Dior watched the vampires hand cuff the prisoner Nephilims ready to be loaded into the trucks and relocated.
“It is up to you,” Rebecca told the man before her. “We can pluck them or trim them.”
An interesting choice, Dior thought. Someone had been clever and suggested trimming the Nephilims’ flight feathers, removing their ability to escape through flight. Plucking the feathers was, apparently, an incredibly painful process, but would trigger the feathers to regrow, a process that would take six to eight weeks. Trimming the feathers was painless but would not trigger regrowth – leaving the Nephilim unable to fly until they plucked the feathers, effectively delaying the pain but not avoiding it completely.
“Pluck them,” the man decided.
Rebecca’s grin was vicious. “I like that option.”
“Do you require us to remain?” Dior asked Nate as the first scream rent the air.
“You don’t want to watch the fun?” Nate laughed as the man braced for the next feather. “He sings beautifully for a flightless birdy, don’t you think?”
“No,” Dior was curt.
“Oh, Dior,” Nate complained. “You have no sense of humour.” His eyes went to Blaise. “Why not hang around? You might discover something new that you like,” he raised his eyebrows suggestively at Blaise.
“I don’t enjoy other’s pain, nor do I enjoy forcing others to give me sexual pleasure,” Dior held the vampire’s eyes and Nate twitched uncomfortably. “Yes,” Dior purred. “Verity told us.”
“She wasn’t your mate at the time, Dior,” Nate protested. “Or I would never…”
“But you make eyes at Blaise before me, constantly, so why should I believe that?” Dior demanded. “Oh, look,” he added, amusement. “I have learnt something new that I enjoy,” he stepped closer to the man and growled deeply. “I enjoy watching you squirm. Stay away from my mates.”
“Dior,” Nate swallowed hard. “Mate… I…”
“We are leaving, Blaise,” Dior gestured for his mate to proceed him into the air. “Don’t piss me off, Nate,” he warned the vampire. “Or you will find that lion gargoyles have a temper. Stay away from my mates.”
Blaise landed on the balcony before Dior and shifted into man form. As soon as Dior landed, he threw himself at him. Dior shifted to man-form and wrapped his arms around his blonde mate, leaning down to receive his kisses.
“It makes me so horny when you get all territorial,” Blaise groaned into Dior’s mouth. “I want to f-k on the balcony where the whole city can watch my mate take me.”
“If that is your wish,” Dior lowered him onto the cold stones of the balcony and covered him with his body, thrusting his fingers into the fine silk of Blaise’s hair. “And how would you like me to take you, my mate?”
“Hard,” Blaise’s eyelids were heavy over his eyes.
“Hmm,” the lion gargoyle smiled as he hummed the agreement. “Hard it is,” he nudged Blaise’s jaw to the side and feasted on the column of his throat, sucking and nipping, leaving his mark on the skin, before sucking one of the goat’s nipples through his teeth, making Blaise arc under him with a sharply drawn breath.
“Oh yes,” Blaise moaned as Dior dragged his hands down his ribs as he took his kisses lower until he took the goat gargoyle’s c-ck into his mouth, giving him just the edge of his teeth so that Blaise twitched beneath him, his balls drawing tightly to his body in reaction to the slight pain.
Just as the goat neared release, Dior closed his fingers tightly around his base, cutting off the release so that Blaise sobbed out his complaint. “Not yet, ma chèvre. We haven’t gotten to the taking hard part yet.”
Blaise moaned and shook as he rolled onto his stomach, so gone in his need for release that it was all he could focus on. Dior lifted his hips towards him, positioning himself between Blaise’s knees and then drawing the other gargoyle back towards him, so that as he sank into Blaise, the goat came to sit upon his lap.
“Oh f-k,” Blaise’s head lolled back on his neck, the base of his skull resting against Dior’s shoulder. “Oh yes.”
“Oh yes,” Dior purred, licking up the side of his mate’s neck so that Blaise shuddered. “Do you like me so deep, my mate?” He closed his hand around Blaise’s c-ck and thrusted up, holding the goat tightly against him as he ground up into him.
“Dior,” the goat begged.
“More?” Dior knew his mate well and smiled as he made the offer.
“Baise-mo,” Blaise gripped Dior’s thighs. “More.”
Movement inside the glass caught Dior’s eye and he saw that Etienne had Verity face down over the dining table, his buttocks clenching as he thrusted and his head thrown back, the overlong dark curls tumbling wildly away from his face, and the cords of his neck standing out. He met Verity’s eyes, and she smiled, unembarrassed to be caught watching him f-k Blaise.
He held her eyes and stroked his hand down Blaise’s chest, encouraging the gargoyle to lean back further into him, and kissed the corner of his throat. “Look Blaise,” he murmured. “Turn your head. Our mate watches me take you whilst she is being taken by Etienne.”
Blaise’s groan was guttural.
Dior gripped the goat’s c-ck tightly, and wrapped his other arm across his chest, holding him tightly in place as he began to thrust with a punishing pace that would get them both off quickly and leave Blaise thinking of him every time he sat down the next day.
“Oh f-k,” Blaise cried out and Dior felt the tightening, the pressure of liquid building in the goat’s c-ck, the seed fighting Dior’s grip for release. Dior eased his grip and Blaise sobbed out his orgasm, his seed shooting high and landing with a wet splash on the stone tiles, once, twice, three times.
“Mon Dieu,” Dior laughed through his own heavy orgasm as Blaise sagged back against him. He pressed gentler kissers to the other man’s jaw. “I am impressed, my mate.”
Blaise groaned, leaning limply against Dior, trusting utterly that the other man would hold him upright. Dior chuckled and looked inside to see that Etienne had sagged forward over Verity, pressing her tightly into the tabletop.
A portal opened, the red glow ominous, above their building, but the two-winged men that flew through it were familiar and welcome. “Charon has come home,” the relief that Dior felt seemed to suck the energy from his muscles. He wrapped his arms around Blaise’s waist. “But without his family.”
He lifted Blaise from him as he stood, and Blaise leaned against the balustrade, Dior’s seed seeping down the backs of his thighs.
“F-k me,” Cael landed and danced around the wet spray on the balcony. “Looks like someone has had fun.”
Charon looked deflated, Dior thought. “Mon pigeon?” Cael shook his head over the other man’s shoulder, his grimace signal that all had not gone well. Dior slung his arm around Charon’s shoulders, taking the canvasses that he carried from him and pressing a kiss against his forehead. “Come inside, my mate.”
Blaise had pulled himself together and gingerly followed, making straight through the living area to the bedroom. Dior grinned. No doubt the goat was heading straight to the bathroom, he thought. There was no sign of Verity or Etienne. He set the canvasses onto the tabletop.
Cael followed and deposited his own burdens down carefully. “I am taking this one,” he announced, claiming a canvas. “I like it. Alright, I had best return to my mates and let you talk.”
Dior watched the white winged man leap into the air, the canvas under his arm brightly colours, but its image hidden from him. “Charon?” He turned back to his mate, just as Charon broke into tears, wrapping his arms around Dior’s shoulders and pressing his face into the other man’s neck.
Dior stroked his hands up and down Charon’s back and along the softly feathered wings. Compared to the stone wings and feathers that he was used to, Charon’s wings were delicate bones, sinew, and warm beneath his palms, the feathers smooth and sensuous.
“What has happened, Charon?” He murmured.
“I do not think they will come,” Charon replied his voice muffled with his face pressed tightly against Dior. “They do not understand my choice.”
Dior felt his heart clench. They had not understood Charon taking mates, rather than returning to do his duty to his family. “They are wrong if they do not understand, Charon,” he said softly. “It is wrong to hold your children back from living their own lives when they are grown and of an age to start their own family. I am sure that they will come to see that.”
“But in time?” Charon wondered. “Before Elior returns attack and the option to retrieve them is gone?”
Dior sighed heavily. “You will go back again?”
“We said we would return at the next portal.”
“Well, we will see,” Dior stroked Charon’s feathers. “There is not much else we can do.”