This may be the end of this road. We shall see if the Muse decides to carry us on.... Perhaps one more....
Unbetaed, so I apologize for errors.
Oh... and remember I said it would get dark? DARK! Squick!
They arrived in a clearing, snow heavy and thick on the ground. Bella could feel her feet freezing, the shock of the cold waking her completely. Her breath steamed in a cloud in front of her so thick that it seemed to obscure her vision.
That’s when her father took her arm, leading her a bit roughly to the circle of bodies interspersed with torches. Bodies dressed head to toe in black, covered by long cloaks. It was only when they reached the opening in the circle and Bella was roughly propelled through by her father that she noticed the masks they all wore. Stumbling a bit, her feet numb with the cold, she turned to look at her father for reassurance, but he had donned a mask, too, and she couldn’t tell which of the three in the direction she’d come he was.
Her body thrilled with fear, her stomach tightening.
“Bella,” she heard, a soft sibilant whisper.
She turned towards her name and there He was, his eyes brighter than before, flickering scarlet in the red light of the torches.
As soon as she saw him, she forgot her cold feet, forgot her fear.
He was the only thing that existed for her.
“Come here,” he commanded, and she obeyed. Heaven help her, she obeyed, her steps crunching through the crust of the snow.
“Bella,” he said, once more reaching out to her, this time stroking one finger down her porcelain cheek. “You are young yet, Bella, and perhaps in your youth fail to appreciate the ravages of time, but around you are men who feel them keenly: My Knights in the Battle against Death. I alone have managed to travel the road to Immortality, towards true power, to defeat the one eventuality that all men, Mudblood and Wizard alike, must face. But now… now my Great Work requires a vessel, and I, in my generousity, have chosen you….”
Bella was shivering now, but not with the cold. Cold was forgotten. Now, she shivered with anticipation and excitement. She alone had been chosen by this man. No. He was more than a man. Much more. He was a sun, a source of gravity, sucking her in. She couldn’t think, and found that she didn’t want to.
Slowly, she curtseyed deeply. “Master,” she whispered.
That same chill smile stretched Voldemort’s mouth, his hand going to her hair, stroking it, petting her like a faithful dog, his eyes boring into hers.
As she looked into his eyes, she felt a strange sensation come over her, her body, her will, which had already been gone, crumbled to dust.
His hand moved to her throat, feeling the warmth of her flushed skin, her pulse beating in the graceful column of her neck, then unfastened her cloak, letting the heavy velvet puddle at her feet and leaving her clad only in a thin silk shift.
Her nipples immediately hardened into peaks in the cold, and around the circle a collective breath was drawn.
Slowly his hands slid down her throat to the neckline of her shift, his fingers curling through the sheer fabric, gathering it in his hands, her hemline slowly creeping up to reveal her ankles, her calves, her knees....
He paused there a moment, then continued to lift it, exposing her thighs, then her mound, her lips outlined by the fringe of black hair.
The men around the circle held their breaths as their Master slowly revealed the nubile young woman, finally lifting the cloth entirely, showing her nude body.
As slow as his movements had been before, now he moved as quickly as a snake, his fingers buried in her hair as he spun her around, roughly pushing her onto the stone slab.
Bellatrix felt the stone, rough and cold on her back, colder even than the air. The violence of how she found herself on her back make her gasp, her eyes shining, her young body becoming aroused as she felt the heated gazes of the men moving over her, their looks a burning contrast to the freezing air.
Just as her heart began to slow, she heard the sound of metal rattling against stone, but didn’t turn her head to look, her eyes fastened on Lord Voldemort’s back as the chains curled around her wrists and ankles, securing her to the rock like a sacrifice to the gods.
His smile was cool as his eyes traveled around the circle of men, though few met his direct gaze. Moving to the prone girl, he met her eyes last, then slowly trailed one finger down her chest, between her breasts, over her mons to slip between her folds and trace lightly the tight nub. He chuckled softly to find her so wet, so ready for him.
“So ready,” he murmured. “Tell me, child, what are you ready for?” he asked as his finger slowly slipped into her untried opening.
“What ever you wish me to be ready for, Master,” she said softly.
“Amazing how a child like this is able to grasp that, when so many of you fail to do so,” he hissed lightly. “So many of you think to question.”
His eyes once more roamed over the group, even as his fingers began to stroke into her cunt, stretching her and making her flesh burn with pain and need, drawing a soft mewling out of her.
“She does not think to question her master or her father. You should all take a lesson from her,” he said, beginning to pump his finger faster, his thumb brushing over her clit. “Her answer should be your answer. And because of her answer, she will be rewarded,” he said, his eyes once more going to hers. “Come for me, child. Let them see how you belong to me,” he commanded, his thumb moving faster on her bundle of pleasure until with a gasp she felt her body shudder with a profound release.
Once more, his face bore a cold smile as he stepped back from the girl, leaving her bound to the stone, his fingers streaked with blood from her hymen. He raised them to his lips, his tongue snaking out and licking them clean.
“Cygnus,” he said in a low voice, his lips stained with her blood.
“Yes, Master,” Cygnus answered, his voice quavering slightly.
“Did you question me, when I decided to use your daughter for this attempt?” he asked.
“No, my Lord,” Cygnus answered, relieved that it was a question he could answer.
“No. You wanted to, but you did not. You knew that I had a plan, and that I would not demand your daughter lightly. But you did not question me, you brought your daughter as asked. And for that, you, too shall be rewarded,” he purred.
“Thank you, my Lord,” he said softly, falling to his knees as he felt relief flow through him, stretching out the knees of his trousers and getting them wet from the snowy, muddy ground.
“Yessss. You gave me your daughter when I asked for her. Now... now I shall give her back to you. Rise, Cygnus, and take her,” he said softly.
Cygnus felt as though the world had dropped out from under him, thinking that he had misheard. Slowly, he stood, his eyes starting in his head. “Take her, my lord?”
“Yes, Cygnus. Take her. Show us that you know what to do with a woman and that it’s not your lack of skills between a woman’s thighs that have kept your wife from giving you a son,” he goaded him.
Helplessly, Cygnus looked around the circle of men, looking for support to refuse, but he found none. Instead, what met him were slack-jawed expressions as their minds had shut down with lust. The rest had glee shining in their eyes, pleased to see one of the Blacks squirming in discomfort.
Seeing no other choice, he closed his eyes, glad that his mask was on to help cover the self-loathing he was sure was blatantly on his face as he unfastened his trousers. His cock didn’t want to respond today, laying limp against his thigh as he tried to force himself to be aroused... aroused to take his own daughter.
The jeers from the others in the circle brought him out of his thoughts and made him once more present to the situation he found himself in.
He closed his eyes, then, and thought of the last whore he’d taken, young, with long dark hair, not unlike Bella’s. Opening his eyes again, he stepped forward, standing between Bella’s thighs and looking at her hair, thinking about the whore in her place and pulling on his cock a few times until he finally started to harden.
Biting his lip, he nudged at her folds, carefully not looking at the small pool of blood under her hips where his master had torn open her hymen as he thrust into her tight, wet heat.
Bella had thought that the long, elegantly-tapered finger Voldemort had used on her had filled her, but her father’s thick shaft made her scream, her back arching as she cried out in pain, the chains rattling against the rock.
The scream only goaded Cygnus on, though. Feeling powerless against the Dark Lord, he needed to feel in control once more. Thrusting into her hard and fast, he grunted as he pumped his hips, his buttocks flexing against the black silk of his cloak.
So engrossed in the feel of his daughter’s cunt, he failed to noticed Voldemort coming up behind him.
Bella noticed, though.
As soon as her eyes met his, she forgot the pain of her father rutting on her, lost once more in the Dark Lord’s crimson gaze, willingly suffering for him.
So lost was she, that she didn’t notice when her father let out a strangled gasp, his hips losing the rhythm that had been driving him as he spurted his seed into her, his gasp turning into a cry as he slumped onto her, covering her cold flesh with his warm body.
Slumped forward and didn’t move again, his blood spilling into her hair and making it a sticky mess, his throat slit at the moment of his release by the Dark Lord’s murmured spell.
The silence was deafening as the rest of the Dark Lord’s followers began to grasp what had happened.
Voldemort moved and Bella blinked as she slowly realized what had occurred, terror gripping her belly as her father’s chilling body slowly slid to its knees, his softening shaft sliding out of her body, leaving a bloody trail down her as it fell into the snow at the base of the stone.
“I’m sorry, child. He doubted the plan. But you... you shall be my favorite,” he said softly, his fingers stroking her hair.
Biting her lips as a tear slipped out, she nodded, making him smile at her.
“Bring her cloak,” he snapped at one of the men, who scurried to obey while Voldemort released her bonds, lifting her into his arms and draping the heavy silk velvet over her shoulders.
“I’ll take you home now, child,” he said. “Bring the body,” he said to the man who’d brought her cloak before Apparating with the girl in his arms to the Black family home and carrying her up the stairs to her room.
“Sleep now,” he murmured, laying her in her bed and covering her. “In the morning, this will seem a dream. Wear the blood to remember. You are mine now, and in time, I will come for you.”
Bella wanted to protest, wanted him to stay, wanted him to explain what had happened, but she had learned that lesson well. She didn’t question, she would trust.
“Yes, Master,” she whispered.
He didn’t respond as he stood and Apparated away.
But once he was gone, Bella didn’t obey, didn’t sleep. Instead, she turned on the light, reaching between her thighs to touch herself, smiling when her fingers came away smeared with blood.
Yes... it was real.
And as he said, she was his.