Sir William returned to Hanna with a fresh goblet.
“What were you saying…can you say 'gain those things?”
“With pleasure,” replied Sir William. “You may indulge in my devotees or you may forego their pleasure and begin immediately with me.”
Hanna turned around, the glass precariously held in her hand, spilling its contents all over the chair. She leaned out yet again, straining her neck to make another assessment.
“Wow, like you're totally a professor who says stuff like indulge, like I can fuck them. They’re hot too and like I've never done it with two guys, so kind of like I wanna have them first, you know?”
“Yes, of course, a wise decision,” concurred Sir William.
“Like why, man? I don't get it. Why'd I have to choose?”
“Because, my dear, a civil man would at the very least make such a gracious offer of food, drink and passion before the inevitable. It is the one decent act I feel compelled to provide because it is within my power to do so.”
“Shut up,” said Hanna. “You're totally whacked and I don't think we should dance here in this basement 'cause there's no beats thumping.”
Unexpectedly, Hanna cracked Sir William across the face. The sound of her slap straightened the backs of the men. Sir William smiled broadly, catching hold of her hand and turning it over, kissing her palm, her wrist, sliding his fingers along her arm, tickling her skin with gentle touches. He inhaled deeply, his nostrils opening wide, as he absorbed her female scent.
“Oh, that feels pretty good…your lips are so soft,” said Hanna.
Sir William motioned to the men, who moved out of the shadows and came toward her chair, as he stepped away and seated himself on the couch.
With dazed eyes, Hanna watched him. In one moment Sir William knelt in front of her and in the next he was seated comfortably with crossed legs. She had not recalled seeing him actually stand. She reasoned the wine and E had clouded her vision. Hanna turned her attention to the men, now standing on either side of her chair.
“So, how does this work, you'z guys?”
The tall one answered. “We shall obey your command,” said Cain.
“For real? Right on! OK, give me a second to finger this out,” laughed Hanna. She pulled herself out of the chair, balancing on wobbly legs before Cain.
“First thing is you have to strip.”
Cain, without hesitation, unclasped the buckle on his leather belt, and quickly unzipped his pants.
“Don't forget your gitch too,” said Hanna.
Cain nodded. He removed his shorts and displayed himself, to which Hanna nodded. Cain removed his shirt, tossing the clothing on the couch.
Sir William sat quietly.
“I never get tired of honking hoses,” commented Hanna. “They make life a fucking gas,” she said with a prolonged giggle.
Cain stood at her side, quietly, waiting for an additional command.
“You shave your boys, too, but not like you need to, though.” Hanna turned to the second boy. “What's your name 'gain?”
“Raven,” he answered flatly.
Hanna broke up laughing. “Oh yeah…that’s right, man, you told me in the restaurant. Sorry I forgot… totally weird, man. It’s hot, so like take off those pants and bend over.” Having the power to command the men infused Hanna with lucidity, if only for a moment. She slurped wine as Raven undressed, then glanced at Cain and wagged her tongue. Raven had finished undressing and as Hanna had demanded, he bent over, exposing his posterior.
“No, the other way around…I want your ass in his face,” she said giggling with silly joy.
Sir William held an empty wine goblet.
Again Hanna could not remember if Sir William rose and went to the bar, because she did not actually see him move. She shook her head, focusing her eyes.
“Don't do that, ol' man. You're buggin' me out every time something is different 'bout you an' I don't know what's happened 'cause I can't see clearly and these boys are…” she trailed off. Her attention was distracted from Sir William, sitting quietly, with an empty goblet, waiting, watching.
Raven remained bent over. Hanna realized he had not moved. She erupted into laughter.
“A guy bent over looks fucking hot with hairless balls.” She slipped her hand between his cheeks and stroked. She dropped her goblet, letting it crash to the floor, emptied, and reached out, grabbing hold of Cain's soft cock and began rubbing him in earnest.
“Dis, my girlfriends are not going to believe, two naked boys with an ol' guy watching, too hot for real, man.” As Hanna held Cain and rubbed between Raven's legs, she realized her gestures were arousing them.
“Guys, guys, guys…I get so fucking wet on E and I'm 'fraid I'm goin' to have be a really, really bad girl.”
Hanna, drunkenly, with staggering steps and lips stained purple with red wine, laughed as she threw herself over the arm of the chair, turning her head to Raven.
“First…I want you, hot Raven boy with the hairless balls an' then I want Cain an' after I want that ol' feller over there.” She pointed to Sir William.
Her hair fell over her face, covering her eyes.
Sir William saw her smile. He was pleased she had thrown her sense of spirit and adventure into the scene, taking his advice and enjoying the bodies of his devotees. Sir William neglected to point out to Hanna that while the men desired her, they too wanted the very same precious commodity Sir William waited for but only after she had enjoyed last-rites pleasure.
Raven turned to Hanna, bent over the chair's arm, and inserted himself into her.
Her body leaned up as she moaned, as he drove into her, grabbing her shoulders for support. Hanna egged him on to push hard, to crush her breasts, to bite the back of her neck. Cain stood erect.
Despite the erotic element of the coupling, Sir William was not visibly affected with an increased heart rate, dilated pupils or an enlarged appendage. He was most interested in the element of the staged evening and the sustenance he would soon absorb.
“Man, Raven boy, you are a stud, like totally awesome. Now let Cain have a go 'cause I'm soaked like Niagara Falls.” Hanna was enjoying herself, laughing and throwing her head from side to side. She pulled her nipples to heighten her pleasure.
Raven removed himself, holding his flaccid cock gesturing to Cain that it was his turn.
And immediately, Cain climbed on top of Hanna to perform his duties with enthusiasm. Both men ensured her climax was achieved.
Sir William noted the changes in Hanna; her body and face flushed, hard nipples turning into perky buttons of dark red, eyes rolling back in ecstasy. Then her spine arched inward as she threw her head into the air, screaming. Sir William intimately understood the human body. The act of achieving orgasm fired up the hormonal, chemical reactions, punching the blood with oxygen, invigourating and enhancing its taste. There was method to his madness, even if the women in his company were not aware. He had witnessed similar scenes countless times. As he watched Cain perform, he mentally counted the number of young females he had consumed in the last nine hundred and twenty-seven years and estimated the minimum total to be a mere drop in Earth's bucket - three hundred thousand and thirty-eight.
“Oh fuck,” said Hanna. “I forgot to have you guys wear a thingie.”
“Is thingie a colloquialism for rubber?” asked Raven.
“I know I'm as clean as a whistle 'cause I got checked out the other month but I have to be careful these days.”
Cain finished his duties, leaving Hanna wheezing over the chair's arm. She pulled up her head and looked at Sir William.
“Whadd'ya say ol' guy… you up for fun?” asked Hanna.
“Yes, indeed I am most surely up for fun. Firstly, however, I would like you to sit back in the chair and rest. Kindly bring down her clothes,” he said to Cain.
“Don't panic, ol' guy 'cause the boys just greased me up a little, that's all.”
Sir William dismissed her drunkenness and apparent lack of embarrassment for degrading herself by giving of her body freely. He understood the need for letting oneself go and how supplementing one's state of mind with alcohol and chemicals was a cultural phenomenon in the 20th and 21st centuries. He could not, however, comprehend why anyone would so willingly make him or herself vulnerable. Before Sir William had changed, he took special care to ensure he would not be taken by surprise or forced to relinquish the advantage. And at that particular moment, in the cold basement, on a quiet evening in April, a lesson of dire consequence would be taught to another unfortunate young woman. He felt nothing for Hanna other than detached fascination. Sir William was a keen observer of behaviour, acknowledging the need to develop bonds between species, most often expressed through sexuality in humans. The younger women of the 21st Century behaved as men, aggressive, independent and unguided by adult influence, unrepentant of poor behaviour and without guilt or concern for earning a disreputable reputation.
Sir William rose gently. His towering height appeared ominous to Hanna in her prone position. He assisted in helping her upright, seating her back in the chair. Her panties were slipped on and inched above her hips and her bra was put back into place.
“I don't wanna get dressed,” she protested.
“I would prefer speaking to you this way, if you do not mind,” said Sir William.
“Really? You 'fraid of looking at my sloppy beaver?”
“Your sloppy…ah…no, I prefer enjoying your company with clothes,” he said.
“OK, that's dandy by me but my glass is empty and maybe you can tell me do ol' guys like you have grey pubes? That’s what I've heard anyway. I bet your dick is bigger than it was when you were young, that's what I've heard, that an' how the nose, ears and dick keep on growing…right on!”
“That is a myth,” corrected Sir William. “A man's phallus stops growing at the age of seventeen. If his phallus seems larger as he ages, that is due to gravity tugging.”
Hanna exploded with more silly laughter; her mind locked in pleasure land.
“Fucking gravity tugging on the ol' wiener…you are too funny!”
Quietly, Cain slipped behind and brought his arms around the high back chair, clamping his hands to Hanna's head, holding her in place. She continued to laugh foolishly, thinking it was a game.
Raven produced a length of rope to press upon her wrist, to secure the right to the chair's arm, then left.
Hanna watched laughing.
Cain released his hands as Raven tied another length of rope around the high back, securing her head. Next, came her ankles. Both were roped down, tightly together. The position was complete.
“What the fuck is going on, man? You’re into bondage… ya dirty ol' fuck!”
Sir William would not allow his anger to be incited by insults. He understood fear intimately, and its powerful tonic, only fear could not seep into Hanna's addled brain, nor would the realization of her vulnerability hit with full force. Her eyes showed no anger or terror. The tears falling on her cheeks were the result of laughter. She couldn't stop from giggling.
“OK, ol' guy…I like it this way, too an' from the back end also.”
“Excellent, my dear,” said Sir William. He stroked her arm. “It pleases me to know you are deriving pleasure from this evening. I assure you what is about to come will be administered as painlessly as possible.”
“What's this game called?” asked Hanna smiling. She tested the strength of the knots by attempting to pull her wrists and hands free. She could not turn her head up, down or to the sides, the rope snug against her forehead.
Raven stood behind her to avoid distraction. The time for Sir William to play had arrived.
“This game,” repeated Sir William, as Cain positioned a chair in front of Hanna and slowly took his seat, “is called The Supremacy of End. I decide when the game begins and also at what point it ends. Firstly, a brief preamble, if you will indulge me.” Sir William picked lint off his pants, making himself comfortable. He paused, looking into Hanna's eyes, placing his empty goblet aside. He spoke in a soothing voice.
“The human body is blessed with six quarts of blood, that is to say there are two pints per quart, ergo a total of twelve pints for male and female bodies, in most cases, depending of course on physical size. Drawing blood has a long and varied history, stretching as far back as the 6th century, enjoying a heyday in the 16th century when physicians incorrectly believed the human body held twenty pints. Back then, the standard accepted practice of administering medical attention called for bloodletting. Imagine the horror of wasting the glorious red for something as normal as the common cold. Well, in any event, the patient was rendered helpless and entirely pallid. Those were grand days. Ah, I remember them with fondness. I worked as a physician, a good life, simple, charitable… peasants paid for services in livestock, grain and vegetables. It did not matter to me, of course, because for every pint I removed, I consumed one. My belly never saw a day when it was not full. Bloodletting remained an entrenched form of abuse, killing thousands each year. Regrettably, times changed, as they invariably do, as I did, adapting to the new landscape of the industrial revolution. The standardization of opiates in the latter part of the 19th century helped my cause by debilitating my prey, removing pain and fear. I've evolved, to use that particular term, beyond giving into my bloodlust and allowing it full reign. You see tracking down and killing women, while it has its hunter, gatherer appeal, in all honesty loses its attraction over a gradual period of time…boredom, I suppose. I lost that aspect of my animal self. It is for the better, you see.”
Hanna woke up. Her eyes shot open wide. Her mouth formed into a circle. The sound coming out of her throat was muffled.
“K-k-k-killing…is that what you fucking just said? Killing… you're not going to kill me are you?” screamed Hanna.
Sir William leaned up and kissed her forehead.
“Excellent, my dear, you were paying attention, no need to fret, it will be over soon. You will feel nothing more than a sharp needle prick. I have dispensed with the arcane method of sucking necks, which is passé and unnecessary when I can keep you alive for days and slowly drain your blood, while your heart beats. The taste remains healthy and sweet, how I have come to prefer it. Truly, though, I must confess to loving both warm and cold blood…warm during winter periods and cold in summer, like a finely chilled Chardonnay. Listen to me… I am taking us off track. To conclude this dialogue, your death will be painless as you slip into unconsciousness. All things considered, it is not such a terrible demise.”
“What the fuck are you saying, man?”
“Do not distress yourself any further, my dear.”
“Killing is cruel, you dirty ol' cocksucker!”
“Cruelty, indeed…humans have deluded themselves for millennia. They assign blame to nature and call it cruel, only humans are part of nature. We are the human animal and therefore our cruelty is also natural. Make no mistake you are an animal, like me, like Cain and Raven. It is the same reason we all look at our own feces every time an evacuation is complete, to ensure there is no blood present.”
Sir William felt for the poor child, felt for her inability to fight. Struggling would only encourage him to act in an aggressive manner. He was glad she had enjoyed herself with the young men before facing the end.
Cain and Raven listened with rapt attention to their father's discourse, falling on each consonant and syllable, his supreme diction. Occasionally, Sir William glanced at his audience, playing up to their loyalty, smiling and nodding; their collective rapture in listening was integral to the process of completing his game.
Cain and Raven closed their minds and ears to the sounds of Hanna's struggling. Together, working as a seamless team, they set up a blood-pumping stand, attached to an electric pump, plugged into the wall. An intravenous tube was inserted into the empty bag and its opposite end attached to a large needle.
Raven tied off Hanna's arm with a rubber hose, just above the elbow. He pulled the hose tight, causing her main artery to bulge.
Sir William inserted the needle, taking care to pat lightly to ensure her vein had properly distended. As the needle pierced skin, Hanna's obliterated sense of mind was kick-started.
“I don't wanna be strung out on heroin…you fucking bastard.”
“Heroin?” asked Sir William. “Good gracious…do not be ridiculous. If I were to ingest your blood after a healthy dose of heroin I would be flat on my back stoned. I am afraid organic analgesics affect my unique physiology quickly. No, my dear, your blood in its present state is very fine to my liking and even the smallest hint of pharmaceuticals will not affect me.”
Her head could not be turned. Her wrists could not be moved. Her ankles were snugly secured. Hanna was helpless to save herself. She saw only Sir William as he opened the valve and watched her blood fill up the tube.
Sir William looked below. The pump worked smoothly, hypnotically moving up and down, the blood flowing back and forth, filling the bag with liquid; the apparatus appeared to be breathing, alive. Sir William stood up as he watched her blood run through the tube. Given Hanna's height and body weight, he estimated her first pint would be extracted in less than ten minutes. Her vein was healthy and she flowed beautifully. Some women fainted during the process. Hanna behaved exactly as anticipated; her senses dulled from the effects of alcohol.
Six minutes passed and the bag was very nearly full. Sir William rubbed Hanna's cheek, encouraging her to relax.
“In a few hours, you will feel weak and without energy to resist. I feel dying is a far better thing you do than you have ever done…would you not concur?”
“I wanna go home, get away from you assholes. I promise I won't tell anyone. Do you need blood 'cause you can't keep it up, is that it?”
“You employ curious reasoning, my dear,” mused Sir William.
“Why didn't you just fuck me like the boys?”
“I make love on special occasions. After all, I am not an unfeeling man. She must be one of a kind…the rare gems are just that, uncovered treasure.”
“You fucking ol' fat, limp dick bastard!”
“Good girl. I am pleased to see your feisty spirit return. I like fight in a woman. I am genuinely interested however, tell me why would you willingly debase yourself by allowing two complete strangers to pick you up at a night club?”
“Fucking asshole…that's what you are!”
“I seriously want to understand your thinking, Hanna. A woman of your beauty and youth, and every possibility ahead of her should at the very least appreciate the power of her life and not waste it on the trivial pleasures of anonymous sex.”
“It's my body and I'll fuck who the fuck I want, so fuck off!”
“Fascinating logic, my dear, thinking through raging hormones, yet that does not entirely explain your behaviour, which is borderline suicidal because it implies you are not applying forethought and common sense, that level of awareness to ensure the continued safety of your own private welfare.”
“What the fuck?”
“Is it because you are beautiful and young that you so carelessly regard your life with cavalier attitude?”
Trying to comprehend Sir William’s persistence with his line of questioning, Hanna squinted her eyes, wrinkling the patch of skin between her brows into a creased line.
“I don't get you,” said Hanna.
Sir William nodded. “Of course, I am being obtuse in my commentary. Your apparent lack of concern for your own welfare leads me to conclude you feel there is no greater purpose to life than to live in the moment, embrace happiness and joy in whatever means are available, drugs, boys, easy sex, with no thought for tomorrow. Well, my dear, I knew a man, many, many years ago, his name was St. Bernard of Clairvaux, the Abbot of Clairvaux, died in 1153. He maintained that man was nothing more than fetid sperm, a sack of dung, the food for worms. He was a gentle and generous man, in truth. Poor fellow, had the worst case of flatulence I have ever witnessed. Terrible diet, you see. Well, my dear, it has been my experience that a woman is wise to refrain from giving away her liking or wanting of a man until he demonstrates his willingness to earn her respect.”
“Go fuck yourself!” yelled Hanna.
“I understand the predicament, dear Hanna. Your disposable culture and western civilization have evolved into global apathy.”
“You’re nothing but an ol’ fucking asshole!”
“An excellent observation, Hanna, but women are not alone in this shared apathy. Men, too, regard and treat their bodies as disposable, often far too quick to give of themselves. If I were a woman I would view a man ready to sleep with me on the first night as a whore. What is that expression? Ah, yes, I remember…anyone or anything too easily acquired is just as easily discarded.”
The bag was full. Sir William unclasped the tube, lifting up the bag, hooking it to the top of the stand, and then opening the valve to fill his goblet. He held up Hanna's fresh blood to the lamp, admiring the end result.
“Mmmm… deep red, full, robust colour throughout, accents of garlic, a hint of olive oil, oyster,” observed Sir William mockingly, “I am shamelessly teasing. I was not sitting at the dinner table. I am rather fond of garlic, you see.”
He brought the goblet to his lips and tipped the glass, spilling the entire contents into his mouth in one pour, until his cheeks were bursting. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed.
Hanna exploded into hysterical screaming, thrashing and moving.
“Gag her,” ordered Sir William to Cain.
Both men had dressed.
“Very impressive, Hanna, your taste on a scale of one to ten is very close to nine. The only time I have experienced a ten in taste was a young girl in India, in a small village in Kerrala… beautiful lass, stunning eyes, the brown hair of Shiva. She was striking. It broke my heart to drain her. Alas, I am who I am because of whom I am.”
Like automaton Spartan soldiers, Cain and Raven; one Nordic blonde and the other Moorish dark, both in possession of muscled and lithe physiques, walked around the chair, attaching a new, fresh, empty bag to the pump, inserting the IV tube into the bag. Each held an empty goblet, waiting as the pump worked again to fill the bag. Sir William's sons would not feel remorse for the demise of Hanna for like him, compassion and genuine feelings were reserved for their own kind. And loyal to the end, Cain and Raven would not, and could not, question Sir William's motives, however unfeeling they would appear to an outsider.
“Careful not to drain too much, lads, I want her alive tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir,” they replied in tandem.
Hanna's horrified eyes fixated on the trio of men standing before her. Her mouth was taped shut.
“My dear, perhaps it would interest you to know that Cain and Raven are not my devotees but my sons, my hybrid sons. After five hundred years of living a solitary existence, I elected to care for them and they in turn have been of great assistance to me. Naturally, it is not practical for me to raise all the children I have altered. I keep tabs on their whereabouts through various, private sources.”
He patted both men on their shoulders, showing off like a proud father. Cain and Raven looked up to their father with love, carrying his strength in their unblinking eyes and chiseled facial features, full lips, large eyebrows, and square cheekbones.
“Generally,” began Sir William, “I average a minimum of three pints per day, so by my calculation, your ten pints, possibly eleven or twelve, will be consumed in a little over two days, maybe three if we are blessed with good fortune. Cain and Raven are easily sustained with one quarter as much as I require. You would not know it to look at them but each is three hundred years old, so your contribution will greatly lengthen their lifespan. My need is greater, you see. And to reassure you that your end will surely come, I have no intentions of keeping you alive indefinitely, which would conveniently provide an ongoing blood supply providing we enslaved you for regular drainage. Variety is the spice of life, my dear…one should embrace all kinds of women as would any reasonable egalitarian.”
Sir William returned to sitting in front of Hanna, to observe the process as weakness crept into her body, as her blood drained. He was very much capable of genuine empathy yet it was doled out to strangers with an eyedropper. He cared dearly for his sons but his life was placed above theirs, above all others, destined to be number one.
The bag filled. Hanna's eyelids drooped. The pump worked methodically, relentlessly, as the red sustenance of her essence wound inside the tube, making way to the bag in a rhythmic flow. The second pint moved more smoothly than the first. The bag was ready after five minutes.
“One full glass each and no more.”
“Yes sir,” nodded Cain obediently. He lifted the bag, hooking it to the top of the stand, then released the valve and filled his goblet, handing it to Raven, and then filled his own. They held up glasses to their father and toasted him.
“I think you will find Canadian blood to be particularly refined, clean and sharp, much like their weather, full of surprises and of equal importance is to remember that cold climates breed humans with thicker blood.”
Sir William’s visit to the City of Ottawa was off to a galloping start. The telephone rang.
Raven put down his glass and turned to go upstairs.
“Delicious,” said Cain.
“You chose her well, my son…very good.”
Raven returned from the upper landing. He looked at Hanna, whose eyes were closed. Cain placed his finger on her neck, checking for a pulse. “It's there…weak, but beating,” he said to his father.
“Close the valve and turn off the pump. Wait until tomorrow before we enjoy more. Ensure her restraints are secure. Let us avoid a repeat performance of our previous find. Women and their inner strength can surprise.”
“Yes sir,” said Cain.
“The telephone line came back clear?” Sir William asked.
“As always…the line was swept.”
“Excellent.”
Sir William walked up stairs to the kitchen, picking up the receiver left on the counter.
“Sir William?” she inquired, “everything is set, Your Grace.”
“When?”
“Sometime tomorrow, the following day the latest.”
“Very well,” said Sir William.
“May I ask a question, Your Grace?”
“Proceed.”
“How did you know I should start treatments three months early?”
“Call it good instincts…and is he willing?”
“Yes, Your Grace, we've made a pact.”
“Keep me informed.”
“Will you be present, Your Grace?”
“That is entirely possible. Do not call again until you hear from me.”
“Thank you, Your Grace, and if I may ask, you said I would be rewarded, if successful, with that gift only you can give me. May I ask if this arrangement is still valid, Your Grace?”
The line was dead.
Sir William had not yet decided if he would be present for the event, the moment when one of his hybrid sons would be tested. The circumstances were appropriate. One quality that was shared by all of his hybrid sons was their staunch sense of loyalty in keeping their word. And if successful impregnation took place, she would receive riches beyond rich, contrary to what she believed he would give her. Sir William would not allow himself the luxury of premature celebration, not until the test was deemed positive. All of his hybrid sons were a disappointment, having been born infertile. His life-altering bite during each mother's pregnancy had irrevocably changed the baby days before being born. But if such a momentous event of pregnancy finally occurred, it would signify the first change to his hybrid species.
Sir William looked out the kitchen window, toward Strathcona Park, and glanced into the dark sky. His night-vision made out shapes of forming cirrostratus clouds. Sir William thought tomorrow the clouds would blanket the sky and diffuse the sunlight, which would make it an ideal day for a long stroll in the park. He enjoyed diffused sunlight as much as nighttime. He turned toward the basement. The evening was early. He decided to consume several more pints of blood after all.