City of Saints
folder
Erotica › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
5
Views:
1,148
Reviews:
5
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Erotica › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
5
Views:
1,148
Reviews:
5
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
City of Saints
Prologue....
The cold ground against his back didn’t sting as much as his body. Where was Juliana? Where was his beloved keeper? He couldn’t see, the sun and the blood stung his eyes, was it his blood? The biting cold of the air gripped him, like his fists clinging tightly to the dirt, tightly to his life. Shane was dying, the cold tendrils of its permanent darkness creeping towards his heart. The heavy leather collar about his throat made it hard to breathe; his leash was caught by something, pulling the thick bond against his airway. His hearing was strangely thick, as if cotton blocked his ears, but past the fuzzy intake he could hear cries, moans and screams about him. Lady Shiva had lost her battle, Shane was her greatest weapon and he had failed. The others were fools, they couldn’t do what he could, all of them fools. Keepers who claimed to love their tools. You cannot love that which was made to kill. He sighed haggardly, relishing in the feeling of cold rushing into his lungs again.
Every movement pained him but he worked to find the end of his leash, to find the hand that held him bonded even on the brink of death. He knew it was a hand, he knew it was Juliana, but why was she so set on choking him? He could do no more; his keeper couldn’t possibly be willing him to stand. He pulled herself around, wiping the blood from his eyes to see as his body twisted uncomfortably in the cold mud. His bones were broken and his muscles torn. Amazement filled him at the sight of his twisted form, how was he still living? He found the hand he longed for, Juliana’s hand with her beautiful long pale fingers that had so often touched him harshly. They would do no harm now; the light had gone from the woman’s pale blue eyes and her cruel face. She was so beautiful, even when blood-streaked and cold, crimson and dirt tangled in her blonde hair as it spilled about her. The blood on him was not the blood of the keeper but of Shane.
His keeper was completely untouched; death had taken her and in return damaged her tool beyond hope. It was not right, if the keeper dies, so should the tool. Shane had been spared, although, when seeing his dead keeper, wished to be dead too. The sky and the ground and all of the space in between did not escape his screams of pain and sorrow, a final breath, for a final blow.
The cold ground against his back didn’t sting as much as his body. Where was Juliana? Where was his beloved keeper? He couldn’t see, the sun and the blood stung his eyes, was it his blood? The biting cold of the air gripped him, like his fists clinging tightly to the dirt, tightly to his life. Shane was dying, the cold tendrils of its permanent darkness creeping towards his heart. The heavy leather collar about his throat made it hard to breathe; his leash was caught by something, pulling the thick bond against his airway. His hearing was strangely thick, as if cotton blocked his ears, but past the fuzzy intake he could hear cries, moans and screams about him. Lady Shiva had lost her battle, Shane was her greatest weapon and he had failed. The others were fools, they couldn’t do what he could, all of them fools. Keepers who claimed to love their tools. You cannot love that which was made to kill. He sighed haggardly, relishing in the feeling of cold rushing into his lungs again.
Every movement pained him but he worked to find the end of his leash, to find the hand that held him bonded even on the brink of death. He knew it was a hand, he knew it was Juliana, but why was she so set on choking him? He could do no more; his keeper couldn’t possibly be willing him to stand. He pulled herself around, wiping the blood from his eyes to see as his body twisted uncomfortably in the cold mud. His bones were broken and his muscles torn. Amazement filled him at the sight of his twisted form, how was he still living? He found the hand he longed for, Juliana’s hand with her beautiful long pale fingers that had so often touched him harshly. They would do no harm now; the light had gone from the woman’s pale blue eyes and her cruel face. She was so beautiful, even when blood-streaked and cold, crimson and dirt tangled in her blonde hair as it spilled about her. The blood on him was not the blood of the keeper but of Shane.
His keeper was completely untouched; death had taken her and in return damaged her tool beyond hope. It was not right, if the keeper dies, so should the tool. Shane had been spared, although, when seeing his dead keeper, wished to be dead too. The sky and the ground and all of the space in between did not escape his screams of pain and sorrow, a final breath, for a final blow.