Take a Slice.

Victoria’s tongue traced a silken path from the base of your shaft to the glistening pink crown, each deliberate motion igniting sparks along your spine.

A sharp wave of euphoria surged as her mouth enveloped the tip, her tongue teasing with a patience that bordered on cruel worship.

“That good, Dicky Drake?” she murmured, her voice a coiled ribbon of venom and velvet, laced with playful cruelty. The hunger in her bottomless gaze mirrored the wicked curl of her lips.

A pause. Heavy and heated. You drank in the sight—the living realization of a fantasy long confined to the darker corners of your youth.

Finally it was real, Tricky Vicky the Queen Bitch salivating on your cock, her bodacious dark lips and hungering dark orbs framing that pitch-perfect caramel complexion which gazed up from between your legs.

Your fingers—cold and possessive—wove into the silk of her black hair. A smile curved your lips, slow and sinister. “Oh yes. And it’s about to get a whole lot better.”

Only a small amount of playful pushback came from Vicky as she smiled, at last letting you push her into the beginnings of your sizeable rod. You watched keenly in particular, how her plump lips peeled apart as she took hold of the base with a masterful grip.

You set the pace, slow and deliberate, riding the confines of her mouth... But Vicky—Vicky was relentless, riding the confines of her mouth which at first struggled with the amount it was receiving. Yet Vicky was just as relentless with her blowjobs as she was with her vendettas.

She drank in your taste like it was forbidden nectar, her tongue sweeping greedily along every ridge and vein. There was never a sense of hesitation or resistant as you pushed her in deeper, only the acceptance of your need to pull every drop of pleasure from the experience as you thrust deeper into her throat.

With a loud slurp, Vicky surrendered. Your slow, deliberate thrusts grew faster, harder. The sound of gagging and the slap of flesh echoed beneath the icy hiss of the showerhead.

How long had it been, five minutes... Ten? not once did Vicky stop, pausing only to huff desperately through her flared nostrils, each time revealing how drool shimmered on her chin as she gazed up, her lips stretched wide, cheeks hollowed in perfect rhythm.

It was all to much, so much.

Your hips stuttered, involuntary—spurred by the tight, blistering heat of her throat and the wet suction pulling at your sanity.

“Fuck—Vicky...”

Your voice broke. You weren’t speaking anymore—you were warning. But she didn’t stop. Didn’t blink. Her mascara ran like ink down her caramel cheeks, her eyes wild with devotion, defiance, or both.

Then came the twitch. The jolt. The snap.

You tore yourself free with a feral grunt, cock slick and throbbing in your fist. She gasped, a ragged **** for air as saliva clung in strands between her lips and your shaft—*

—and you painted her.*

Thick, hot ropes lashed across her face, catching her lips, her cheek, her brow. One landed across her tongue as she panted, gasping in a haze of heat and spit and need.

She collapsed to her elbows, breathing hard. Used. Perfect.

But not done.

Victoria looked up—chest heaving, face drenched, mouth open. She shuddered and moaned softly, dragging her fingers through the mess and smearing it over her flushed skin like warpaint.

“Fucking hell, you taste like sin,” she croaked, voice hoarse with ruin.

You watched her, still pulsing in your grip. A low, satisfied chuckle rumbled from your throat.

“And you,” you said, tilting her chin with your knuckles, “were made to be defiled.”

She smiled through the filth, teeth flashing.

“I always knew you'd ruin me."

The cold was still biting at your searing skin, but her breath had burned it all away.

Even now, as the water pelted in icy sheets from the overhead spout, you barely felt it. The ache in your cock was dulling, replaced by a pressure rising somewhere deeper—gnawing, creeping, hot and bright like a fever burning in your veins.

She gasped below you, lungs sucking in the wet air like a half-drowned animal. Her face was streaked with spit and semen, her cheeks red and slick, eyes unfocused. Beautiful. Ravaged.

And when she looked up at you, soaked lashes fluttering against the rain, she whispered one word between gasps:

“…again?”

You almost laughed. Almost.

But your jaw was too tight. Your tongue was pressed tightly against the roof of your mouth.

Your pupils burned in the mirror’s faint reflection across the wet tile. There it was again. That look in your eyes. Not entirely yours. Not entirely human.

The Frenzy was writhing.

Your fingers threaded through her wet hair and gently tugged her back to her feet. Her knees wobbled as she stood. You let her lean into you.

“No,” you murmured, brushing your lips against her temple. “I think You’ve just about proven your obedience.”

You let the silence breathe between you. Her breath was still catching, her skin trembling, but her nipples were hard as obsidian, and her thighs were sticky with need. She was still buzzing...

...Still all for you.

“Now…” you continued, voice lowering like a guillotine, “I think it’s time they saw.”

She blinked, drunk off dopamine and power. “what? Saw what?”

You gave her a razor-sharp grin.

“That you belong to me.”

The hallway was colder now.

Huginn, Muninn and Diana had all marveled at the image of your nude forms waltzing out of that bathroom.

They knew better than to disparage the moment, and so only followed the two of you in venerable silence.

The mansion’s lights had dimmed, but the Nox still stirred in the floor below—half-music, half-moaning, the buzz of conversation and string instruments and crackling wax. Candlelight stretched over monochrome and velvet walls, spilling shadows like a bleeding wound across the banisters.

You didn’t bother with shirts. Vicky had draped a towel lazily around her hips, but it clung to her like an afterthought. She was bare from the waist up, arms wrapped tight around her chest, nipples peeking beneath wet strands of hair.

Her thighs were still soaked. The blush on her cheeks hadn’t faded. You walked ahead of her. Not too fast. Just enough for her to feel it. The leash. The pull.

From the landing above the lounge, you could see them: the Nox. Gathered in small clusters across the crimson parlor. Some sat on Persian rugs, others slouched on sofas or leaned against pillars. Most held drinks. Some held each other. And all of them…

…turned when you entered.

Their eyes locked onto her.

Not you but just Her. And the room silenced.

Even the jazz played skillfully by Octavia's hand stopped. Her fingers catching on the strings, the amp humming faintly as a sly grin crossed her piercing laced visage.

Belle stood near the center of the lounge, her lips parted slightly, nostrils flared. Claus leaned with his arms folded, unreadable. Rudy let out a low whistle and dropped her beer can to the floor.

It wasn’t just that Vicky was naked. It was the towel falling, bit by bit, with every slow step. It was the shimmer of semen drying on her chin and collarbone. It was the way her eyes darted around the room like prey—but she never stopped walking.

You could feel it.

Their hunger. Their want. Their confusion.

And beneath that…

…their awe.

You descended into the center of the lounge like it was your court and they were your congregation. The velvet-glass chandelier above swayed with the tension, casting fractured red light across your face.

Vicky stumbled slightly behind you as the towel gave up entirely and fell around her ankles with a whisper. She flinched, instinctively covering herself again—but you stopped her.

Your cold hand caught her wrist and gently peeled it away.

“No hiding,” you whispered. “Not tonight.”

She swallowed. But never resisted.

And when you reached the center of the room, between the faded grand piano, the old claw-foot table and your dad old armchair, you wrapped your fingers around Vicky's shoulders and turned her to face them all.

The Noxium Clan.

Your Clan.

She stood there, bare, wet, and blushing.

And yet—radiant.

Her eyes wide. Her mouth slack. Her body trembling, glistening, alive. Lit from above like something sacrificial.

A ripple passed through the Nox like a heatwave.

Belle tilted her head with a slow smile. Naomi licked her lips. Moonie reached subtly for her brother’s hand.

You felt their instincts rising, their inner monsters clawing against centuries of restraint.

And that’s when the voice came.

“So this is what we’ve become? You're shitting me right?”

It cut through the silence like a knife dragged across the throat of the room.

You turned.

She stood near the stairwell arch, wrapped in that inky shawl of shadow she always wore like armor. Arms folded. Eyes narrowed. Her lips pressed into a razor-thin sneer. None other than Velka.

She stepped forward slowly, heels tapping sharp against the floor.

Vicky instinctively shrunk behind you, trying to cover herself again.

You didn’t let her. Remaining firm, You took a step forward.

And you smiled as Velka's boots clapped on the marble like war drums.

Every step carried a rebuke. Every glare, a sermon.

She cut through the lounge like a blade, not once breaking pace, her sharp eyes sweeping over the Nox who still sat frozen in awe. At her back, her long Stark white coat rippled like a curtain of ivory shadow, and her fingers—gilded in silver rings and dusted with dried blood from whatever poor thing she'd drained last—twitched with unrest.

Her Platinum blonde hair was pulled back so tightly you thought her temples might fly away “You’ve all gone soft,” she spat. “Look at you.”

Her voice cracked like whips against flesh, loud and righteous in the sudden silence.

“Drunk. Dazed. Drooling over a half-naked human bitch as if she were your queen. You—you call yourselves vampires?”

Her eyes swept the room. No one moved. Not even Belle.

You didn’t speak. Not yet.

Vicky instinctively stepped backward, but your hand held firm against her stomach—keeping her still. Making her stay. She was trembling.

Velka stopped just a few feet from the center, her boots skidding slightly on a spill of melted wax near the piano’s leg. Her eyes locked with Yours.

“You bring this—this mortal here, parade her half-clothed like she’s already one of us, and you dare let her taste your power without consequence?”

Her nostrils flared. Her voice cracked. “Do you have any idea what kind of repercussions we could face, breaking the Grand Charade like this-the message that sends to the High Court?”

you didn't even move, just absorbed and observed. Only then did you speak “I don’t give a fuck about the Court. It was you who put me here on this pedestal, all of you. You beg me for direction, then question my actions?”

Velka’s lips curled back. Her fangs shone like ivory hooks.

“No. You don’t, do you? You never have. Because you don’t remember.”

That last word hung in the air like poison gas. The Nox shifted, discomfort stirring in the quiet.

“You play at being our Lord, but you’re still playing dress-up in a corpse’s skin,” she seethed. “We follow you out of habit. Fear. Hope. But you? You don’t even know what you are.”

You felt the ripple in the room. The shared intake of breath. The tension ballooning in every chest.

She was baiting You. Hoping You’d lose it. That you'd prove her questionable dislike of you, right all along.

But all you did was smile. And it wasn’t kind one.

“I may not remember much, I may be teetering on the edge of understanding what's happening here, but I refuse to winge and hang on the promise of a ghost,” You said lowly, thinking of Lord Nox and all he had given and kept from you “but I know when I’m looking at one.”

A ripple of cruel amusement passed through the lounge—hushed laughter from Rudy, a soft gasp from Hughie.

Velka’s fingers clenched into fists.

“Did I not warn you, all of you! Every last one of you, back when Corvus died?” she hissed, turning to the crowd now. “This... this is blasphemy! You want to bring mortals into the Fold without trial? Without rite? You’d damn our lineage for his cock and his charm?”

She turned back, pointing at Vicky now—naked and shaking, still shielded behind your strong frame.

“She’ll burn, like all the others. You can’t just turn anyone, not without knowing what they carry. You think Frenzy makes you a god, Charlie?”

“No,” You said softly, stepping forward.

Velka faltered, a twinge of fear at the shadow in your eyes.

“I think it makes me honest.”

And just like that, the temperature in the room dropped. You could feel it—a pulling at the center of your chest. The weight of the Noxium stirring behind you. The awareness of your claim over them bleeding out into the floorboards.

Velka saw it, too. And something inside her snapped.

“Enough!” she roared. “I won’t let you make a fool of us any longer!”

She whirled on the Clan, spreading her arms.

“You’ve felt it! All of you! He’s not who he once was. He’s a puppet of Frenzy, drunk on blood and power. And now he asks us to kneel before a human whore?”

No one answered.

“I won’t be part of this sacrilege. I won’t watch you lead us to ruin.”

She paused. Held out a hand to the crowd.

“Leave with me. Cast this madness off. We can still survive outside his shadow.”

Silence.

Not even a breath.

Claus looked away. Belle said nothing. Even Octavia, ever the rebel, stared at the floor.

Moonie pressed a hand to her heart, her lips parting—but her hand fell limp at her side.

Vicky stuck close behind your. Silent, ashamed, angered, but watching.

Velka’s hand trembled. She looked around again.

“...Cleo?” she asked softly.

The black-suited lady met her eyes.

Held them.

Then slowly—deliberately—bowed her head… "Charlie isn't Corvus. I will never betray him."

"None of us will." Belle agreed in a quiet growl.

"Compared to what we were and what we had, Charlie's always put us first. With the rules we have in place now, we've thrived in this city, not been banished to some ruin in the woods." Said Muninn.

"Even if we don't always agree. The Black-Bird speaks true" Rudolph said, his arms crossed as his beard tightened.

A low growl echoed from the room, and Rudy seethed with anger "I should peel your little pale lips off and plaster them on my favorite t-shirt, you treacherous little fucker." The Crazed Blonde's muscles tightened, her eyes flashing with magenta fury. Luckily, Hughie caught her by the shoulder.

"That's enough. I think we are all in agreement. No need to show-boat!"

Rudy threw Hughie off her, straightening out, with an uncharacteristically grumpy look on her razor sharp face.

Velka's expression collapsed.

You saw it: the grief. The crack in her armor. The realization that she was utterly, unequivocally alone.

Her body jolted forward, like something had punched through her chest.

Then, like lightning behind her fury, she screamed—

“THEN LET ME GO!”

It wasn’t a request. It was a command. A demand torn from the bones of her soul.

Her voice shook the windows as she charged at you, feet booming face tight with frustration and wrath. Her sharp finger pushing into your chest as she roared. “I want no part of this madness. I want no bond. No oath. No name. I renounce you, Lord Nox. Let me go.”

The words felt ancient. Even your Frenzy stilled. No malice. Just finality.

A single ruby red droplet fell down her cheek "Please. Just... Just let me go."

“If that's really what you want” you said, voice low. “Then go. Be free. I release you.”

The words rippled out from your mouth like magic.

Velka gasped as if a collar had been torn from her throat. She staggered backward, hand clutching her chest, eyes wide.

No one moved to stop her and no one called her back as she strode to the door. She paused only to look back at everyone who gazed almost mournfully. Her eyes locked with yours one last time, difficult to read...

And then she left. Alone. Only the slam of the front doors followed.

The silence that came was suffocating.

Then Rudy let out a low whistle. “Well. Shit.”

Someone laughed. It might’ve been Hughie.

You turned, slowly, toward the rest of the Nox.

And behind you, Vicky dropped to her knees.

Not in fear. In surrender.

“Charlie…” she whispered. “Please. Please. I can't wait anymore, I need you. I need… this. Just take me. All of me.”

Her voice broke, and the room began to stir again.

There was no sound but her breath.

Vicky laid down before you, legs splayed wide on the marble, body trembling, face flushed, her thighs already glistening before you ever laid a hand on her.

“Do it…” she whispered again, voice cracking with desperation. “Please, I want it. I want you. Make me yours.”

That was all it took. The last shard of restraint was finally shattered.

Falling into her embrace, your hand gripped her jaw and pulled her up into a kiss that devoured all sense. There was no tenderness, only hunger, only claiming.

She moaned into your mouth, her hands sliding up your bare chest, nails dragging down your ribs as she writhed against you.

The Noxium all watched, until they could _Just _watch no longer.

You were right about them, they felt it too.

The thrum of your Frenzy passed like static through the air. You didn’t even have to push it. They were already part of you. You were the heart that unchained them with each slow pulse. Every chest in the room beat in time with your lust.

And one by one they broke.

Claus was the first to move—graceful as ever, his eyes gleaming like molten silver. He slid behind Octavia, lips pressing against her throat as she tilted her head with a purr, her fangs glinting, her back arching against him. Her dress slipped from her shoulders. "Well, I suppose it has been a very long while since I've had a guy. How long has this been playing on your mind?"

"All too long." He whispered. She didn’t stop it.

Belle took Eustis by the collar and kissed her like she owed her blood. Her claws twitched. Her shirt tore. Their moans drowned in the music now rising from the walls like smoke.

Even Cleo, reserved and regal, let her jacket fall open, revealing the long black corset beneath. She leaned against the grand piano and let one of the ghost-white twins drop to their knees between her thighs.

The Nox gave in.

Every pair of eyes turned glazed, golden, ravenous.

This was no longer your moment alone. This was a communion.

You pushed Vicky down flat on her back, her legs parting instinctively to welcome you. She shivered as your hand ghosted over her slick folds—barely a touch, and she was dripping.

“So warm…” you murmured, voice rasping from the heat roaring in your throat. “You were made for this.”

Her legs wrapped around your hips, and her hands gripped your arms with a strength born of pure need. “Take me,” she begged, “take me now. I swear to god Dicky-Drake if you make me wait one second longer—”

You didn’t.

You slammed into her with a **** that knocked the breath from her lungs.

Her scream echoed off the high ceilings, raw and joyous. She clawed at your shoulders as you drove into her again—and again—the wet slap of skin on skin ringing louder than the piano, louder than the gasps, the moans, the frenzy overtaking the room.

You were dimly aware of Rudy riding Moonie like a true cow-girl on the lounge’s velvet sofa, howling curses and praise in equal measure as the blonde writhed beneath her.

You saw Huginn pinned between the twins, their mouths at his throat and navel, drinking and devouring all at once.

Diana... stood at the doorway, eyebrows high a short look of quiet suprise on her face - then rapid acceptance - then a shrug, before unbuttoning her blouse and walking toward the crowd of naked bodies.

The music had long since warped. Someone had queued the old vinyl to play something darker. The bass was thick, sticky, pulsing in time with every wet thrust you gave Vicky.

The lyrics melted into your mind like prophecy:

“I'm the treasure baby, I'm the prize...

cut me rails of the fresh cherry pie…”

You slammed into Tricky Vicky—hard, deep, without warning.

She cried out, loud and broken, her body arching up to meet you as your hips snapped forward again, again, again. Her slick heat wrapped around you like satin soaked in sin. Every thrust punched the breath from her lungs, every pull of your cock made her whimper like prey begging to be devoured.

Your hands locked around her wrists and pinned them above her head, her legs spreading wide beneath you, her heels dragging against the rug, searching for leverage she would never find.

“Charlie—fuck, fuck—” she moaned, her voice caught between worship and ruin.

You snarled, baring your teeth above her, sweat dripping from your brow as you slammed deeper. She was wet—soaked—and not just from the shower. Her cunt pulsed around you, clenching with every stroke, every brutal, rhythmic grind of your hips into hers.

Her back arched. Her tits bounced wildly with each thrust. Her mouth hung open, jaw slack, cheeks flushed and shining with spit and lust.

You grabbed her throat with one hand and drove harder, faster, until she was sobbing beneath you—not in pain, but overwhelmed, shaking and feral.

She clawed at your back, nails tearing shallow trails across your skin, hips bucking to meet every savage thrust like her body was built to take you.

And sweet gentle Jesus, she was.

Her voice broke as she begged: “More. More, baby, don’t stop, I want you—I want all of you—Make it yours, fuck me up!”

Oh but she already was. You bent low, your teeth scraping against her shoulder, her neck, her collarbone. Her body writhed beneath yours like it didn’t know how to handle this—like no one had ever taken her like this before.

And for the first time in your wretched, blood-soaked, half-forgotten life, you felt it—not just the Frenzy—but something purer. Something true.

This wasn’t just sex. It was annihilation.

It was the **** of every lie you’d ever told yourself, and the beginning of something else entirely.

She was your flame. Your follower. Your equal. And as her pussy spasmed around your cock and her voice broke into a scream, you knew— You’d never be able to fuck anyone else again without tasting her in your mouth.

snarling, gripping Vicky’s wrists and pinning them above her head, your mouth at her throat, fangs just barely grazing the skin.

She moaned so loudly it shook your bones.

“I’m yours,” she gasped, eyes wide in a crazed kind of realization "I'm ready, baby... I'm ready. Do it."

Your eyes flashed crimson and the room responded.

A hundred gasps. A dozen orgasms rippling like thunder. Your will—your desire—coursed through your clan like a sickness.

Naomi dropped to her knees between Claus and Belle, begging for a taste. Belle bit her lip, grinning, and offered her breast without hesitation.

Blood, saliva and beastly sighs.

You pulled out of Vicky and spun her onto all fours, your cock coated in her slick nectar, your body burning, your mind melting.

You grabbed her hair, leaned down, and hissed in her ear:

“Are you ready?”

“Y-Yes sir... please… just fucking do it!” she sobbed, voice breaking, her mouth hanging open, lips wet and swollen. “Please…”

“Even if I share you?”

She froze.

And then: she nodded.

“I don't ever want a life without this… I don’t care. Use me. Let them use me. Just don’t let this end.”

Your cock twitched, and you almost came just from that.

The Nox moved in.

Belle was first. She approached on bare feet, her dress gone, her curves gleaming in candlelight. She knelt before Vicky’s face and gently touched her chin.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Belle whispered, voice honeyed with blood and lust.

Vicky moaned again, almost in disbelief, as Belle leaned in and kissed her—deeply, passionately, slowly. Your cock still buried inside her, Vicky sobbed into the kiss, overwhelmed.

And you began to thrust again.

With Belle's lips on hers.

With her moans swallowed.

With her cunt swallowing you.

This was the Rite.

The unshackling.

The moment the Nox became more than predators in hiding.

They were lovers now. Kin. Devotees.

And you were their god.

The Nox, tuned into your thoughts came sweeping in to aid. You let Vicky down gently onto the cushions they had placed beneath her, letting others gather around her.

The Girl huffed and puff, glistening with sweat and awash with nervous anticipation.

First she felt Belle's gentle kiss envelop her wrists, then Claus, then Moonie—one after the other, her body already shining with sweat and bite marks as they partook of her blood, her heart pounding with something beyond lust as they took one or two steady pulls from her shoulders, thighs and legs.

She looked up at you drowning in the ecstasy of the bitten. Perfectly Ready.

“Charlie…” she whispered, arms spread, throat exposed. “Do it.”

You climbed over her again. You didn’t ask permission for She had already given it.

With a snarl that was more prayer than rage, you sank your fangs into the warm flesh of her throat—and the first taste of her blood burned like sunlight.

Sweet. Sharp. Spiced with youth, sorrow and songs unsung.

The metallic taste gave way to something animalistic, something rattling like a caged beast that had finally been let free.

And as Vicky melted into your bite, her eyes flittering into the back of her skull as you took more and more, it was only by some miracle that you managed to let her go.

Pale, naked and open to you in ways that you thought impossible. Vicky looked up, her mouth half open.

Gritting your teeth, eyes erupting in a flash of crimson you roared as the purest ambrosia flowed through you. Filled the lounge with the scream of ****, which was accompanied by the beastly yowls of all the other Nox.

Heaving, monstrous, you gazed down at Vicky and with a pointed claw opened your veins...

"Victoria Kaz. Will you partake of my curse? Will you become mine. Drink my blood and with my power be born anew?" Your voice was thunder, your hold absolute.

Vicky nodded, biting her lip "Yes."

"Freely and of your own volition?" You asked.

"Freely and of my own volition." She swore.

You lowered, offering your open wrist to her mouth, where she opened wide and drank deep of your ichor.

Cleo crawled forward, as a cat would, elegant and unwavering. Her ice cold hand stroked Vicky's black hair as her hands tightened around your arm, drinking deeper and deeper.

_"Make pact with the Night..." _Cleo whispered

"...and let the hunt begin."

Vicky's eyes fluttered, her grip waned and you all watched as she was drawn into her final rest.

A wry smile drew slowly on your pink lips as the Obsidian locket hung around your neck, pulsed with golden light....

And something sharp and cold was drawn across your throat....