each other—but I did. I felt something."
On the other end, Mark was silent for a beat. She could hear him breathing—slow, controlled, like he was choosing his words carefully.
"I felt it too," he said.
"I'd like to see you again. Tomorrow, I mean. For lunch?" She winced at her own eagerness. "I know that's fast. I know we just—"
"Lunch sounds perfect."
"Really?"
"Really." She heard the smile in his voice—that warm, disarming smile that made her forget she'd ever been trapped in a void. "There's a little place on Ocean Drive. Good Cuban sandwiches. I can meet you at one?"
"One works."
"Then I'll see you tomorrow, Katrina."
"See you tomorrow, Mark."
She hung up.
---
Across the street, in a house that was too quiet and too dark, Mark set his phone down on the kitchen counter. His hand was trembling.
"You're shaking."
The voice came from the shadows—low, cold, familiar. Evelyn Shaw stepped forward into the faint glow of the stove light. She was older now—her hair entirely silver, her face lined with wrinkles that hadn't been there twenty years ago. But her eyes were the same. Sharp. Calculating. Empty.
"It's nothing," Mark said.
"Don't lie to me." Shaw circled him slowly. "I've known you too long. You're shaking because you feel something for that girl."
"I feel nothing."
"You're lying again." Shaw stopped in front of him. "I don't care if you fuck her. I don't care if you kill her. But remember your purpose, Green Knight. Remember what you're here for."
Mark's jaw tightened. "I remember."
"Do you?" Shaw tilted her head. "Because it sounds like you're making plans that don't include me."
"I'm doing exactly what you told me to do. I'm getting close to her. I'm earning her trust."
"And her heart?"
Mark didn't answer.
"I thought so." Shaw's smile was cold. "You're a fool. You've always been a fool. But you're loyal—or you have been. I'm trusting that hasn't changed."
"It hasn't."
"Good." Shaw turned and walked toward the front of the house. "The meeting is set. Tomorrow. You'll bring her to the pier, and we'll see what she knows about the mummy's heart."
"She's a victim, Evelyn. She spent thirty years in a void."
"I don't care what she is." Shaw paused at the door. "She's connected to the Williamson and Winkle. She's useful. That's all that matters."
She left.
Mark stood alone in the kitchen, his hands gripping the edge of the counter. His mind replayed Katrina's voice—soft, hesitant, hopeful. She'd called him. She'd said she felt a spark. She'd asked him to lunch.
And he'd said yes.
He should have felt triumphant. He was doing his job. He was earning her trust. Everything was going according to plan.
But somewhere deep in the part of himself he'd thought long dead, a voice whispered: She needs protection. Not from Shaw. From you.
He hated that voice. He hated how loud it had grown.
He hated most of all that he was going to meet her anyway.