Unfortunately, there isn't a whole lot of sex in this chapter. Sorry, folks. Everything can't always be about sex. This is a story first and foremost. It contains a threesome relationship between a man, a woman, and a hermaphrodite alien. There will be BDSM because my main character Lucien is into that (big time) and there will be eventual scenes of tri-love (one of the Rayne's getting banged in all their holes). Anyway, we're getting closer to Earth in this chapter. You'll see it peppered with some unusual creatures and lots of deep conversations between the leading characters with the others. Hope to hear more comments, good or bad, just please don't insult me or each other. Rude demeaning comments will be deleted. Votes are also appreciated. If you're voting less than 4, don't be a coward and not leave a comment, seriously. If you think the story sucks, (this far out into the story), just let me know. Say "Levana, I hate homosexuals, or bisexuals" or whatever made you feel that I deserved less than a 5 or 4. Even 4's bring down my score. Tell me what you suggest to garner a 5 from you. I can't promise to switch the story drastically (like for instance, I am NOT going to kill Boy off, or cast him aside like garbage), but at least I'll see how well accepted this theme is. If it's a dud, then I'll just get through Redemption and possibly never make a threesome story again (which is highly likely because its hard as hell to write). Thank you for your time, votes, and comments. LH
*****
He'd lost his ever-loving mind. Lucien knew it, but the rage firing his blood wouldn't let him back down. His skin prickled with barely repressed energy, every hair on his body standing on end.
He stared into Natanael's gleaming black eyes—the eyes of an angel of death, not a hint of white showing. Every feather on the reaper's black wings lifted, every muscle in that seven-foot pierced and tatted body was taut and ready.
Still, Lucien wasn't afraid. He could take on the reaper, had already beaten his ass couple of times in the training hall.
They both stepped closer, so close they were almost kissing.
"Lucien," Seth snapped behind him. "Come on. Calm the fuck down, man. What-the-hell. You're acting like Remi."
Yeah. Fighting within a tiny transport while they were on their way to a highly sensitive and extremely important mission wasn't exactly the smartest thing to do. Besides, when it came to sexual partners, Lucien knew better than to put himself out there. Where had it gotten him with Anniel? Where had it gotten him with Angel? He was more than stupid to go for the third strike.
But he couldn't move, could not bring himself to back down. He could feel Natanael's breath fanning softly against his lips. The fucker was a few inches taller than him, lean body carved and honed. Maybe not as ripped as Lucien, but definitely powerful enough to leave Lucien in a world of hurt were they to lift their fists against each other.
Natanael finally blinked, his eyes going back to their normal color of ice grey. He smirked as he took a tentative step away. The seven-foot death angel retreated, wings still ruffled and turned to plop himself in the very seat Lucien had vacated only moments before.
He'd awakened, drenched in sweat from a very vivid erotic dream he'd had with both Raynes. Lucien's cock had been hurting and he was second guessing himself as to whether having wiped Girl's memory of him had been the best thing to do. She truly wanted him, and Devon had assured that they were all safe aboard Alpha 7.
Noticing Boy gone, he'd stumbled his way to the back and heard Natanael talking. It wasn't until he'd heard Boy's demand not to be touched that Lucien had decided he needed to see what the fuck was going on inside the hygiene booth
Big mistake.
Lucien huffed out an agitated breath as he turned to lean against the opening to the hygiene room he'd pretty much destroyed by smashing the door in.
Seth continued to stare at him as if he'd lost his mind, and that's when he noticed Remi and Amaranth peering at him from inside their perspective sleeping cabins. Even Boy was still sitting on the toilet top, pretty tits bare and hand clamped between her legs hiding her...whatever she had down there. Her eyes were like saucers.
Yeah, Lukey-boy. You are a first class ass—he berated himself internally.
Lucien turned away, beyond disgusted with himself, and stalked toward an exit hatch.
"Sugar, take me down," he ordered.
"Yes, Daddy," the transport's disembodied voice replied.
Just in front of the exit hatches were chutes that led down into the belly of the transport.
The lighting system activated, showing him a small storage area. Three tiny surface transports and an aircycle were to his left. A decompression chamber that led to the exterior hatch was to his immediate right. Beyond that was a short corridor into another storage area.
Lucien strode down the corridor and stopped when he heard vicious growling.
He stared at two Moordian Devils lying comfortably inside a large kennel to his right. One had deep purple fur, the other blue. They both had three little red horns on their heads, and stared at him with the four eyes on their faces. They opened canine-like maws full of jagged teeth.
Briefly, he wondered whose bright idea had been to bring the beasties along, though they were notorious for sniffing out devils and such.
Ignoring the growling animals, he scanned around until he saw a crate to the left of the kennel.
Lucien walked toward it, looking for any indication as to where or how it might open.
It had a lid, and only using his fingers, he was able to loosen and open the metal box.
It was full of packaged food...and liquor.
Grinning, he pulled out a bottle of Black Death.
"God-yes," he almost sobbed, barely able to keep himself from kissing the bottle.
His hands shook as he broke the seal and unscrewed the top. Wrapping his lips around the opening, he tipped his head back and chugged.
Fire coursed down his throat. It hurt, made his eyes tear, choked him for a second. He coughed, swallowed, and wiped his lips as he allowed the fire to turn into a glowing warmth in his belly. The warmth spread, caressing down his arms and legs like a sweet lover.
Yes.
He turned, leaning against the wall, and slid down to sit on the floor in front of the crate.
Lovers. He'd had many. So many faces and pussies. They meant nothing to him. He meant nothing to them...though...deep inside his heart...he'd wanted to matter to someone.
Lucien drew from the bottle again. Liquid strength.
He coughed again, the sting in his throat still barely tolerable, but the bliss it brought afterwards, the freedom of shit-faced drunkenness, was well worth it. He didn't need to be sober anyway until much later. Besides, most Demon hunters were fucked up losers anyway. You had to be, to be stupid enough to hunt demons and devils. Most died, that was why there was always a need for new Demon hunters. It was a great career...if you survived it.
They didn't know how lucky they were that the worst they got was being torn limb from limb by one of those unholy creatures. It was better than being dragged down into a darkened pit, the stench of feces rife in the air. Claws would slide over his body, sometimes playing nice, sometimes drawing blood. Tongues would follow, it would burn the cuts they'd ripped into him and then they'd bite, sharp teeth tearing into flesh. He'd try to run, but they always found him, overpowered him, held him down...
Lucien began to shudder, curling into a protective ball on the floor against the crate, remembering each agonizing bite, the way they'd plunged claws, tongues, spiked tails, and snake-like cocks into him. He'd scream, if he was able—most times he wasn't—and they'd laugh.
He cupped his throat, swallowing hard as he clenched his ass cheeks with a shudder of revulsion.
"No," Lucien panted, pushing the horrific images away.
He drank more, nursing at the bottle like a babe. Closing his eyes and leaning his head against the crate, he wrapped his arms around himself and rocked back and forth softly, somehow the movement soothing to him.
It was okay. He wasn't there anymore. He was safe...for now.
"Enjoy the reprieve. No telling how long it'll last," he whispered to himself.
The scent of flowers had him opening his eyes again.
His Dominatio hovered close, but they knew better than to get too close.
Lucien curled into a tighter ball, peering at them through the strands of hair that had fallen into his face.
"Why did you let them hurt me?" he whispered. "I was just a kid. Why did God let that happen to me?"
Even God hated him it seemed—hated him from birth, before Lucien ever had a chance to fuck up. Everything had been against him from his very conception. His father was the fucking angel of destruction. His parents were supposed to kill each other, but his father captured her...fucked her instead. His virginal mother had spread her legs for a fucker that used to bathe in the blood of his victims. How sick was that?
The two cherubs just looked at him sadly. They didn't even offer him a sword anymore. Was he no longer worthy? Had he ever been worthy?
He laughed then, tears already coursing down his cheeks.
Worthy? What was he? His daddy's mistake? A spurt of demon jizz inside a willing cunt, unplanned, unwanted? Devon was the starchild of that mistake. Lucien was just the left over genetic material.
Oh, yeah...he was supposed to have been the virginal sacrifice.
Laughter started deep in his belly until it erupted into maniacal guffaws and finally subsided into uncontrollable sobs.
Malvano Blackthorn had royally fucked up keeping him a virgin. Lucien remembered still having the majority of his baby teeth when that son-of-a-mongura stuck his cock into Lucien's mouth the first time. Demon-kind hadn't taken kindly to that mistake, so they had Lucien slit his throat.
The memory of how the bastard had choked on his own blood, staring at Lucien in shock soothed Lucien somewhat.
He wiped at the tears and snot on his face with a cloth from a stack near the kennel, before tossing it away from him.
He was done feeling sorry for himself. He was done hurting. Fuck everyone. Fuck everything. He shouldn't have been born. That was the problem. He accepted it and wouldn't fight against it anymore.
Having made peace with his fate, he sighed and drew deeply from the bottle again. The burn was less intense and his limbs felt relaxed.
He looked at the Moordian Devils. They both sat just inches from him. No longer growling, they stared at him through the mesh wire of the kennel, sniffing in his direction.
About to offer the canine-like beasts a bit of his liquid-strength, he felt someone coming closer and used his power to slam the metal door to the back storage room closed with a derisive snort.
He wasn't in the mood for a pep talk. A man with no hope hadn't any need for it.
After a few more swallows of whiskey with his eyes blissfully shut, the scent of cinnamon teased his nose.
