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Date Posted: 12:29:25 01/11/04 Sun
Author: Slally
Subject: "Blood Seduction" - Chapter 25 (**** NC-17 ****)
In reply to: Slally11 's message, ""Blood Seduction"" on 07:38:43 12/28/03 Sun

Sorry for the long delay. As always, your comments are both craved and appreciated. Here you are...

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After a single transfusion of Sara’s blood, the changes in Kenneth Irons were still relatively subtle but they were there. His eyes seemed sharper, less rheumy. His bones seemed less visible under his skin. He had become less of a skeleton and more the living, vibrant man that he had been. His focus seemed to be sharper too, his mind clearer, less rambling. He was altogether more “there” than he had been prior to the infusion of blood from the Wielder. It was not a surprise. It was actually what Ian had expected to find when he reported to the mansion that morning.

Ian was standing at parade rest by the fireplace in the Great Room when alarms began to scream in the small anteroom that housed the surveillance equipment. He had been enduring his master’s lengthy cross examination about his activities the previous day and had been responding sparingly with his prepared prevarications when the first of five high-pitched beeps erupted. Irons, in turn, had been silently studying his servant, long fingers steepled before his face and a skeptical brow raised, obviously suspicious. The effect of the first shrill warning on his master, however, was electrifying. Kenneth’s ice-blue eyes widened and he launched his wheelchair into motion with surprising speed. Ian, with an academy award-worthy performance, managed just the right level of surprise, followed by concern. “What is it, sir?” he asked, following his master into the small room filled with television monitors. “It’s the lab,” Irons replied, voice tight, “Something’s happening with the replicas.” He swung the wheelchair around and charged at Ian, bellowing, “Where the hell is Immo?” Ian pulled back slightly to let his master roll past him and out of the room like a juggernaut. “I do not know, master,” Ian murmured behind him. Irons swung the chair around again, eyes flashing blue fire. “Well, find him, you idiot!” Irons screamed at Ian.

Ian moved to the phone on the table next to Irons throne-like chair. He dialed the communications room of the mansion. After a muted conversation, Ian hung up the phone and turned back toward Irons. “Dr. Immo had car trouble this morning. He called in from his cell phone. His sedan broke down several miles from home and he is waiting for the tow truck.” Irons steely gaze narrowed as he studied Ian for several silent minutes. Finally, he hissed, “How convenient.” Ian had reassumed his parade rest stance. “Is there something that I can do, sir?” he asked politely. There was a long pause before his master replied, “Yes, Ian, there is something that you can do. Take me down to the lab.” Ian nodded and took a position behind his master’s chair. Although it was fully automated, Irons sometimes liked the personal touch. It was another way to reinforce the power structure that guided their lives. Kenneth flipped a switch, shifting the sophisticated conveyance into its manual mode. Ian pushed his master along the circuitous path, past all of the sophisticated security equipment, until they were before the massive steel door of the lab that housed the six clones in stasis. Irons tapped that day’s code into the keypad by the door and leaned forward to allow the scanner to verify his cornea.

With a dry, metallic hiss, the door slid open. The overpowering stench of burnt flesh immediately rolled over them and Ian had to force himself to stifle the gag reflex that pushed at the back of his throat. After several moments during which they both seemed frozen in place, Irons stretched forward a trembling hand to convert his chair back to automatic. Ian bent forward to see whether his master needed any assistance. Kenneth turned toward his servant, livid face pale, and growled, “Get away from me.” Ian wisely backed up to stand silent and still against the wall by the door. Irons rolled forward – click whir, click whir – to examine the still-smoking stasis chambers. There had obviously been some major electrical failure in the entire life-support system that maintained Ian’s replicas, frying them all to a crisp as they drowsed somewhere between inception and activation. They were lost, annihilated, dead. Seething, Irons rolled from one damaged chamber to the next. Ian watched his progress with hooded eyes. When he reached the final chamber, Irons lifted his head and swung his chair around to gaze back at Ian. However, Ian was not looking back at him. He was looking at the sixth chamber, his eyes wide with shock; the sixth chamber that had already been empty when the support system failed.

“Yesssss,” Irons said, drawing out the sibilant sound with a small moue of pleasure, enjoying the distress now edging into his servant’s eyes, “All is not lost, my boy. You see I had the foresight to wake up and move one of your brothers the night you first took blood from our lovely Wielder. That was the night she got sick and you couldn’t make love to her. Remember?” Ian shut his eyes and clenched his hands into fists. He had failed her. After all his careful planning, he had failed her and now they were both going to pay for his carelessness. “I don’t know why I did it really,” Irons mused to himself, although it was most certainly for Ian’s benefit, “Something just didn’t feel right. Something was off in the way that both of you were acting – almost as if our Sara knew that she was being watched.” Ian clamped down on his nerves and fought to salvage what he could from the situation. “May I speak, sir?” he asked softly. Irons smiled. Although he was royally pissed that he had lost a fortune in cutting-edge scientific subjects, he was still on top in the subtle power game that he waged with his too clever boy. “Yes,” Kenneth agreed, “You may speak, Ian.” Ian nodded in thanks, giving respect when all else was lost. “You are wrong, sir,” he said, again under control, “Sara suspects nothing. I was nervous about taking blood from her that night and communicated it to her somehow. That is why we both seemed to be ‘off’ to you. That is all it was.”

Kenneth watched Ian with glittering, predatory eyes, actually admiring his elegant recovery. “He is good,” Irons thought, “He is very, very good.” Irons shrugged one shoulder. “Perhaps,” he conceded, “Perhaps you were simply ‘nervous,’ Ian, and I was being an old woman in my dotage.” Irons laughed. His laugh too had mutated as new life had begun to warm him from within like fire. It was no longer the dry, brittle cackle that Ian had grown used to. It was rich, sly, and just a touch slithery and it prefaced many unpleasant memories for the man that stood before him. “And, then again,” Kenneth mused with great, good humor, “Perhaps not.” Ian’s eyes flicked over the empty stasis chamber before he asked, “Where is it?” Irons laughed again, a full-throated chortle. He was really beginning to enjoy himself. “Please, Nottingham,” he replied, “Show a bit of familial care. This is your little brother. He will be looking to you as a role model of sorts. You can at least refer to the boy as ‘him,’ not ‘it.’” A searing, laser-sharp shaft of pure hatred lanced through Ian. It was the first time that he had ever allowed himself to feel this intensity of that emotion for his master. It was surprisingly liberating. It turned Ian to pure ice and made him infinitely more dangerous. “Where is ‘he’?” Ian corrected. Kenneth inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Somewhere safe,” he said, “Independent of life support and no longer vulnerable. Soon, he will be confident enough to venture forth into the world. At the moment, we are keeping him entertained with tapes from the loft. Before long, he will know you as well as you know yourself, my boy, as he will also know the Wielder.”

“I will kill you both before I allow harm to come to Sara,” Ian said calmly. There was no longer any point in subterfuge. They both knew where they stood. “I could kill you now,” Ian added. Irons studied his faithful servant, a small frisson of disquiet running through him despite his placid demeanor. It was not apparent in his voice either. “In cold blood with your bare hands, Ian?” he asked, “I think not. We have not quite reached that degree of separation yet.” Irons waited tensely to see whether he was wrong. He was not. Ian’s shoulders slumped slightly. “If he comes near her, I will kill him without hesitation,” Ian warned. Kenneth nodded. “You will try,” he accepted, “His abilities match, perhaps even exceed, your own.” For a short while, they remained quiet, each couched in their own thoughts. Ian turned toward the door. His master’s voice stopped him. “Will you be back?” he asked. Ian did not turn to look at Irons again. “No,” he said softly, “I will not be back. You no longer need me, do you? You have a new toy to play with.” Irons smiled. “Don’t be jealous, Ian,” he purred, “Daddy will always like you best. You were, after all, my first born. We could all become one big, happy family – my boys, me, and the Wielder. You do know, of course, that I have no intention of relinquishing my quest for fair Sara’s blood. What do you say?” Now, Ian did turn back. The wide golden eyes were as hard as shiny coins. “You will fail and you will die,” Ian replied coldly, “And I will mourn for a little while but then I will move on.” He turned and left the room that reeked of his roasted replicas. For a long while, Kenneth Irons stared at the empty spot where Ian had been, unmoving.

Sara sighed, frowning, and ran her hand roughly through her tangled hair. For the third time in the last half hour, she picked up the phone on her desk and started to dial a number, only to return the receiver to its cradle before the call could connect. She sighed again. Danny slammed his open palm on the top of his desk. The explosive sound make Sara jump a foot off her chair. “What?” she yelped, looking around wildly. “Just make the damn call, will you?” he railed, “Watching you waffle around like this is driving me crazy.” She made a face at him. “Then, don’t watch,” she reasonably replied. “In an office this size, with desks facing each other, that’s easier said than done,” Danny said, “Go ahead and call him.” Making a show of being unconcerned, Sara gathered up all the pens on her desk and neatly organized them in an empty coffee mug. “Who?” she asked, not looking at him. He gave her the patented Woo smirk. “Who,” he repeated, “Nottingham. Who else?” She shook her head slightly. “He said that he would call me as soon as he could,” she said, “I should just wait to hear from him.” Her eyes strayed to the phone again and, now, Danny sighed. “Yeah, right,” he sneered, knowing his partner, “When pigs fly. You can call him now and get it over with or you can go through this stupid pantomime for the next couple of hours until you finally break. Which is it going to be? If it’s the latter, I need to make myself scarce before I’m forced to strangle you.” Sara pouted. “Hey, hey, a little sympathy here, partner,” she whined, “Getting over being sick. Remember? Go easy on me. So, okay. Just to make you happy, I’ll give him a call.” His smirk widened into a grin. “You’re much too good to me,” he responded dryly.

As Sara was reaching for her phone, it rang. She drew back her hand as if the instrument had bitten her. On the third ring, she made a dive for it, gasping out, “Pezzini. Go.” There was a lengthy silence on the other end. Finally, Sara asked, “Hello? Ian? Is that you? Are you alright?” He cleared his throat and said, “Yes. I’m fine. We need to talk. Can you get away for an hour or so?” She turned her hand to glance at her watch. “Yeah,” she replied, “I guess so. It’s been kind of dead around here today. I haven’t gone to lunch yet so I could probably get away for a little while. Meet you downstairs in fifteen?” There was another pause before Ian said, “Make it half an hour.” He sounded funny, she thought. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked worriedly. He made a soft sound that might have indicated impatience. “I’m alright,” he repeated, “Watch your back until I can do it for you. Okay?” She frowned. “Why?” she wanted to know, “What’s going on? What happened with the…?” She managed to stop herself just before she said, “clones,” feeling Danny’s avid eyes on her. “Problem?” she inserted, finishing her question. “Not over the phone,” Ian said, “We’ll talk when I see you. I’ll be there in 30 minutes.” Sara stroked the receiver as if it was his bearded cheek. “I’ll be waiting,” she said, “Bye.” She heard the dial tone and realized that he had already hung up the phone.

They went back to the deli that Sara was beginning to think of as “their place.” Of course, the last time that they had been there, they had created a scene. Sara had slapped Ian across the face, knocked over her chair, and left the place at a brisk clip, Ian hot on her heels. Then again, the chances that anyone would remember that were small. Right. When the same older, worn-looking waitress came over to their table, she was carrying Ian’s sunglasses and gloves. She dropped them in front of him, saying, “You left these on the table last time you were here.” Ian slipped off the pair of sunglasses he was now wearing and looked up at the waitress, wide-eyed. He was surprised, both that she remembered him and that she had saved his apparel in case he made a return visit. Sara smiled, crossing her arms across her chest. She wasn’t surprised at all. In fact, she was beginning to get used to the effect that Ian seemed to have on most females, young and old. He smiled and years dropped from the waitress as she smiled back. “Thank you,” he said. Her smile broadened. “Pleasure,” she replied, “Glad you two worked it out. What can I get you?” After their orders had been taken and the waitress had left, Sara reached across the table to link her fingers with his. “What went wrong?” she asked. In spite of everything, the corners of his lips twitched in response. “Why do you think that something went wrong?” he countered. Sara shrugged. “Your face. The way I sense that you’re feeling,” she replied, “Stop stalling. Tell me.”

Ian dropped his head and sighed. “Five of the clones are dead,” he said, “And I’ve left the mansion for good.” He lifted his head back up and looked into her emerald green eyes. “That’s the good news,” he added. She studied his face before she asked, “Weren’t there six of them?” He squeezed her fingers and said, “Yes. That’s the bad news.” She glanced around the restaurant as if expecting the evil clone to pounce on them from the shadows. “Where is he?” she asked. Ian shook his head. “I don’t know,” he replied, “Irons took it out of the stasis chamber the night before last. He has the clone stashed away somewhere he believes I won’t find it. In any case, getting back into the mansion would be difficult for me now. I have burnt my bridges.” She brought his fingers to her lips for a quick kiss. “It’s okay, baby,” she told him, “It doesn’t matter. I’d rather have you out of there. I’m glad that you left. What happens now?” Ian was given a reprieve when the waitress brought them their lunch. The conversation lagged as they dug in until Sara repeated, “And now?” Ian put down his turkey sandwich and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Mr. Irons will not stop,” he said, “He will not simply give up. You must understand that, Sara. I believe that we will have a little time. He won’t need more blood for a week or so but, when he does, he will send the clone to get it.”

Sara could feel the intensity of his concern for her safety. “It’s okay, Ian. I get it,” she responded, “You’re telling me that I have to be careful. Yes?” His eyes darkened to warm amber honey as he regarded her. “Yes,” he agreed, “I want you to move in with me.” Sara choked on her coffee, spraying a mouthful across the table. She started to cough and Ian handed her his water. She took a quick sip and sputtered a little more while she caught her breath. “What?” she asked. Color rose in his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, “I didn’t mean to spring that on you but I think you’ll be safer if we’re actually living together – not just in the same building, in the same home.” Sara was still flustered. She wasn’t sure how she felt about this. “I need to think about it, ace,” she said, “Give me a minute or two to digest the concept and adjust. Okay?” He nodded. “Okay,” he agreed, “I think we also need to have a password.” She looked at him like the stress might have driven him around the bend. “A password?” she echoed. He nodded. “I want you to have a way to confirm that it’s really me,” he said. A chill traveled down her spine. “You’re scaring me, Ian,” she said softly. He reached across the table to stroke her hand. “Good,” he responded, “That was my intention.”

“Tell me something that no one else could know,” he continued, “Give me the answer to a question that Irons could never learn.” She thought for a few minutes before she said, “When I was a little girl, my favorite stuffed animal was this really dear, grungy bunny. His name was Mr. Snuggles.” Ian’s face lit in a gorgeous smile. “I love you,” he whispered, “Mr. Snuggles it is. Are you going to move in with me? Hannibal would be thrilled.” She smiled back at him and asked, “What about his master? Would he be thrilled too?” He brought her hand to his mouth and licked the inside of her wrist. “Yes,” he purred, “His master would be thrilled too; especially if the move were permanent.” Another shock wave went through her. “Whoa,” she said, “Take it easy. One step at a time. Yes, I will move in with you.” Ian gave her another killer smile. It stopped the waitress, who was coming to see whether they wanted dessert, dead in her tracks. She stood there, pad in hand, admiring the sheer beauty of him. Sara knew how she felt. “We’ll move you up to my place when you get home tonight,” Ian said, “You need to be more careful at work, as well. Promise me.” She nodded and said, “I will.” Glancing at her watch, she added, “Speaking of which, I have to get back.” He looked distracted. “Perhaps I should talk to Detective Woo,” he murmured, lost in thought. Sara made a face. “That would be over my dead body,” she hissed, catching his attention with the phrase. “Do not even say such a thing in jest,” he responded as the waitress stopped at their table.

They opted to skip dessert. As they were driving back to the precinct, Sara ran a hand through her hair and glanced sidelong at her lover. “You do remember that we have dinner at the Woos this Friday, don’t you?” she asked. Now, he made a face, eyes on the road. “Yes, I do,” he replied softly, “Although I have been trying my best to forget it gracefully.” Sara snorted. “You forget it gracefully or otherwise, sport,” she told him, “And I’ll get you by the short hairs. You were the one that got us into this social event. Remember?” He cleared his throat. “I do. Yes,” he said, “To my everlasting regret. I will not fail you.” The words, which were uttered facetiously, resonated in his head. “I will not fail you again,” he thought, the promise having little to do with dinner at the Woos. Ian felt her warm hand cover his on the gear shaft. “It’s not your fault, Ian,” she said softly, “If anyone is to blame, it’s probably me. Although it galls me to say it, you were probably right not to tell me about the surveillance for so long. It was probably my inability to fake it with you the night you took my blood that alerted him and caused him to activate one of the clones.” He pulled the car to the curb in front of the precinct. Leaving it idle, he leaned across the seat to slip a warm hand on the back of her neck and pull her toward him. Ian pressed his open mouth softly against hers, his tongue darting past her lips to tease hers. Sara dug her fingers into his silky hair, holding him close. When she pulled back, casting a wary eye at the smokers ranged against the front of the building, he murmured, “You are not to blame either, love. It is the fates. Their humor is perverse.” She smiled at him as she got out of the car. “And very inconvenient,” she added, “I’ll see you tonight, roomie.” Sara saw his quick grin flash just before she shut the car door.

In the underground laboratory at the mansion, Dr. Immo sat, head in hands, despairing over the loss of his boys. Irons watched him with narrowed steel-blue eyes, his patience nearly at its end. Kenneth swung his chair around and made another circuit of the still-smoking remains – click whir, click whir. Immo lifted his shaggy, grey head and sniffed loudly. Irons brought the chair to a halt, facing him, and grated, “Get a grip, doctor. Their loss is regrettable but not total. It is time to move on.” Immo perked up a bit. “Yes, yes,” he agreed, “Thank god for your instincts. Where is Devian?” Irons chuckled. “God had nothing to do with it,” he responded, “The boy is safely ensconced in the Observatory, pouring over tapes of the Wielder and his brother fucking like rabid bunnies. He’s becoming quite the voyeur.” Immo made a soft, strangled sound and colored. He had never grown used to Kenneth’s provocative language. “There are some more tests that I would like to run,” Immo began. Irons snorted. “Leave the boy in peace for a while,” he interrupted, “He’s fine as he is for the moment. I want him to know his targets as well as he knows himself.” Immo shrugged. “As you wish,” he conceded.

As Kenneth began to move the chair toward the door, the doctor loosed another muted cough. They had been together a long, long time and knew each other’s signals very well. Irons stopped in the doorway and asked, “What is it?” Immo hesitated. He had broached this subject when they first revived Devian and Irons had been less than receptive. Still, it was important. Kenneth had not listened to his warnings regarding Ian, after all, and look where that had led them. “About Devian,” he nudged. Irons swung the chair around and frowned at his employee. “Yes,” Kenneth replied, icy impatience rimming his voice, “What about him?” Immo’s mouth thinned into a stubborn line as he nervously wrung his hands. “You must remember, Kenneth, that he is what his name implies,” the doctor counseled, “He is the devil in Ian. You must not expect him to react as Ian would. Devian is an entirely different animal. You must be careful with him. He may chafe against control. He will not respond well to punishment. You must have a care.” Irons studied the doctor imperiously. The thought flitted through Immo’s brain that Irons still managed to look down on one even when he was looking up at one from his chair. “The boy will do as I tell him to do or I will make him sorry,” Kenneth said dismissively, swinging his chair around and sending it whirring through the doorway. Alone in the room now with the burnt husks of his work for the last ten years, Immo shrugged fatalistically. As always, he had tried. His conscience was clear. He had simply done as he was told.

The Observatory was situated at the pinnacle of the mansion. The only access was a special elevator that required a key. The large two-room suite with bath had originally been designed for star-gazing but, at some point, had mutated into a private office for Irons. The master of the mansion thought of it privately as his “Wizard’s Den.” Now, it was home to the wizard’s most recent conjuration. At the moment, the bedroom was dark and empty, as was the small bath with shower that abutted it. The adjoining sitting room was lit only by the light of the blaze roaring in the fireplace. The only sound in the room came from the tape that was playing on the monitor centered on the desk. A casual observer might have thought that the man at the desk was watching a pornographic film because the sounds filling the room were obviously the result of passion. The reality was, of course, far more bizarre. Irons intended the tape to be a training film of sorts. The effect on the clone, however, was more concupiscent than instructional.

Devian sat tilted back in the desk chair, his long legs lifted to rest on the top of the desk, ankles crossed. At first glance, he was identical to his brother, Ian Nottingham. When he was unguarded, a closer examination revealed subtle differences. “Dev,” as he thought of himself, was more comfortable in his skin than Ian probably would ever be. Though gifted with the same impressive brain power that Ian possessed, Dev was a much more sensual creature. He reveled in what his lithe, muscled body was able to do and he wasn’t the least bit shy about using it to do all manner of things, whether or not they were acceptable in polite society. The greatest difference between the two men, however, was in their eyes. Although Dev’s eyes were as expressive as Ian’s and able to shift through the same mesmerizing color spectrum from warm honey to rich, dark amber, the emotions that they conveyed were something else entirely. Ian’s eyes could burn with his love for Sara, soften with his affection for his animals, cloud with the conflict of his feelings for his master, or melt the strongest resistance with his pleading “puppy dog” look. Dev, on the other hand, found the concept of love for another impenetrable, affection struck him as a waste of time, and the “puppy dog” look was not part of his repertoire.

As far as Kenneth Irons, Devian’s feelings were not conflicted in the least. He didn’t give a flying fuck for the old man. He felt no loyalty, no gratitude, no compulsion to accede to his orders whatever. Of course, Dev had not revealed any of this incipient insurrection to either Irons or his weird toady, Immo. Until he got the lay of the land, until he knew the full scope of the situation in which he found himself, Dev would play along. Why not? He was warm, dry, and well fed, and he had these great tapes of his brother and the Wielder to watch. This was definitely an area that he intended to explore further. Sex was an occupation in which Dev was sure he could excel. Every movement pure grace, the man in the tight jeans and clinging black sweater languidly stretched forward to roll back the tape. As he pushed careless fingers through his loose curls waiting for the film to rewind, Dev unconsciously oozed raw sexuality. He hit the play button and watched as Ian posed in the door of the bathroom, getting ready to perform his little self-gratification ritual for Sara. “Yes,” Dev thought, licking his lips. Here was a primer on how to get off when you didn’t have the benefit of a partner. He watched the screen as Ian began to stroke his own nipples. Dev grinned, the sensual lips curving wickedly. He shifted on the chair to spread his long legs and to pull the sweater over his head.

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