--

The little boy walked up the hill, holding his basket of flowers. The fog hung low, but he could see the cemetery in the distance, old and cracked and still. The mausleum was there, just as it always was, but the wolf wasn't.

Instead, there was a man. His face was blurry, impossible to define, but he was hurt. The little boy knelt beside him and took a sharp rock from the ground. He used it to cut his arm, pressing it deep into the flesh until blood rolled down his skin in cool droplets. The starving man leaned forward and pressed his lips against the wound, drinking slowly but desperately.

Afterwards the man looked at the little boy, and his bloodstained mouth said 'Thank you'. The little boy smiled.


Slowly Kurt opened his eyes. There was pain in his back from where he'd been slumped against a tree trunk, and he frowned, pushing himself up slowly. Rubbing his legs together made him suddenly aware of wetness between them, and he realized he wasn't wearing any pants.

Oh.

Memories of the night before cascaded upon him, and his throat went completely dry. Heat flooded his face, shame and confusion and a slew of emotions he couldn't place, and he cursed under his breath as he pushed himself to his feet and searched about for his trousers. He used the leg of one to dab away some of the moisture, which--god, there was so much of it, his own fluids mixed with spit--and he gnawed at his lip and rinsed the leg of the pants in the creek before tugging them back on.

How mortifying.

Leaves crunched nearby and Kurt turned to see Jake and Kitty approaching the creek, no doubt coming to retrieve him so they could continue the next leg of their journey. Kurt flushed and spun on his feet at the sight of them, his heart pounding. Had Blaine told them what had happened?

No doubt, he answered himself. He's probably gloating about it right now, and he'll probably never let me forget, that bastard--

His panic began to grow, even when Jake said nothing and handed him some dried meat and another apple to eat for breakfast. Kurt followed them back up the hill with trepidation, and saw that the vampyrs were regrouping to set out for the next leg of their journey. His eyes fell upon Ryder, who was seated on a nearby rock as Marley tended to his wounds from the night before. Their eyes met for a brief moment but Kurt quickly looked away, unwilling to have any contact with him just yet.

"Let's get moving," said the voice of the other person Kurt was in no hurry to reunite with. His stomach tightened at the sight of Blaine, who was at the head of the company with the older vampyrs, including Puck and a black-haired girl Kurt had never spoken to before. There was a tall blonde man as well, who put his hand on Blaine's shoulder and motioned over to where Kurt was standing.

Kurt's jaw tightened as Blaine walked slowly toward him, motioning for the others to start moving the company forward.

"Good morning," Blaine murmured, lips turning lightly upwards as he looked over Kurt from head to toe.

"Good morning," Kurt replied in turn, his face carefully expressionless. "Have you come to be a scoundrel? Because I'm not in the mood."

"Not at all," Blaine replied, amused, and then, to Kurt's surprise, handed over his red cloak. "Take this. You humans are hardly useful when you're cold. We can't have you collapsing on us."

"Thank you," said Kurt delicately, used to the backhanded comments by now. "And if you plan on gloating--"

"I don't," Blaine interjected. "Unless you'd like me to." He leaned in slightly. "Shall I describe how you taste?"

Kurt's faced burned and he rolled his eyes, snatching the cloak from Blaine and throwing it over his shoulder as he stormed past him. Fury curled in his belly, at Blaine for confusing him like this on a journey to be presented as some sort of offering, like a lamb for slaughter--and at himself for letting it happen.

For enjoying it.

He held the cloak around his shoulders as they walked, scaling the rest of the grey, featureless forest, and Kurt was glad to leave the wretched place behind. He walked purposefully, keeping his head held high, but his thoughts were raging a terrible battle in his head. A tangle of emotions had formed there, with confusion and shame at the forefront, and he wished he had someone to talk to. He missed Rachel.

It didn't help that Blaine was being so--well, he wouldn't go so far as to call it chivalrous, but he was being borderline polite and it was unnerving. He kept adjusting the cloak around Kurt's shoulders and allowed him to take small breaks when he got tired. It left Kurt wondering how long it would last.

They stopped in another small woods that evening, and Kurt felt his magical senses prickle the moment he set foot in it. The air felt heavy, as if it had been spread with jam, thick and cloying above him. Noises, little voices like snickering were in every bush and thicket, and he was profoundly unnerved. He could remember tales his mother told him about dark magic--evil magic, the sort that he was to never dabble in, magic that spilled blood and twisted souls and cursed the air around it.

He didn't want to be here.

There was no telling the vampyrs this, despite their being victim to the same magic he could feel surrounding every particle of air around them. He wasn't at all concerned for their safety anyway, he reasoned, but still felt uneasy as he left them to make his bed somewhere he hoped Ryder wouldn't find when night fell in earnest and the wildness took over.

When alone Kurt was forced yet again to face his thoughts, to try and untangle them to little to no avail. He'd blamed the change in Blaine's demeanor for his complacency, for his surrender, but there had been something else going on. Something else was happening, something dangerous and foreign, battling in Kurt's heart, and it sickened him.

He raped me, Kurt thought. He took me away from my famiy and friends and then he raped me. And now he's giving me away like I'm some kind of exotic pet. He's a monster. I hate him. I hate him--

As he gathered leaves for his bedding he suddenly heard a strange sound from several yards away. It didn't sound anything like the vampyrs--it was hollow, echoing, everywhere.

A woman. Moaning.

Something about the sound drew Kurt in, enveloped him like tendrils of smoke that wound about his limbs and tugged. He walked through the brush slowly, following the sound until he reached the opening of a small tunnel underneath a large tree. It dipped low into the ground, and Kurt could see candlelight flickering in its depths.

Carefully and quietly Kurt descended the slope until the forest was behind him and he'd entered what seemed to be a small cave. The thick scent of burning incense masked the odor of several dead animals that had been hung around the ceiling, and Kurt pushed through a doorway made of hanging vines to find what was unmistakably a witch's hut.

It was dimly lit, heavily perfumed and covered in artifacts--some mundane, others demonic in appearance; Kurt saw a chair near the corner that he was horrified to discover was made from human bone, and he could see candles nestled in the bottom halves of shattered skulls. Immediately he felt the dark magic close around him, the sheer evil of the place, deep and penetrating and terrible.

He didn't belong here.

The moaning was definitely louder now, and it was coming from behind a pair of black curtains. They were somewhat sheer, so Kurt could make out what was happening--and when he glanced closer, he gasped loudly.

Two women were on a straw mattress, fervidly making love. The raven-haired woman lay on her back, naked and writhing as the blonde one pressed her face in between her legs. The blonde woman licked and sucked and devoured much in the way Blaine had done to Kurt the night before, and Kurt was transfixed. He knew he ought to look away, to give them privacy--but the sight of the raven-haired woman's face, the volume of her moaning, the pleasure she was experiencing... It was enthralling.

It made Kurt hot all over.

"Like what you see?" came a voice from behind, making his heart jump into his throat.

He spun around to see another blonde woman, who was also dressed in black robes that left little to the imagination. She had intelligent, deep green eyes that seemed unblinking like a snake's, and she was smiling calmly at him.

"I-I'm terribly sorry," said Kurt, flushing from head to toe. "I didn't mean-- I'll just--"

The woman placed a finger on his lips, silencing him. "Come," she said softly, her voice deep and raspy and laced with ageless wisdom. She moved fluidly away from where the other two women were entangled and sat cross-legged on the chair made of human bone. Kurt followed, both mesmerized and terrified.

"My name is Quinn," the woman said. "You are a witch, are you not? Tell me your name."

"Kurt," he replied, his throat dry. "And you're correct, but--but I don't believe I'm quite the same kind as you and your friends are."

"You are correct," parroted Quinn, her snake-eyes flashing. "Travelers have called my sisters and I many things, but we are known most commonly as the Unholy Trinity. I see you've met Santana and Brittany."

Kurt blushed and nodded as Santana let out another moan from beyond the curtain.

"We are sisters in magic," Quinn continued. "In blood oath. We have made many oaths, as you can you see..." She pushed a spellbook toward him, and he stared at it in numb horror. It was crudely bound in thick, leathery material that Kurt didn't want to believe was human skin, even though it undoubtedly was.

"Is there something we can do for you?" Quinn continued in her low purr of a voice. "You must have come here for a reason. Your power drew you here, didn't it?"

Kurt swallowed as Santana's moaning got louder and more frantic. He didn't need to look to know that she was climaxing, and the sound of it made him shudder, made him ache between his legs.

"I don't want anything," he said breathlessly, his throat dry. "I-- I cannot consort with your kind. Your magic is for dark things, evil things. My magic is for healing."

"Is that truly what you believe?" said Quinn, leaning back in her chair. "It's a pity, really. You have so much power that you haven't even started to discover."

Kurt's eyes widened. "What do you mean?"

Quinn smiled and glanced over at the black curtain, behind which Santana and Brittany were embracing and caressing one another. She looked back over at Kurt, who was squirming uncomfortably, and gestured for him to sit.

He obeyed, sitting with his back straight and his knees pulled tightly together. Something moved near his feet and he sucked in a gasp as he saw a snake slithering around the legs of his chair. It made its way over to Quinn and she lifted it up, resting it over her shoulders and stroking it as if it were a cat.

Kurt wrestled with something internally, and it was almost as if Quinn knew exactly what he was thinking about. She stood and wandered to a nearby table, and took a large bowl in hand before bringing it back and setting it before Kurt. A strange, mist-like substance swirled within it, faint purple in color, descending to depths far past the bottom of the bowl.

"Will you look within it?" she asked softly. "It will show you anything, anyone you wish to see."

Kurt stared in awe. He had heard of witches who had acheived the ability to see far beyond the limits of their eyes, but such power usually came at terrible cost. He couldn't imagine what dark things Quinn had to have done to achieve such power.

Who she'd hurt. Killed.

"Well Kurt?" Quinn murmured, her eyebrow raised. "Will you look?"

Kurt shifted in his chair, wringing his hands. He was fearful to touch such magic, but his desire became too great to deny.

"I want to see my father," he blurted out. "Please, show me my father."

A light flashed through the mist like a bolt of lightning, and it swirled quickly around the bowl before it parted to reveal an image much like a reflection in water. Kurt leaned close and gasped as his house came into view--specifically, his father's bedroom. His heart clenched as he saw his father lying in bed, pale and sweaty with fever, in terrible pain. Rachel and Adam were there tending to him, but they both looked anxious, and Kurt felt his entire world melt around him as he stared at his father's face.

The scene disappeared, and Kurt stumbled back, dizzy with horror and grief.

"What did you see?" asked Quinn in her soft, low voice, but Kurt couldn't answer right away.

He's dying. The words repeated themselves over and over in his head, in time with his frantic heartbeat. He's dying. He's dying.

He felt like passing out.

Just then the black curtain rustled and Santana walked out, wrapping a sheer black robe around her naked body. She looked over at Kurt and smirked, draping herself over the back of Quinn's chair. Brittany followed, walking close to Kurt and peering at him as if he were a mildly interesting animal.

"You've caught a little mouse, Quinn," she murmured. "He looks delicious. Can I eat him?"

Kurt recoiled, frightened, but Santana reached over and tugged Brittany away. Quinn's eyes were on Kurt.

"Well?" she said, fixing her eyes on him. Kurt felt dizzy, reeling, and knew that his next question would seal his fate.

"Do you have anything for--for ailments of the heart?" His hands gripped his knees tightly, sweating. "My father is sick, and I-- I've tried everything, every spell, and nothing has worked. I must know if your magic can help, if mine cannot. Please. He is-- He is dying."

Quinn looked mildly impressed.

"I must say I'm surprised," she said softly. "I thought you would ask for a way to escape the vampyrs, or to get revenge on the one who harmed you."

Kurt swallowed. "I'm afraid of what that would entail," he admitted in a low voice, fear curling in his heart. "Of what I would become."

Quinn's eyes flashed. "Very well," she said smoothly and stood from her chair, her black robes sliding down her legs. The snake slithered off her shoulders and onto the table nearby, where
Kurt could see spell components scattered about. There were the standard herbs and compounds, but Kurt knew better than to assume that the bones and bits of tanned flesh had once belonged to animals.

He still felt sick, and deeply unnerved by the way Santana and Brittany were staring at him from where they were draped around the bone chair like cats. Quinn had began rustling through a few cupboards, grabbing ingredients, and then she began to work. Kurt watched in awe at her grace and speed, but found he had to look away when she murmured the incantation. The words were dark and terrible to hear, and he could feel the heaviness of evil in the air, of blood, of death.

When Quinn was done she moved back to her chair, holding a small cloth bag in her hand. She sat in between Santana and Brittany, who crouched catlike near her legs. Santana ran her hand over Quinn's leg and thigh, stroking the exposed skin, and Quinn let out a little moan of appreciation.

"S-so that will work?" Kurt asked as Quinn placed the cloth bag on the table. "You are certain?"

Quinn nodded. Kurt reached across the table to take the bag, but she held it back, her eyes flashing again in a way that made Kurt think of some kind of predatory lizard.

"Not so fast," she purred. "You haven't asked what we want in return yet."

A lump formed in Kurt's throat, large and tacky and obtrusive. "What must I do?" he asked, filled with dread.

"You are to give me a gift," Quinn said simply. "A promise for a favor returned. Something within you that I will be in need of when the time arises. For now, I merely require a drop of your blood, to seal our contract." Her eyes flashed. "Will you do this?"

Kurt was tense, fighting against every fiber within him that demanded he walk away, forget the arrangement altogether or else risk damning his soul for eternity. His mind was stuck on the image of his father's face, though--so pale, twisted in pain, alone.

Because I left, Kurt thought. I left and the last thing I said to him was something terrible. I didn't even say goodbye--

A tear rolled down his cheek and he stubbornly brushed it away. "You must promise me," he said in a shaky voice, looking Quinn in the eye. It didn't matter that her eyes seemed to drill holes through his ribcage, to the very heart of him. "That medicine must be delivered to Burt Hummel in Shady Hollow."

"A blood pact cannot be broken," Quinn reminded him, her voice patient.

"All right then," Kurt croaked, and extended his hand. "I will give it. Take my blood."

Quinn wasted no time in seizing his hand and slitting his finger with a knife. He winced, watching as the red blood dripped into the bowl below it, turning the mist from purple to a faint rust. Quinn did the same, and Brittany and Santana watched gleefully nearby, looking still very much like cats watching their prey flail helplessly before them.

Once it was done Kurt pulled his hand back, holding it close to his heart. He felt numb.

"It is done," said Quinn. "Our contract is sealed."

"May I eat him now?" Brittany asked hopefully, and Santana shushed her.

Kurt slowly backed away from the table, feeling faint. He could hear the voice of his mother clearly then, warning him to never touch the darkness, to never let it in. Now he could feel the darkness in him swimming through his blood--all the anger and sorrow and jealousy and petty irritation he'd ever felt, the parts of him he stowed away when he practiced healing magic, rearing their heads at once. Darkness moved in him, ever-present--and for once, he hadn't pushed it away. He had let it take hold.

He turned and left as quickly as he could.

--

Kurt made his way back up toward the mossy area he'd found before, so overwhelmed he feared he might pass out. He moved to sit up against a tree, closing his eyes as he tried to pull himself together.

He wandered--thinking of his father, of Rachel, of Adam. Of the vampyrs, of his fate. Of Blaine. His world was a storybook with the ending cut off, convoluted and beyond belief, and it was almost laughable how quickly and thoroughly it had changed.

He tugged his knees up to his chest and breathed slowly, sitting there for what seemed like hours. Slowly magic surrounded him, permeated the air around him, and sunk into him. It stirred his blood and pulsed in his veins, and Kurt fell easily under a spell that took hold swiftly and quietly, stealing his thoughts and twisting them into something unrecognizable as his own.

At once Kurt opened his eyes and pushed himself to his feet, and began walking back toward the vampyr's camp.

A fire was roaring in a pit below, casting dim light over the clearing, and Kurt could see various animal parts scattered about the ground. He moved carefully and quietly, darting between the trees and maintaining his distance as he peered over the side of the small cliff to where the vampyrs were gathered.

What he saw made him gasp out loud. Most of the vampyrs were eating or sleeping, but some of them were very much awake and engaging in activities that made the back of Kurt's neck turn red-hot. He could see Puck lying down near the bonfire as Quinn straddled his lap, bucking her hips as she rode his cock. He was lying flat, and every time he bent a little she shoved him back down with her hands and rode him harder.

Kurt found himself staring, and it was only when something moved in his peripheral that he noticed that Quinn and Puck weren't the only one engaging in such activities. Brittany was leaning back against Santana, who stroked her breasts and kissed her as the blonde vampyr Kurt had seen with Blaine before stuck his head between her legs. Just a few yards away Kurt could see Jake and Ryder holding Marley between them, alternating between kissing her and each other.

It was as if a cloud of sex and abandon had descended upon them, and Kurt had to attribute it to the witches. They had almost certainly cast some sort of spell on the lot of them, drowning them in a haze of desire, and Kurt was far from exempt-- In fact, he found himself responding physically to the sights in front of him more than he'd ever thought he would, shivering and aching with every groan and slide of flesh around him.

He needed to find Blaine.

His eyes sharp, he wandered around the edge of the small cliff until he found Blaine lying down near a gathering of rocks, sound asleep. Kurt moved slowly toward him, feet padding on the moss around him, near silent. Blaine stirred and Kurt froze in his tracks, not yet far gone enough to forget the fear that was always there in the presence of this man.

Not yet far gone enough, but getting there.

Blaine blinked his yellow-red eyes as Kurt continued edging closer until he was kneeling beside him. Blaine sat up, bleary and confused, his eyes unfocused and dark with lust.

Kurt pushed gently on his shoulders, easing him back down as he moved one leg over his lap, straddling him. The spell had taken hold of the both of them, drawing them together inexorably, pulling on something that had connected them long ago. Whatever it was, it was feeding the sex magic that the witches had cast upon them, and Kurt was drowning in it.

What happened next was a blur, a flurry of frenzied movement that didn't lend itself to thought. Blaine hitched his slacks down and stroked his thick, hard cock, eyes burning up at Kurt as the other boy slipped off his own trousers and pushed his tunic above his hips. At the sight of Kurt's half-naked body Blaine tried to sit up again, but Kurt simply shoved him back down, knees pressing into the dirt as he spread his legs on either side of Blaine's hips and plunged himself down.

Blaine let out a gutteral sound as his cock was swallowed by the heat of Kurt's pussy, stretching it and filling it, and his hands gripped the other boy's slender hips to maneuver his body up and down. His back arched off the dirt, sweat glistening orange in the firelight, and he grunted and growled and moaned as he fucked ruthlessly up into Kurt.

The sex was raw and animal, a writhing tangled mess of dirty flesh, spurred only by a physical need to fuck and nothing else, and Kurt was reveling in it. His eyes were half-lidded and dazed as he bucked his hips, fucking himself on Blaine's cock, groaning at the girth of it and the way it pressed hard against his upper walls, making him shiver. His debut into sex had been forced, had been unimaginable pain and violation, but he had no memory of it right then. All he felt then was pleasure--the scent of his own juices as they spilled down his thighs, the slapping of skin on skin, and the way he seemed to be dominating Blaine effortlessly with every movement of his hips.

'You have so much power', Quinn had said, 'that you haven't even started to discover.' He hadn't had to ask what she meant--he knew, even if he'd never thought about it before.

Kurt tilted his head back and groaned as the slight angle of bending back created even more delicious friction inside of him, and he reached down to rub at his clit as he fucked himself harder, faster. Blaine's movements were frenetic, a desperate attempt to plunge himself even deeper into the wet heat, and he was panting like a dog as he rutted and bucked and squirmed. Kurt was so close, and soon his screams were added to the cries and moans of the others around him, a chorus of unbridled pleasure. His pussy clenched rhythmically around Blaine's cock, and soon the vampyr was coming as well, spilling deep inside Kurt's body.

The after-effect was instantaneous. Kurt felt exhaustion steal over him, and he pulled himself off of Blaine and curled up immediately beside him. Blaine was still for a moment, breathing heavily, then rolled over top of Kurt, staring down at him in that same curiously protective way that he had the night before. He ducked his head down to nuzzle at his throat, then pulled back just to watch Kurt as the boy beneath him slowly fell asleep.

Kurt dreamed again. The sex magic was still working through his system, coloring all of his thoughts, but as the night grew old Kurt's dreams went to the cemetery again. They went to the woods beyond. They went back to that wild dog that became a man, a man who he saved and who then saved his life in turn so long ago.

And then that man became Blaine.

--