Sin City by Night, by Nikki Blood
For those who like or need more substance with their hot and naughty, I present to you the serial story of our secret guardians.
They are known throughout history as the Nephilim, half angel, half human. These half-breed are all that stands in the way of Lucifer and his thirteen apostles in the war that continues. They hunt the things that go bump in the night, the things that should not exist, and their numbers are dwindling.
Novel and Cover Illustration Copyright © 2017 Nikki Blood. All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without the permission of the author is illegal. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
Sin City by Night - Part One
Rocking your hips to push a cock deeper, doesn’t really work as well as you might think. There’s little in and out movement to satisfy me. I had to position myself on top of him, carefully tilt my hips outward, just a little bit, and then I could feel every fat inch as I bounced . . . on him—it . . . the demi-demon beneath me with the ten-inch hard flesh-pipe—getting my money’s worth . . . loosely speaking.
“Slow down,” he said, working his hips in time with mine. “Baseball. Margaret Thatcher. Obesity.”
Like that would ever happen.
I let mister tall, dark, and dangerous pick me up in one of the lesser-known grunge bars off Fifth. I noticed he wasn’t quite human, probably my target, and kept my eye contact when he stopped to look me over.
I smiled a coy, I’m really freaking horny smile, and pulled my shoulders back a hair-and-a-half so he could ogle Firm and Perky in their full and braless glory.
The I’m getting lucky wheels started to turn in his head, and I even think his dick started to twitch a bit in his boxers, because he tried but failed to cooly saunter over with his drink, just so he could notice mine needed a generous refill.
I won’t get into the small-talk aspects of the evening. He liked everything I liked without fail, and the conversation always twisted back toward him after a few short minutes.
When he suggested we leave that miserable little dive, maybe catch a quick bite, I wondered if he offered up a double entendre, but steered him to a nearby steak house and ordered light. A brisket and polenta salad, chased down with a large, dry red wine.
His twenty-four-ounce slab of cow could have been still mooing, for all the good the grill’s flames did kitchen-wise, but he enjoyed every slobbery bite.
His next suggestion was to not let the night end, and I gladly took him up on it. Once we arrived, his place not mine, he was eager to get the party started.
So was I. The sooner the better. Which brings me back to the large cock I was full-on cowgirl with, and him, it, whatever, trying to hold back his load, thinking strange thoughts.
Only, his essence was what I needed most of all.
His hands gave up on my tits a while back. They had no choice but to steady my hips, and help both of us guide his dick-stick home, balls deep. Didn’t want to break it. And, yes, you can break a dick, though they never heal right.
The look on his face changed, and I knew he was primed and ready to fire. I had to spread my knees apart, just enough to squeeze every muscle in and around my cunt (without tightening my stomach muscles), to milk him dry.
His eyes closed as he shot his wad deep.
My body absorbed his cum, or, consumed his true essence, and I became stronger. Faster. More deadly.
My stilettos were nearby, and I had squirreled one within easy reach, and that was the heel that went a full four inches into his third eye; the eye he had hidden by the glamour all of his kind used to appear normal, and deep into his mushy little brain.
My bracelet looked like wrapped wire for two very good reasons.
One, it was wire I had wrapped around my wrist.
Two, with my augmented strength and hatred for all of his kind, I pulled the wire off and out, quickly wrapped it around his neck, and with a monumental effort on my part, separated his head from his torso.
“Oh. Twice in one night. Good for you.”
He wouldn’t be back. Nothing ever comes back from that.
I leaned back on his now-softening cock to catch my breath, looking around. He had a nice apartment, for a pleasant change. A tiny loft thing I liked. It was even clean.
The books were probably for show. Not many people read like me. Anything and everything, good or bad.
I pulled him out, and myself off, and noticed how the blood had spattered. My clothes were fine, but the shoe was a total loss. Still, I’d have to take both with me.
I washed off what little blood I had on me, and took the time to care for my hot and tired cookie. I then washed the bracelet off and re-wrapped it around my wrist.
Dressed, feeling more like I should, I retrieved my shoes, bagged them, and did my best walk-of-shame impression out of the building and down the street. One sewer inlet later, my shoes were gone.
A couple of blocks later I managed to catch cab, and didn’t have much to say. The driver, he looked me over a few times, probably wondering if I was a professional (think whore).
I am and I’m not. I’m whatever I need to be. The job does have it ups and downs.
My cell vibrated, and I pulled it out and looked at it. I didn’t answer it.
I had the cab drop me off a few blocks down from my downtown apartment, and quickly walked the rest of the way. Once home I pulled off the wig and my clothes and showered, enjoying the endless hot water my building seemed to have this time of night. I then toweled off, threw my clothes in the wash, and with my robe on, called Mickey back.
“It’s done,” I said.
“One more evil turd off the streets,” he said. “You’re my best girl, Tanya. You know that, right?”
“Flattery is useless with me.”
“I got to try. Me, I have a bad, bad feeling the war is heating up. Something is working the park off Grand. Likes ’em young, and younger. That’s why I called. I need you.”
And I needed this next assignment like I needed a hole in my head.
“I want a few days to recoup,” I said.
“I’ll have three more corpses to deal with in three days,” Mickey said.
“There are more hunters than me at your disposal. Use them.”
“None like you. You’re good.”
“Use someone else, damn it. I need a few days. You don’t pay my bills.”
“Fine. I’ll do the best with what I got. Don’t forget our gathering.”
“You do that, and I wish I could.”
He hung up, not happy, but at that point I didn’t give a shit.
I caught my usual four hours, and like always after a clean kill, they were restful.
The morning was the usual. Style my boyish hair, adding the makeup to change my overall appearance so I was fit for work, not play.
Grab a quick bite, drain my coffee cup, and out the door. I had very little time to wait before my bus arrived.
I made it to work early, sat a few minutes at my desk, trying to get a handle on the day ahead, and then the phones started ringing.
I talked people through their problems until lunch, grabbed a sandwich, and spent the rest of my day doing the same damn thing as the morning, always filling out the incident reports I’d need to turn in that night.
My ass was numb when I stood, as always, but the day was finally over.
Wash, rinse, repeat.
I made it through hump day, and then it was Thursday, and then it was Friday.
The week was finally over, and the hidden city waited for nightfall. It was time for the gathering.
When Lucifer fell from grace with his thirteen apostles, before man even walked upright, they hit the ground hard. Their bodies didn’t survive, but their evil essence was still out there, wreaking havoc. Possessed souls, wanting to watch the world burn.
My ride home was uneventful. My night, however, wouldn’t be.
Evil took the shape of humanity, humanity bore its children, and these abominations were eventually labeled The Corrupted. The most famous of them to gather together in the last century, Hitler and his Scoobies. They killed millions, gathering strength from those souls, and would have stopped at nothing, if they hadn’t been thwarted by the God-powered good guys.
I popped a meat pocket into the microwave. My idea of fine dining.
My grandfather was one of the good guys. He had surrendered his divinity for us. He was a Fallen. An angel that had come down from Heaven to save us poor souls, knowing he would never return unto God until his mortal death, many years later. Something he looked forward to. Me, I remember him a sad man.
Knee pads, elbow pads, helmet, and inline skates.
Yeah, I said it, inline skates. More control than a skateboard.
Denim over spandex completed my look.
I was headed to my very first gathering, keeping myself in shape at the same time. I may age slower than the rest of humanity, but that doesn’t mean my body stays the same. I was pushing fifty, after all, but still looked like I was twenty. I was told repeatedly I was cute, had a tight and shapely ass, and was meaty in all the right places, slim everywhere else.
My ginger hair was cut short, but still made it to the bottom of my ears. Nobody but a fucking idiot would mistake me for a boy. I could work the curves.
Less was better for my makeup. For work I added angles, creating the illusion of age along with my years of experience.
My off-time meant I rounded my face, taking off a few years. I now looked about fifteen, with properly lined blow-job eyes.
I avoided everyone and everything, including a big pile of dog shit in the middle of the sidewalk. Why can’t people clean up after their pets?
The city proper gave way to the ghetto, and I cloaked myself with a fuck-with-me-and-I’ll-kill-you-all ’tude that transmitted that message to all concerned in no uncertain terms. They received that message as this cunt can and will take care of your business . . . end of story. Though all was unspoken, they could feel it to the very bottom of their worthless souls.
Yeah, I have power, being one of the nephilim. Lots of power, but rarely use it.
I was on my way to the oldest cemetery in the city. The one even the lowest of the low dare not invade.
The cemetery had become overgrown, and during the day, hardly noticeable. The walls and gate were high, made of native stone and cold iron, and only those like me could actually enter. The overgrown nature of the place would only let those of power, pass.
In the center of the cemetery stood an ornate mausoleum, guarded all four corners by stone angels that in reality, were all too true. They were the angels who chose neutrality, rather than sides during the first war in Heaven. Punished for their indiscretion to forever guard the one place on Earth that needed such protection. Ground zero. The place where Lucifer hit.
From what I understood, he had been stripped of his wings, his beating heart ripped from his chest, and had gained enough speed in his descent to leave a crater a half mile wide, or, just about the size of this cemetery.
Time filled the crater in, and nature fossilized his bones. That was just about the time humanity learned to walk upright and think their first real thoughts. That also marked the time the mausoleum appeared, with the four angels to guard it.
The tombstones, the gate, the walls surrounding it, all were added by our kind before this city was even built. The natives that later migrated to the area avoided this place, knowing this was a supernatural construction, and that the soil inside had soured.
The glamour of indifference was added later, according to my grandfather, as white English settlers migrated up and down the coast, and then west.
And he should know, since he was the one that, according to him, had invoked that powerful spell in the first place.
“Back away,” Chani said from behind someone’s shitmobile, “slowly.”
Chani was young. Long blondish-brown hair, with a pretty enough face and body to somewhat piss me off. I was about to say something bitchy, when I felt . . . something bad.
“We just arrived when we heard the screams,” she said. “Jason, he ran in to help . . .”
I could see blood oozing out of the stones near the gate, when a face began to mold itself out of the rock. Jason’s perfect face. I crouched down, watching something I hadn’t thought possible.
Eyes wide, screaming his silent scream of pain, he suddenly stopped, and his stone eyes seemed to focus on us. His lips moved in an effort to tell us something.
“I hear nothing,” I said. “Can you read lips?”
Chani looked at me through her tears. “He threw me back, just as they took him.”
“What took him?” I asked.
“Phantasms,” Mickey said, joining us in our crouch. Mickey was about a hundred years older than me, but looked like he was in his late twenties. Long black hair, rounded face. His gut said he liked pizza and beer, probably too much. “He keeps repeating the word, over and over. No, I don’t read lips, but I can sound it out based on what I see. Anybody else inside?”
The stone face slowed, and finally stopped moving.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“He’s gone,” Chani said.
“He is,” Uriel said, “but we’re not. Regroup at the warehouse. Don’t leave that protection. I’ll see everyone left alive, there.”