26. Hellena

26

HELLENA

I stand alone in the dark, just before the lights come up.

The audience is dead silent. Like every single person in the auditorium is holding their breath.

Like I'm holding mine.

I let it out, and a single light strikes down on me, the first note of the song tolling my first breath, my eyes opening.

I raise one hand up to the light.

Our dancers draped in black join me, rising like coiling smoke around my feet, twisting around me, fog complimenting and masking them into a single entity of menacing darkness.

The first movement of the dance is dark, somber, contrasted with my innocent sensuality, my moves carefree and some of the most difficult to execute. I launch myself, once and again through the song, growing bolder with every leap.

Until the light cuts out, leaving me in shadow, blue illuminating smoke roiling up to snatch at me, pulling and dragging me down.

I bend back into their arms, drawn around the lip of the stage in a floating half moon, as if wandering, lost.

Back to my feet, every step is enhanced by the black-clad dancers, lifting me, launching me forward.

They catch me, tug me back, toss me forward again. I'm overwhelmed, smothered, their bodies rising to envelop me. Out of that mass, I rise, floating above the stage in their hands, my toes pointed to the ground, my arms raised above my head.

The second movement starts as I'm tilted back, offered up as an offering.

The Dark Angel emerges to take his gift.

I sense the energy build with his arrival, the crowd whispering in anticipation.

Evan takes me from them, hooking one arm under my waist, the smoke and darkness receding, leaving me hanging in his arms, limp, lifeless.

He places one hand on my chest, slamming it down in a shower of sparks, once, twice, and on the third, I gasp. The angel sets me on my feet, circling me, turning me in a spin to look me up and down.

Our first dance together is tentative, careful, scared. It teases the audience, the two of us flirtatious as he strips away layers of the fabric around me, as I do the same to him. Until he's stripped to the waist, his chiseled abs painted in glittering gold. Until I'm wearing almost nothing, only my nipples covered and a rope-tied thong covering my private area.

We tussle, growing closer, growing restless. The music increases in pace and urgency.

Colors shift on the stage from white and black, bright golds and silvers, to amber, a hint of red, deep purple.

It strobes to orange, a hint of fire as he tears away my will, awakening my hidden desire.

Our dance is temptation, the acquiescence of purity to the darkness within. I give every bit of my purity to him, every ounce of my being.

Not just her, the icon on the stage.

I give it to him, the man behind the angel mask.

Evan's arms encircle me, pulling me back into him, flipping me around. He pulls me close, spinning me, our lips barely brushing.

Our spectators gasp, moans of longing accenting the chiming stress of the song.

I can relate, feeling how hard Evan is through the slim strip of fabric covering his waist. Every eye is on my body or on his jaw-dropping length.

And every single person in the room is just as aroused as the two of us.

I've been dripping since I took the stage in anticipation of him. So much so that I lose myself in the moment, dragging my hand along the length of his cock, gripping the fabric and yanking it free, leaving him bare, pulsing and erect.

The audience gasps, many of them applauding the feat.

Evan simply sniffs at me, throwing his head back arrogantly, his lips pursed in a smug grimace. He's enjoying every second of it, more than I've ever seen him.

And not just the performance, but what he knows he's doing to me with every touch and caress.

He's untethering me, pulling me apart, thread by thread.

The angel throws me away. Hard, viciously. Harder than we practiced. The other dancers catch me, reacting to his improvisation instantly, saving me from crashing to the floor, like it was part of the act. My rattling cry is half real, my body stinging from slamming into their waiting hands. I brace myself, curling down into a ball as they toss me back toward him in a wild leap, desperately reaching for him.

But he steps back, letting me fall, tearing my white dress. The scrapes on my knees are real when I hit the floor. Why is he doing this?

My white slip is in tatters from his rough hands, from the darkness clawing at me every time he casts me away. It leaves my breasts exposed, my nipples peaked and hard.

I don't even care that the audience can see me. I want them to see how badly I need him.

I crawl, begging, reaching up…

Only to have him thrust one hand out, forcing me away, blocking me from him and in doing so, commanding the dancers to proceed into motion, streaking my body with black and orange, with fire and ash, pulling away the last vestiges of my garments.

"No… please…" I hear my voice, whimpering. I'm standing there completely nude, streaked from head to toe in black and orange paint.

I collapse, empty. Abandoned.

The music drops as Heaven backs into the darkness, leaving me wrecked on the floor. Where I lay for several moments, my sobs echoing through the amphitheater.

A single scraping string sounds in the void.

I reach out, grasping for the black hands, the black-clad bodies of shadow. I gather them to me, huddling them around me, embracing my naked form.

The resonant note grows, shrieking and violent. The single note becomes two, dissonant. They are my rage, reviving me. My chest heaves up from the floor, once, twice.

I scream in pain as the music explodes again, returning to life. With it, I stand slowly, dragged up to my feet by the shadow dancers.

I'm wasted, battered, used.

My hair cascades in messy curls around my face. But as the hands raise me, the shadows surround me, shrouding me as they paint me in the deepest red, reincarnating me as rage herself.

The shrieking noise ebbs to silence for a moment as I come into my own, my fury boiling within me.

The shadows reveal me as I raise my arms out to the sides. And my mask changes color on cue. I bow my head, and hands attach my horns.

Then I spin, throwing myself into the next movement, the song erupting as I land. My arms sling out, hands pointed as I throw one kick high, tossing my head back and slamming my foot down.

Every move is a demand, railing at the fates to bring back what was taken from me.

The song reaches its peak, and I slam to my knees, throwing my head back, shouting to the sky, calling my lover down. Calling him out.

He emerges from darkness behind me, running one hand down the back of my head, down the side of my neck, clasping my throat, gripping hard. The choking grip is just tight enough to make me tense, my lust dripping down my legs, pooling on the stage under me.

My arm stretches up to clutch, right before he pulls me to my feet, but this time, I swing him around, throwing him away.

The angel spins away, caught by other dancers and thrust back into the fray.

Our roles are reversed.

From the audience, I drink in the avid, rapt attention, the waves of sexual energy.

I can imagine hands groping in the dark, feeling each other, swaying with the music. The idea that all of their eyes are on me and Evan sends shivers rocketing down through my body like the first drop on a roller coaster.

Evan lunges at me. I drive him away. He grasps for me. I slap his hands. He lifts me, but I slam back down to my feet, pushing him to the ground.

In a flash, I pounce on him, straddling him, tearing the golden mask from his face.

A black, fabric mask remains underneath, hiding his face.

But the rest of him lies beneath me, exposed, destroyed.

In that moment, I'm not Hellena, but I'm more myself than I've ever been. I am only my desire, my need.

So, I drive my hips down, my slick, wet folds devouring the entire length of Evan's cock, filling myself with him. The stretch has me crying out, throwing my head back, my chin tipped toward the ceiling. I know I'm grinning from ear to ear, wicked, demented.

The dancers close in around us, hiding us just enough to taunt the crowd. Right then, the lights dim to a blood red fire, shadows flickering.

And I start grinding. He moans, echoing into the dome above.

Dancers all around us begin to touch themselves, each other, stripping away their black wraps to make love, kissing, groping. The forbidden nature of all of us losing control together sets the fires in my chest ablaze.

I grind to the thumping rhythm of the hypnotic music, thrusting on top of Evan over and over and over, my soaked skin slapping against his, his hands lifting me to ram me down. Deeper, harder.

My fingernails dig into Evan's chest, making him yell wordlessly.

His back is arching up off the stage. I can see it in his eyes rolling back in his head. The saturation of sensations has every muscle in his body flexing, clenching, pushing against the stage to drive into me.

Need overcomes me, and I scratch his hands, placing them on my breasts, squeezing them tight. The excess flesh spills over his fingers, my nipples pinched and tweaked by his fingertips.

My hand strays, reaching along my belly, lower, circling the tip of my swollen clit.

"This is how I want to come," I moan to the heavens. To Heaven.

Distantly, I hear my own voice crying out, ringing through the vault above, wailing, singing for him. His voice joins in, harmonizing in sweet agony.

I won't let myself say his name.

That goes against the rules of this performance, the rules of any performance. But in my head, I'm screaming his name over and over and over.

Evan! Evan! Evan !

When I look down into his eyes, I know he hears me and that my name is on his lips.

We're reaching the end of our rope right as the music reaches a feverish pitch. A cacophony shakes the floor around us.

Or maybe it's Evan, grinding deep inside me.

I feel the rush of my orgasm building in my lower abdomen. My knees lock onto Evan's hips.

The rising aura of a shared sexual experience vibrates the air around us. It feels like waves on the ocean crashing, rising and falling.

To my left the tidal wave starts, each of our troupe reaching their apex. It roils around us in a tornado of keening moans. It's euphoric. Each one pulses through me, washing over me.

I hear the growl start deep in Evan's chest growing in volume, his ass clenching up into me, pounding me with each thrust of his hips.

It's more than I can take.

I tip back, completely spread out, bent in half, my feet tucked under me.

My knees keep me from falling away as he unleashes himself inside me, spilling out and completing me.

Searing hot lava surges through my entire body, cresting, consuming me. Then I'm spent. Limp.

Strong hands are there to pull me up, fingers caressing my hair. I realize they're his, holding me, his face buried in my breasts, held tight to my bosom.

His hands wrap around my back like he'll never let me go. I never want him to.

The lights clap out with our release, leaving us for several moments in our reverie. Until the audience erupts into chaos, shouting, clapping, howling our praise while moans of ecstasy echo in the background.

The curtains close, hiding us from sight.

All I can hear, see, or feel is Evan.

This was something different. Something that I'll never recover from.

Evan sweeps me up in his arms, carrying me backstage to a dressing room, to the shower. We stand in silence, holding each other, washing off the paint and the mingled mess of our love.

I can't think of another word for what we did, what we are.

Even if I can't say it. Even if I know he won't.

"Evan?"

He gazes down at me, intense, devastating. "You were…" He shakes his head.

"I know. We were."

"Can you stand going back out there? Your adoring public awaits." Right. We have more things to do.

We loiter for a few more moments together as we dress back in our original costumes. There are no other words shared, just touches. A long embrace.

Hand in hand, we walk out to more rounds of applause, guests touching our shoulders, reaching for our hands. Many shout invitations to join them at their table.

Evan ignores them all, leading me up the staircase to the upper level. More rooms and alcoves line the cave walls above, looking more like VIP rooms than below. One in particular stands out near the back, curtained off and guarded by more gold statue-men.

"Where are we going?"

"I have to meet with the city leaders, the Matron." He holds my hand tighter, a question. I nod, letting him lead us in.

Large, plush couches ring a luxurious rug. Every seat is filled but the two nearest the door. Evan guides me to the podium at the top of the room first, bowing slightly to the gold plated woman there.

"Herald. It's so good to see you."

"Thank you. Welcome, Heaven."

"May I introduce the star of the show?" He presents me.

"Delighted. Congratulations, my young demoness! You put on an amazing show. I've never seen anything like it. No one has. You'll be the talk of the town for years to come. Well, in certain, quiet circles." I can almost hear the wink in her voice.

Because it's become evident that no one is allowed to talk about this event outside of this event. Not openly.

Most of the population doesn't even know about it. Or they don't know what it means, who runs it. The few hundred who are invited understand that the deals and promises made this night are sacrosanct. Almost holy, sealed and binding.

"Now, if everyone is gathered," the Matron of the Ball entreats, glancing around the room, waving for the various men and women to rise. "In this room, and only here, you all are unmasked, yet remain unnamed. Are all of the members of Sanctum Harbor's leadership present?"

"Aye." The broad-shouldered man in a spartan costume removes his helmet, revealing a rugged face I recognize. Xavier Clive.

"Present." A nasal, whiny voice sneers. A skeleton of a man in a dark green suit slips off his serpent mask, revealing a gaunt, goateed face, eyeing the room like he can't abide being here.

"Of course. Get on with it." The mayor is already unmasked, flipping a dueling cape over one shoulder impatiently. Other members of their entourages stand back behind the couches, lining the walls, waiting for their bosses to conduct the commencement proceedings.

The Matron looks around, evidently pleased with the unmasking. Apparently, she doesn't have to participate.

"Excellent. Please be seated."

I glance at Evan as we take ours, outside the circle of leadership.

"Now, most of our agenda has already been addressed, so I won't keep you much longer. However, before the grand finale event, I understand the mayor has a motion?"

"Indeed, I do." Vanderberg stands, pasting on a fake smile, taking in the room. "For a very long time, since the founding of our city, we have remained isolated. This has served us well, in the past."

"Damn right," Clive mutters, garnering a glare from the snake in the green suit.

"Be that as it may, I have invited a very honored, special guest here tonight to give them a taste of what we have to offer here in Sanctum. Consider it a goodwill gesture in anticipation of their joining our ranks." He waves to the butlers framing a side door.

"What is the meaning of this?"

"Mr. Devonde, the meaning is that this will be the first outside induction into the Sinful. A chance to spread our reach into new markets. Other cities."

Murmurs of outrage rustle along the walls, other whispers hissing excitedly.

"The fuck? This is just asking for trouble…" X growls.

The Matron raises her hand, her body language uneasy. "This is… unprecedented. But I have been instructed to allow this visit. Though I am wary of who you've exposed us to, Mayor Vanderberg." She gestures, and the doormen comply, opening the ornate wooden door.

With all the pomp and circumstance that only a mayor could display, Vanderberg holds out his hands, "Please welcome our potential ally and guest…"

A man steps through the door. He's short. Broad-chested.

Thinning salt-and-pepper hair slicks back over his skull, topping a wide, weathered, and scarred face. He's wearing a tiny, black slip of a mask, shadowing his eyes.

He looks… familiar.

As soon as I see his lips part into a smile, my blood goes cold.

"Thank you for having me, Mayor, Matron."

His voice starts my hands shaking. I know that voice, hate that voice.

And I see his gaze as he removes his mask. I know those eyes. Black as a shark.

It's Marco Vice.

My stepfather.