The next time I come, I’ll be inside the woman I inherited.
With my cock in my hand, I nodded at my reflection.
I’m a Hawk but blood doesn’t flow in my veins. I’m born of a substance unbeatable by any other—diamonds. I’m a smuggler. I’m a dealer. And I’m about to become…a killer.
NEEDLE&THREAD: I’m warm and in bed. Surprisingly I slept better than I thought I would. Did you have a good night? Did you lie in your bed and picture me pleasuring you? What did I do to you? Tell me, Kite. I want you to transport me from reality and give me a fantasy stronger than my present humdrum life.
Kite007: Forward this morning, aren’t we? You’re that desperate to talk about my cock? Not that I’d ever say no—but I’m rather impressed by your forwardness. Tell me more…beg.
Needle&Thread: Beg? How does one beg for something they need rather than want? Would you prefer me on my knees? Or perhaps on my back ready for whatever you wanted to give me?
Kite007: Fuck. What’s got into you? Beg. Imagine I’m standing over you with my hard cock in my hand. I’m throttling it—my fist working so fucking hard at the thought of you spread-eagled and fingering yourself. Give me a visual. Now. Then I might reward you.
Needle&Thread: I’m exactly as you said. Begging, whimpering, touching myself until my whimpers turn to pants and my begs turn to moans. I’m wet for you. I’m hot for you. Please, Kite. Give me my fantasy. Give me something warm to hold onto.
Kite007: What the fuck is this about? How can I come when you sound fucking weird?
Needle&Thread: Weird? I’m not. I’m giving you what you want in return for what I need.
Kite007: Is that supposed to make sense, ‘cause I don’t understand bullshit code. Fuck, you’re seriously making me do it.
Needle&Thread: Do what?
Kite007: Ask you! Okay, fine. What’s got your panties so bunched that you’re coming onto me so strong. What happened to my timid naughty nun? Why the fuck do you sound so different?
I stared at my phone, heart rate skyrocketing. I’d tried to play it coy and courageous. I thought I’d pulled off the pantomime that I was still myself, still living my content but uninspiring life.
Obviously not.
I re-read my past replies, unable to see the difference. Had I changed that much already?
There was nothing soft about Kite. There was no reason for me to seek him out when I had enough bastard in my life thanks to Jethro. It made no sense to let him use me—but it did in a strange way. It made sense because I willingly gave him control over me—something I needed in my rapidly spinning out of control life. While Jethro was determined to undermine, throw away, and rule every inch of whatever little power I had left, Kite gave it back in some strange, wonderful way.
He’s the monster I know. He’s not sweetness and light—but he’s mine because I choose him to be. The defiance was yet another stupid score against the beast called Jethro Hawk.
Straightening my back, I tried to figure out a way to possibly get Kite to soften—just a little—then everything would be a lot easier to bear.
Kite007: Tell me, then make me come. You’ve got two jobs to do. Do them.
Taking a deep breath, I opened a fresh message.
Needle&Thread: Tell me if this is out of bounds, but in answer to your question—why do I sound different—I suppose it’s because I feel different. Everything is different. I thought I’d always fight against different. I like normal. I like routine. I thought different would ruin me. But…then…I changed.
Kite007: Changed? You really going to make me drag this out? My cock is hard and balls want to come. Spill it, so we can get to the second part of your to-do list.
Needle&Thread: I’m the one who’s different now. It’s as if everything I’ve been dealing with suddenly doesn’t matter. It’s just gone….
Kite007: Gone?
Needle&Thread: Yes. It’s liberating, scary as hell, and confusing. But something’s changing inside—it feels as if I’m…growing up.
I sighed. He’d send something horrible back—my response had been too personal. I knew that. But I’d sent it anyway.
Kite007: Out of bounds. Get back to the subject. Let’s try this, here’s something you obviously want: I’m happy you’re growing up—makes me feel a lot fucking easier knowing I’m not jerking off to a kinky fourteen year old. And now for want I want: Too bad for you, I’m not gone or planning to before you finish doing what you started. I’m done with the cryptic crap. Pay attention, because I’m sliding my cock into your mouth. You try to talk but you choke on my length, your voice is humming against my balls. Stop trying to communicate and settle in to your task. Suck me.
I sighed. Two emotions swirled inside—exasperation and gratefulness. He’d replied to my overshare. He hadn’t shot me down or been the pillock he usually was. Progress.
The tentative softness inside was enough to get me through the next few hours.
Shouldn’t you want more?
My heart hardened.
Kite had replied to my veiled hints for encouragement but I’d hoped…
It doesn’t matter what I hoped.
It seemed everything I wanted in this world wasn’t available—including more than one kind word from Kite. We’d been so close to a normal conversation. Learning, sharing, building a connection despite the complications of sexting.
He’d let me in for a microsecond then shut me out once again, using sex as a tool to keep me in my place and remind me I didn’t factor in his life—either as a friend or even associate. I was the unseen whore. The unpaid prostitute who lived in his phone.
I couldn’t let him hurt me. I couldn’t let him weaken me.
He’d done what I needed—reminding me I was strong enough. There was nothing else to do but finish the conversation, so I could leave the soul-sucking fantasy and return to the tragedy of my new world.
Kite007: You’re not sucking. Fine, I’ll give you some encouragement. If you blow me, I’ll return the favour. I’ll flip you onto your back, spread your legs, and bury my face between your legs. I’d bite you, fucking you with my tongue until you forgot everything and came.
My stomach attempted a small swoop. It wasn’t romantic, but it did give me a tiny bit more warmth I needed.
Before I could reply, another message vibrated.
Kite007: Tell me where you are right now. Are you naked? Finger yourself for me. Take a photo if you’re brave.
I laughed. The sound shredded the space that Jethro had so kindly given me for the night. Laughing was the only thing I could do. Take a photo? Of what? The bruises on my palms from crawling to the kennels last night? How about the cuts on my knees?
Maybe he wants a picture of my elegant bedroom and wonderful bedfellows.
Looking up for the first time since I woke, I let the uselessness of my situation get the better of me. The bravery I’d been clutching to like a raft in a rolling ocean, splintered and drowned. Painful despair saturated my heart, weighing me down like the anchors I so often clung to.
By all standards, the kennel was sheer luxury. The roof was watertight. The floor clean and sanitary. It was even draft free.
But it wasn’t just mine. I had to share.
Squirrel, my favourite of the eleven canines I’d spent the night with, nudged my arm. I’d named him after the tree-climbing rodent thanks to his slightly bushy tail. With a doggy smile, he wheedled his way under my arm, leaning heavily against my torso.
I’d never had pets growing up. As a family, we were too busy working or travelling to exotic places to source more material and merchandise. Until last night, I’d had an adolescent fear of dogs.
That had evolved to terror when Jethro threw me inside.
I shuddered, hugging Squirrel closer to me, stealing his gentle warmth. Last night Jethro had tried to destroy me. Not through fists or rape or even harsh words. No, he tried to destroy me by removing any entitlement I had as a human. Marking me as no better than the dogs he kept.
He would’ve succeeded if my terror hadn’t mellowed into bewilderment then gratefulness. He’d done me a favour—I preferred the company of his hounds. They not only tolerated my intrusion but welcomed me into the pack.
Squirrel licked my pebble-indented palm, letting me know he understood my aches. I still suffered from crawling from the manor, past immaculate flower beds, over precision mowed grass, and cutting through shadows cast by imposing hedges.
Everything throbbed when I finally crawled the last metre and sat waiting beside a large roller door. My dress was torn, my knees bleeding—not that he’d cared.
The estate was bigger than I could contemplate, but even in the darkness, I’d made out the buildings around us. The stables were across the cobblestone yard. A granary let its soft grainy fragrance permeate the air. The gentle huffing of horses broke the silence along with wuffles and snuffles from dogs.
Jethro left me sitting on my knees while he disappeared into what I assumed was a tack room. He returned with a large scratchy blanket and a bucket, before unlocking the roller door and beckoning me inside.
Throwing the items into the dark interior, he bowed. “Your boudoir, my lady.” Leaning down, he swatted my behind. “Go to bed like a good little pet. You have a big day ahead of you.”
When I didn’t move, his foot landed on my arse, shoving me forward, giving me no choice but to crawl quickly into darkness.
The moment I’d traded starlight for no light, I panicked.
Jethro threw the bolt home, locking me inside a room that thrived with moving bodies, claws on cobblestones, and soft growls of ownership.
The first brush of a wet nose on my cheek ripped a small scream from my lips. I curled tight into a ball, hugging my knees, squeezing my eyes against being eaten alive.
I waited for sharp teeth. I waited to be bitten.
But they hadn’t eaten me.
Far from it. I’d been licked and nuzzled and welcomed into a pack of unknown numbers.
I was a stranger in their domain, but when I finally overrode my fear and looked into their eyes, they were bright with curiosity rather than territorial anger.
The rest of the night was spent making a semi-comfortable bed out of a loosely packed hay bale, and wrapping myself tight in the scratchy blanket. I’d aimed to sleep alone with my new friends scattered in their usual spaces, but they had other ideas.
Once I was settled, they’d crowded around me, squeezing close, curling around each other until I was the epicentre in a nest of canines.
The moment they’d quietened, I took out my phone.
Five missed calls, three messages from my twin, and one from my father.
Biting my lip to retain what composure I could, I read my father’s first.
ArchTextile: Nila, I know you’ll have questions. I know you’ll hate me. But please, my wonderful girl, know I didn’t want any of this. I was stupid not to heed your mother’s warning. I thought—well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. I hope we can talk—when you’re ready. I understand if you can never forgive me. I don’t know how much of this they’ll see, but I’ll never stop searching, never stop hoping. Please don’t think I gave you up lightly. They have…ways. They have you but they’ll keep you in good health. We have time. Love you, sweetheart.
I didn’t want to focus on what time meant. The slow plod of time intertwined with the fast tick, tick, ticking of my final heartbeats.
My fingers hovered on the reply button. But I couldn’t. Not yet.
Instead, I opened my brother’s messages.
VtheMan: Threads, pick up your goddamn phone.
VtheMan: Threads. I’m warning you. You’re not happy. I sense it. I’m worried shitless and Tex is being a secretive arsehole. Call me immediately, sister. Or I’ll make your life a living hell.
VtheMan: Please, Nila. Talk to me. Put me out of my misery. I miss you. Love you so fucking much.
My teary gasp in the darkness pricked a few hounds’ ears. I wanted so much to reply. But I didn’t dare. I didn’t trust myself not to beg him to get me out of this. I was there of my own free will to protect him. I wouldn’t be protecting him if I was weak.
Tomorrow. I wouldn’t put up with any more flimsy talk of debts and centuries past. I wanted hard facts on why they could do this. And I wouldn’t stop until I knew everything.
Closing my messages, I opened up a picture of Vaughn and me that’d been taken right before the doors opened to the show last night. The tiny bit of strength I had left deserted me and I let go of my tight control.
I sobbed.
My heart expunged its grief through my eyes, drenching my cheeks, blurring the last photo I had of my brother —happy, nervous, dressed up in finery—with a waterfall of liquid. I cried until dehydration throbbed my head and my neck was sticky with salt.
A low battery reminder beeped. It was the hardest thing I’d done to shut down the picture of V and turn it off.
More tears trickled and a hound raised his head, looking at me with wise understanding. He inched forward on his belly, crossing the hay until his claws tugged at my blanket.
His canine concern produced another torrent of liquid, but I opened my arms, and with a wagging tail, he fitted himself around me like a living shield. His doggy heart thudded against mine as I hugged his silky coat.
I went from the Darling of Milan with needle pricks on her fingers to huddled on the floor with only hunting dogs for company.
A soppy tongue had licked my cheek, stealing the endless stream of tears. And that was when it happened. The change I’d told Kite about. The ending. The beginning. The freedom of just letting go.
All my life, I’d been stressed with making a name for myself, building my career, loving my brother, being a worthy daughter. Bills. Deadlines. Reputations. Expectations. It all balanced precariously on my shoulders, moulding me into a quiet workaholic.