The Reaver Chronicles: Raphael (Book 2)

Chapter 2

(72 years earlier)

Aren’t you a pretty little thing.” I purred, as I admired the glitter shining from the infinity symbol standing vertically, my newly administered mark, upon the side of this woman's face. I wasn’t even sure of her name, but I didn’t care. She was a vision of loveliness, a petite and delicate beauty with a presence that belied her small stature. Her blonde hair, styled in a chic bob cut, framed her face and accentuated her striking features. Her deep blue eyes sparkled like sapphires, shining brightly with a warmth and kindness that drew me in. Her tanned skin glowed with a healthy, sun-kissed radiance, adding to her natural beauty and effortless charm.

She was a Wolf, I could hear her Wolf’s internal dialogue which made it that much easier to know what she wanted. I preferred Wolves, they were easier to mark and more obedient. “She will do… for the next few weeks at least.” I smirked at Axel. I had marked a plethora of women, but never completed the mating ritual making the mark permanent. It’s too much fun to just play.

I had never found a woman who really piqued my interest anyway. Plus, I was busy, always busy running these Covens. I had 19 Covens under myself, and their Priests were always so needy. That, and trying to keep order in the Underworld, who had time for a mate around here? Most of us Reavers were like this. All work, no play. Speaking of work, I had a Coven meeting in 10 minutes and I wouldn't want to be late to my own meeting. “Honey, why don't you make yourself at home. I'll be back later.” I purred to my new plaything. “Anything for you.” She cooed, and seated herself on my bed, pulling my silver comforter up over her slender legs.

How easily swayed by the mark these playthings were. It was almost sickening, really, but I was sure she would be there when I returned. They always were. The mark in and of itself is a wild form of magic, she couldn’t resist it.

I materialized at the head of the table. I had 19 other Priests around the table patiently awaiting my arrival. “Order.” I spat. Instantly, everyone went eerily silent. Enough so that you could hear a pin drop. The sudden, oppressive silence was like a palpable force, a heavy blanket that smothered the room, stifling all sound and movement. The air was thick with tension leaving everyone suspended in a state of expectant, fearful anticipation, waiting for something, anything, to break the suffocating silence.

I was, as you could say, respected, by the Priests of each Coven, along with their Coven members. I made visits to each Coven regularly to ensure things were going well. Upon my arrival people stopped and stood at attention. My presence commanded it, I suppose, as I had never asked them to, they just did it.

It was a spontaneous display of respect, a testament to the authority and presence that I embodied. I hadn't requested this show of deference, but it had become a habitual response to my presence, a nod to the power and influence that I wielded. I suppose I could have stopped them, let them stand at ease in my presence, but what’s the fun in that?

“First point of business, where are we at with the Necromancers?” I asked. The Necromancers were the biggest issue we had right now. We were in the middle of trying to make an alliance with them as they were one of the only creatures that could threaten our existence.

The delicate dance of diplomacy was a precarious one, especially when dealing with a force as formidable as the Necromancers. Their ability to wield the power of the dead, summoning forth an army of undead minions, was a capability that could tip the balance of power in their favor, making them a force to be reckoned with.

And so, it was imperative that we secured their allegiance, binding them to our cause through the ties of mutual benefit and cooperation. The alternative? Facing their wrath and the unrelenting tide of their undead armies… and that was a prospect too dire to even contemplate.

They were scavenging our dead on our lands, this is what started this entire conversation. The Necromancers' brazen disregard for our territorial sovereignty had been a festering wound, a provocation that had been gnawing at my patience for far too long. Their scavenging of our fallen kin on our own lands was a desecration that struck at the very heart of our honor and our traditions. It was an intolerable trespass, one that demanded a resolution.

And so, it was this grievance that had set us on the path to forging an alliance with the necromancers, a delicate and fraught endeavor that aimed to balance our need for security with the imperative of protecting our sacred lands and our fallen dead. One of my Priests, Jerome, his name was, spoke up.

“We have been in treaty talks with them for the past month. They are reluctant to agree to our terms, continually reassessing the deal and changing things. We will continue working on them.” Then he sat back down.

“What is it they are asking for now, Jerome?” I asked. “Sir, they want the bodies of our dead, and those of anyone we kill.” He said. My face hardened. “They can have the bodies of those we kill, but not of our own kind. That is my final offer. Take that to them, and report back when you know more.” I snapped. “Yes sir.” He said, and he materialized out of the room.

“Next line of business, how is training going? Have we incorporated the new curriculum for our newly turned and young yet?” I asked. The negotiations continued unabated, a meticulous and deliberate process of ensuring that every detail, every nuance, and every eventuality was thoroughly discussed and understood by all parties involved.

The Coven Priests listened intently, their faces set in determined expressions, as they committed every word, every phrase, and every stipulation to memory. The air was thick with the weight of responsibility, as we all knew that the success of our Covens depended on the precise execution of our plans.

And so, we pored over every contingency, every potential threat, no matter how remote, and devised strategies to neutralize them, our minds working in tandem to forge a united front against any adversity that might arise. As the hour drew to a close, a sense of satisfaction and accomplishment settled over us, born of the knowledge that our agreement was founded on a bedrock of mutual understanding, respect, and cooperation.

“Same time two weeks from now, you know the drill.” I spat, and they all materialized away leaving me in an empty room to mull over my thoughts. My thoughts, however, kept going back to my plaything. I guess my work was done, time to play.

I materialized back to my home, and my plaything was exactly as I had left her. Of course she was, no one can resist the marks pull. She would slit her own throat if I had asked her to. Trust me, I’ve asked before. It was a rather gory outcome.

Axel Snickered in my mind reminding me of our last plaything. She was a Vampire. Her physical appearance had barely registered on my consciousness, overshadowed as it was by the weight of our negotiations and the gravity of our discussions. I recalled only one distinguishing feature, her raven-black hair, which cascaded down her back like a waterfall of night. Beyond that, her beauty was a vague, impressionistic notion, a fleeting glimpse of elegance and poise that had left no lasting impression on my mind.

Poor darling… she pushed too hard and kept trying to complete the mating process. This was something I wasn’t about to do, especially with her. “Take your own life.” I spat at her. “Yes Raphael.” She said, and with tears in her eyes she shoved her hand into her chest and ripped her own heart out. Her hand, now clenched around the pulsing, crimson organ, trembled with a mix of anguish and determination.

Tears streamed down her face, mingling with the streaks of blood that now marred her pale skin. I chuckled as she fell to the floor. Well that was creative. I thought. I knew it was harsh, but I didn’t care. These women, they just don't appease me.

In that instant, a profound understanding dawned on me, illuminating the true nature of the mate mark and the depth of its influence. I grasped, with startling clarity, the magnitude of the power that I wielded over the one who bore the mark… a power that transcended the boundaries of love, loyalty, and even free will.

I snapped back to reality and realized that my plaything was, in fact, still waiting. I closed the distance between us and smashed my lips into hers. The kiss was a clash of lips and emotions, a fierce and desperate attempt to spark a flame that refused to ignite. I could feel the anger and frustration simmering beneath the surface, a potent mix that drove me to press harder, to try and elicit some semblance of passion or connection.

But despite the intensity of the kiss, I felt nothing. No flutter in my chest, no rush of excitement, no tender stirring of emotions. The mate mark, that constant and insistent presence, pulsed with its familiar energy, but it was a hollow, mechanical response, one that I had grown accustomed to. It was a stark reminder that my feelings, my true emotions, remained stubbornly elusive, locked away behind a wall of indifference.

From the reaction her Wolf had, I could tell she felt the marks pull. They always did.The telltale signs were unmistakable - the subtle tensing of her muscles, the faint whisper of a growl, the almost imperceptible flicker of her eyes. It was a reaction I had witnessed before. The mark, that mystical and binding symbol, exerted a primal pull, one that transcended rational thought and spoke directly to the heart of the beast.

I pulled away and looked into her deep blue eyes. “Why don’t I feel anything for you?” I asked her. She stayed silent, she had no answer. I didn’t have an answer either. “Get on your knees.” I commanded. She immediately dropped down as I undid my belt. Her eyes, those windows to the soul, had grown dark and sultry, burning with an unmistakable hunger. It was a look that spoke of longing and need, of a deep-seated craving that could not be ignored.

She definitely wanted this. Maybe, if she was good enough, I wouldn’t kill her, I thought, as I pulled out my c**k and she took it into her mouth. My plaything pushed me down onto the bed to get a better angle but I could soon tell she was struggling with my girth. “Relax.” I purred to her. “Just open your throat, and go slow.” I whispered softly.

She immediately obeyed, and I growled under my breath as she took in almost all of my length. “Much better.” I said. I grabbed the back of her head pushing her down further now that she was able to take my length, or most of it. My soft moans seem to fuel her but I knew that was because of the mark.

The mere sound of my voice was enough to send shivers coursing through her veins, her body responding to the deep, rumbling tones like a harp string plucked by an unseen hand. But it was my touch that held the real power, a spark of electricity that seemed to arc through her very being, leaving her breathless and trembling.

The mate mark, that mystical bond between us, amplified every sensation, every whispered promise, and every gentle caress, until even the lightest brush of my skin against hers became a potent catalyst for desire.

I lightly ran my finger along her temple tracing the infinity mark on her face. She went harder and faster, as expected, which is what I needed.

“Just like that.” I moaned. Just as I was about to come, I pulled out of her mouth and held her head there and smiled as thick spurts of c*m splattered on her pretty little face. The orgasm was great, sure. But that's literally all it was… an orgasm. Nothing more.

“Get yourself cleaned up.” I snapped. She smiled at me, and ran to the bathroom trying not to get any on the floor on her way there. “At least she’s considerate of my floors.” I said to Axel. He burst out laughing. He was just as f****d up as I was. “God, we need a hobby.” He snorted.

I was just getting my pants back up and zipped when she came back in. Her face had no trace of me on it. “Good girl.” I purred, and took her in my arms. “I love you, Raphael.” She said softly. I looked down at her. “I'm sure you do, darling. I'm sure you do.” I replied.

We climbed into bed after that, and I snapped to produce a book. As the hours ticked by, the soft glow of the words on the page cast a calming spell, and the gentle rise and fall of my plaything’s chest as she breathed became a soothing accompaniment to my reading. The warmth of her body, pressed against mine, was a familiar presence, and I felt a slight sense of unease wash over me as I turned the pages, trying to get lost in the world of the book.

I soon found myself thinking of the mark once again and its plethora of powers. Once the mark fades the feelings that were fabricated will fade with it. But if, however, there are real feelings there, they will remain. I never had real feelings, of course… but once in a while one of them would. It never ended well though. I wasn’t about to claim someone forever if I didn’t truly love her.

My gaze drifted downward, taking in the peaceful lines of her face, the gentle curve of her lips, and the soft rise and fall of her chest as she slept. I searched within myself, scouring the depths of my emotions, hoping to find some spark, some flicker of feeling that would tell me I was alive, that I was capable of connection.

But as always, I came up empty. The numbness, the void within me, remained, a constant reminder that I was a soul adrift, unmoored from the world of emotions that seemed to come so naturally to others.