Page 29 of You Only Die Twice

Pain. That’s the only word to describe the sensation flowing through me. This is it. I must be really sick. The last thing I remember is Luka in between my thighs, the coolness of his skin easing some of the fire racing through me. The last time I had a fever this bad, my mother forced me into a cold bath.

Shivers wrack my body as I remember how utterly cold I was. The shivering never stopped, just like now. Tendrils of ice shudder through me, vibrating my body from the force of it, and I’m unable to stop. Groaning, I thrash my head back and forth as an ungodly pressure builds in my gums. It’s as if my teeth are trying to pop out of my mouth.

I’ve had dreams like this before. Every time I woke up, I felt around my mouth, making sure my teeth were still there, but this is different. Instead of a muffled ache, or a dulled pressure, this is searing pain. Sharp pinpricks explode around my gum line and don't relent. When I try to raise my hand to feel for what’s causing me so much agony, I can’t.

Nothing moves.

I’m immobile. Strapped down with invisible bonds.

I can hear soft whispers fluttering about me. Though I can’t make out the words, they’re coaxing, soothing. I long to open my eyes to see who’s talking. Right now, I can't make sense of anything I’m feeling or hearing. If only I could see, maybe that would put the pieces together.

Deep in my body, it feels as if my soul is being ripped from me. The pressure is intense, a literal ripping from the inside out. If I wasn't lying down, if I didn’t feel anything solid under me, I could easily convince myself that I was actually being pulled inside out.

My stomach churns as pain rips through my intestines like a hot knife stabbing into me over and over. I cry out, desperate for any form of relief, but it never comes. The only thing anchoring me, keeping me from losing my shit completely, are the cool hands smoothing over my feverish body as I fall apart.

The nurse never implied something as horrible as this. Is Lizzy suffering the same fate? Jackson? Luka? Those are the only names my brain allows me to latch onto. Everything else is fuzzy. My memories melt the moment I try to latch on, as if my entire being is being broken down into nothing. Is that what I will become? Nothing?

The murmuring becomes louder, and I feel the sensations of their hands a lot clearer. Instead of the perfunctory touch of a dispassionate doctor, the hands rove over my body, taking ownership of every bit of me. They pinch my nipples, spread my lower lips. It’s invasive. It’s wrong. Why are they touching me like this while I’m dying?

“You’re not dying, my dramatic girl.” The voice near my ear is cold, crisp, with a bite of an accent. Luka. Somehow, knowing he’s there makes me feel a bit better. It’s at least not some random doctor molesting me.

A soft chuckle brushes against my skin on the other side. “Would you like us to molest you?” This voice is so familiar. It’s cool, detached, just like Luka, but without the Russian lacing his words. It could only be Jackson. I almost sob as I turn my cheek towards him.

It’s not that I crave him over Luka exactly, but instinctively, I know he’s somehow safer. In my dreams, he was the one to piece me back together, to hold me, to comfort me.

Ahhh, my dear, sweet little Katrina. If you think I’m the lesser of the two evils, I cannot wait to show you my new side. I think you’ll crave this new me more than you did the man on the ship that ravaged you through the storm.

The words bounce around in my skull, as if they are my own thoughts. What the fuck is happening?

“Very good, Jackson,” Luka murmurs on the other side of me. “You’re taking to being a sire so well.”

Sire? What is happening? Again, I try to move, but I can’t. The weight of a body on top of me keeps me still. I find that I can move my hands and fingers, but that’s about it. I’m still weak. So very weak, but the pain lessens as my world becomes sharper, clearer.

Hungry.

Thirsty.

Ravenous.

That’s the overriding feeling that clenches my stomach. It’s not for food. The idea of consuming anything solid makes me want to gag again. Nausea swirls through my body but simmers down as I turn my brain away from what I would normally eat and drink when I’m sick and onto the two men sandwiching me between them.

No longer is their skin cold to me. I don’t know exactly when that part happened, but maybe that means my fever is breaking. I might live after all. My eyelids flutter as I continue to force them open but keep failing. Groaning, I let my head tip back as darkness consumes me.

It’s there for barely a moment. If I wasn’t so attuned with myself, I might have missed it, but for one moment, one terrifying moment, there was nothing. It was a black, gaping hole with a pinprick of light at the very end.

Death.

It was there.

I could reach out and touch it, embrace it, end the pain that continues to twist at my body even though it lessened considerably. Wetness coats my face. Tears perhaps? Is it the longing for death? The craving to go to that light, to end it all? Despite how hard I reach, it dances away, just hovering at my fingertips.

Sobs rack my body as it zooms further away until I’m back in the darkness. The wetness becomes more than just a sensation. It’s a movement, a rasping at my face. Tongues lap at my skin as if to lick up my tears. But why?

As I roam about, searching for that light, more sensations illuminate my body. It’s no longer just pain. Pleasure arcs through me, dispelling the remaining tendrils of agony. Fingers slide deep inside my pussy, pulling me back away from the yawning darkness and to the present.

Soon, the fingers slip away as my body is moved, maneuvered into a new position. I’m still limp, unable to fight them off as my hips are forced around the body of another. The blunt prodding of a cock at my entrance registers, but I can’t stop it. Perhaps all of this is still just a dream.

Oh no, my little kotenok. This is no mere dream. This is your eternal nightmare. Embrace it, my lunnyy svet. You now belong to the two most powerful men in Russia. Your creamy thighs surround my underling, your Master. Your pussy spreads as he impales you, claiming you as ours. Can you take both of us, my dragotsennyy? Can your body handle being stretched to the point of breaking as we fill you so completely that any other fucking male will pale at the thought of us?