Page 33 of The Flesh Remembers
“Yes, yes, please! Please let me come! Please, please let me come!” Tears-streaked Eleanor’s cheeks as her pride left her and she was begging like a common slut but also wanting it more than anything she had ever felt.
“Very good.” Lord Blackwood said with a chuckle. “You are a vision of desire, Eleanor. Very well, you may come for me. Come hard, Eleanor, the harder you come, the more energy it will generate for James.”
Eleanor cried out in relief as she was granted permission. She did not think she could have survived if he had denied her.
“Thank you, thank you,” Eleanor whispered as her body began to seize, and her orgasm took over. Her body shook violently as the orgasm raged, tears continuing to fall not in shame nor strictly in pleasure but in the absolute high of utterly losing control.
James roared, his body arching as the energy surged through him. The galvanic apparatus crackled and hissed, the arcs of light growing brighter and more chaotic.
Eleanor’s cries mingled with the sounds of the ritual, her body writhing as she surrendered completely to the overwhelming intensity. Her vision blurred, her mind fracturing under the weight of the pleasure and pain that merged into a single, devastating force.
At the height of the ritual, she felt James’s presence envelop her, his need and desperation flooding her senses. She felt something else too, buried deep down beneath that burning intensity. It was soft and delicate, as fragile as a baby bird. She felt the love James had for her. She felthim. Eleanor felt it for the briefest of moments before the feral desire and inhuman desperation overshadowed everything else. But it had been there. Eleanor smiled, satisfied with that small bit of him for now and then screamed his name as the final surge of energy tore through her, the silver disk at her throat glowing with a blinding light.
Letter from Marian Collins to her mother
Dearest Mama,
The situation here has changed. I am not sure that I agree with the direction that the project is going, but I do not know what I can do about it. Dr. Fairfax is a very kind and sensible man, but he has his ambitions just as any man, and though he has his misgivings, which he has confessed to me privately, he wants to see the project through to the end. I would like to tell you more details, but I am forbidden from discussing the project with anyone outside the clinic. I am not certain you would believe me even if I could share everything with you.
Recall that I mentioned my new friend, Eleanor, in my last letter. She and I have grown close and feel quite protective of her. The men, Dr. Fairfax and Lord Blackwood, are using her as a means to an end. They are dangling the thing she wants most in all the world in front of her, knowing she won’t be able to resist, knowing she will have to do as they bid her if she wants what they can give her. I feel the need to stand with her, even though there is little I can do against them. But perhaps it is enough just for her to know she has someone on her side.
I wish I could tell you certain things, Mama, but I am not sure you would view me the same way if I did. I have changed here and don’t think all the changes have been good. But I am trying to be a good person. I am trying to do what I believe to be the right thing. I only hope that once this is all over, I can return home to see you and Papa, and we can once again spend summer evenings in the garden listening to the nightingales.
I know I have not asked you this in a long time, Mama, but please pray for me and my friend Eleanor. I do not know if prayers can penetrate this place, but I must ask you to try.
Please don't worry about me. I'll write to you as soon as I can with an update.
Yours with love,
Marian
Taste Her Flesh
When the light faded, the room was eerily quiet. The cultists lay sprawled across the floor, their bodies slick with sweat and their breaths ragged. Eleanor collapsed onto the cushions, her body trembling with aftershocks.
James stepped down from the dais, his movements smooth and deliberate. His eyes were brighter than before, his skin tinged with a faint, unnatural glow. He knelt beside her, his hand brushing her cheek.
“You’ve done it,” he murmured, his voice rich and commanding. “You’ve brought me back.”
Eleanor looked into his eyes, tears flooding her eyes. “James, are you…alive, truly alive?”
He smiled, but there was a darkness in his expression, a shadow of the man he once was. “Alive,” he echoed. “And yours. Forever.”
But as he pulled her into a possessive embrace, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted irreparably, that the man she had loved was now something else entirely.
Even as they stood embracing, she felt James’s arms grow tighter and tighter around her body, his breath became erratic and heavy, and she felt tremors move through his body.
No, something was not right. Not at all.
Marian’s note had been brief, almost cryptic: Come to the infirmary. He’s stirring again.
Her heart pounded as she pushed open the door, the sight within stopping her breath.
James stood at the centre of the room, his decayed form supported by the galvanic apparatus. Sparks danced along the rods, their blue light illuminating the hollows of his face. He was awake, or something close to it. His head tilted slightly, his eyes dark and watchful, but his body barely moved.
Marian was close, too close. Her hands hovered just above James’s chest, trembling as though caught in some unseen force. Her face was flushed, her lips slightly parted, and her gaze locked onto his with a mix of awe and trepidation. Eleanor saw something familiar in the way that Marian was looking at him, and it caused a spark of jealousy to flare within her.
“Marian,” Eleanor said sharply, stepping inside.
