Author's notes:

I've been fighting the dreaded writer's block for most of the week. Being told you were inches from death gave me leave to write like crazy. This past weekend, I plowed out chapter after chapter. Everything up to tomorrow's chapter I wrote this past weekend.

(Yes, outta, I've been rationing it...)

And most of this week, I've been trying to cluebat myself out of the delusion that I have to write the next chapters perfectly. This story isn't perfect. The point of this story isn't perfection. It's fun.

I need to keep this fun, light, and breezy. Yes, we're talking about life and death here. We're talking about some serious events, themes, and motivations. But, these characters, much as I like them (and I'm even starting to like Callan after the IHOP scene) are all fictional, and, worse, caricatures.

I have to keep this fun. I need to get "it's gotta be perfect" out of my head. It's in part the feedback, the hopes that if it's "better," it gets more feedback. Too often, I see artists (movie stars, for example) who become successful in the mainstream, them make "films they really wanted to make," and those are ... too esoteric for me.

Yes, I have my own esoterica. But this was originally written for fun, for enjoyment shared. I need to keep it approachable, enjoyable, and, most of all, fun.

(Those of you just joining here, start with Callan and Sian 1)



Callan set down the gilded leather folio. "Evander, what will you be having?"

"Huh?"

"For dinner. Come over and order something."

"No thanks. I'm good. I'm still full from the IHOP."

"I understand you don't have much appetite, Sian."

"It's back. I don't know why, but it's back."

"I do."

"Okay, I'll bite. Why?"

"You're no longer fighting Marc's taint. You no longer fear him taking you, breaking you."

"I'm still nervous about what you'll do."

"Not as strong as your fear was. Am I correct?"

"A bit. Yeah. Okay, so I'm not afraid, just nervous. What's this got to do with my appetite?"

"It's not just nervousness. You are also curious."

"No way."

"Very well. You have my apologies for misjudging you. Please come over and select something."

===

They sat around the small table, dishes, cups and silver precariously close to the edge.

"So I'm your thrall. I'm your sex slave. Why?"

Evander jumped in. "What do you mean, 'why?' He wants to do it with you. What more do you need?"

"Actually, that is an excellent question, little one. You're learning. There is indeed a reason. Sian, how many times did Marcarius climax while he was with you?" Callan looked away from the twinkling lights on the water.

"What sort of question is that? Sian, are you going to answer that?"

"What? How the heck should I know? I was, uh, distracted. Very."

Callan waited for their dudgeon to die down. "I doubt many times. I'd be surprised if it was more than one."

"It was at least twice. Once in my apartment, once in the car." She looked at Evander, "Can you believe we're having this conversation?"

"No. Not at all." He turned back to Callan. "So you said there was a reason, other than just sex. Then you throw us this screwball question. WTF?"

"They are very related, I assure you. Your orgasms fuel him. That you can have so many, so strong, means he has the Power to rise into the Inner Circles."

"So I'm a Duracell, in other words." She dropped her head onto her hand, palm to forehead, elbow on an island of exposed table.

"In more ways that one. Marc consumes his thralls. He takes Power from them beyond their ability to cope. He weakens them, then either discards them, or makes one last pull and sucks theLifeforce itself from them. Of course, he then discards them."

Evander lasked, "Them? He has more than one?" Sian merely shook her bowed head.

"It is not forbidden. Currently, he has none. Which is where she comes in."

"Okay, I got it. He wants me, to make me 'light up the night with my siren's call,' I think he said. I cum and I cum, and then I'm dead. Got it." She still hid her face behind the fall of red-gold hair, but Callan could See the bitter smile between strands.

"But why ask her how many times he came?"

Callan shook his head. "That's such a guttural term. Any orgasm, not just a thrall's, is a thing of beauty, a wondrous alignment of the mind with the body. Sian isn't just a Power source, she's also a prize. Her shows of Power will allow him to gain acclaim in the Awakened Circles."

"The what?" For that, she looked up.

"The Mephistopheles Society, little one. For one. There are other gathering points. There are more than just the two of us. This is not 'Highlander.'"

"How did you..."

"You had a poster on your wall, remember?"

Sian rolled her eyes. "Duh."

"That still doesn't explain why he only 'took her' twice."

"He had no gain, save to Mark her. I had no gain, but to Mark her. In fact, it is rather perfunctory an act. For me, the pleasure is not physical, wholly mental."

"Bull."

"How about a challenge, young Evander? Sian will alternate between us, lavishing equal time on our staves in focused worship. I will wager she can cause you to reach your limit and beyond twice and I will not even break a sweat in the meantime."

"Say what?"

She settled on her knees in front of Callan, then said over her shoulder. "Blowjobs, 'Vander. He's challenging you to see which of you pops first."