The Unknown: The Unknown

By Diana Woolf

Silver's dying district is filled with gruesome mysteries. He's usually called by local authorities to document the dead, at least when the victims are particularly...unique, either in the manner of their deaths or their species. He's seen too many bodies, and witnessed too much brutality. It only gets worse when he becomes a target of one of the creatures committing the atrocities, someone whose cruelty he's studied for most of his life, the Order's enforcer: Delilah.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Aug 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9781716675454

Diana Woolf

D.W. Woolf is an introverted, non-binary misfit who writes and self-publishes possibly the strangest & darkest science-fiction erotica ever written. They write stories with both heterosexual relationships, LGBTQ characters and relationships, as well as BDSM and Femdom relationships between characters of mythological, science fiction, or fantastical origins.

Book preview

Darrison.

Content Warning

This story contains content that readers may find offensive, including graphic violence, and portrayals of consensual and non-consensual sexual behavior. It also contains depictions of BDSM with Femdom and some hints of Maledom relationships. Please proceed with your own mental health in mind when choosing whether to read this book.

Chapter 1

0026 A.C.E.

The body, its limbs strewn like white sticks, doesn’t surprise Silver, who watches from beside the parked cars. His dark clothes do little to cloak his presence while surrounded by shorter officers and technicians unraveling yellow crime scene tape with grave expressions on their faces.

A detective with tightly curled black hair, and haunted dark eyes approaches him and leans against a car, looking back at the scene. Slash marks all over the body. Throat looks like it’s been ripped out by some grizzly. That your subject’s M.O.?

He nods silently, watching the workers crouch by the emaciated, bruised and bloody figure, briefly lit up by cameras flashing while the living document and take measurements.

For someone not usually in the field, he’s seen too many bodies.

This is messed up as hell. Detective Marshall paces with slow, lethargic steps. Got a good look. The guy suffered before he got to go. Can’t even recognize— She shakes her head.

Silver nods. His pale blue eyes are bloodshot and weighted.

You going to get your pictures, too?

I’ll wait.

Fair enough. She sighs. Sometimes I don’t know why I do this. The whole region’s dying. Might as well let it. Why the hell do we do this?

Because for there to be a people, there have to be a few good ones. Silver’s deep voice is thick with grief.

Yeah, well, we’re outnumbered. Don’t know how you can deal with trying to save people from these monsters.

Silver tilts his head to the side, gaze darting to the rooftop of a building to his right. A bird flies away.

Marshall bites her lip. Hear something?

Silver stares a moment longer, eyes probing into shadows. …Not sure.

* * * *

Come on… Delilah growls low in her throat as she watches a street bathed in shadows, oil stains, and the reflections of old rainwater.

Everything is still, which keeps her nerves prickled. Everything inside churns while everything outside stands still.

When wind blows strands of black hair across her shoulders, she shivers and sighs with relief.

She glances at her watch, tapping the button to see the neon green glow of 2:36 a.m. Just great…

Delilah looks up just in time to miss a silent figure cross the mouth of the alleyway, only its bobbing shadow and a disturbed puddle telling her of its passing.

She narrows her eyes, then springs forward, launching off the roof on uncoiled legs. She catches an upstairs banister of a fire escape and swings to the next, then to a wall, claws and textured gloves gripping the stone as she peers around the upper corner of the building.

A shadow bobs down the sidewalk, as if limping. A gray coat flaps around denim-clad legs and the high collar swallows blinding white hair.

She grins with a hiss and a rumbling growl before climbing onto the roof of the building she clings to.

* * * *

Silver lays his coat down across the couch and sighs as he approaches the window. When he hears a vehicle passing across the wet pavement below, he frowns. The white curtain rustles.

He backs away, the chill in the room giving him goosebumps. He turns and reaches for the gun on the kitchen counter before he turns back around and sees a shapely silhouette cloaked in black, black orbs reflecting the room lit dimly by streetlamps.

Delilah launches forward, and he ducks and spins, but she jumps past him to the wall. Before his ankles can untangle, she launches from the wall and into him. He hits the floor but flips her over so that she lands on her back instead of on top of him.

Silver scrambles for the gun, but she buries her claws in his already hurt leg. He yelps. She drags his foot out from under him before she climbs over his body and grabs a fistful of his hair. He grabs her wrist in an iron grip, but she releases his leg, grabs his arm, and twists to force it behind his back, wrenching upward, slamming him down to the ground using her weight and keeping him there by her grasp on his wrist and hair.

Silver cries out with every yank at his shoulder and hair but bucks to get her off.

Delilah releases his arm and steps to the side, grasps his hair brutally with both hands, yanks his head up and slams it back down onto her upraised knee.

Silver bounces backward, flat onto his back, head swimming. She drapes her body over his, her softness covering everywhere he’s hard. He groans and shifts one leg between hers, which Delilah takes as an invitation to grind herself against him.

She plays with his long white hair.

Silver struggles to ward her off, but she holds him down. He twists his shoulders to try and roll out from under her or roll her over, but she yanks his head flat against the floor by his hair and clamps her jaw around his throat with a vicious snarl.

Silver freezes, breath caught and eyes wide, staring up at the ceiling. His fingers twitch into fists until he feels her thick fangs elongate against his flesh. His hands open and he gasps. His pulse throbs in his head and her hot breath tickles his throat. He wants to swallow but a slideshow of men’s ripped throats plays in his mind, so he chokes down the need, instead.

She breathes hard against him, while he barely breathes. Soon each of her breaths is punctuated by a soft growl, and Silver closes his eyes to pray while his palms sweat.

Delilah shifts her hips, and his eyelids twitch in a flinch.

Her growl stops. Silver holds his breath.

She adjusts her hips again, this time more forcefully in a hard thrust against him.

Silver breathes hard and tries to move a leg, but she clamps her jaws down just hard enough to pinch at his saliva-and-sweat-dampened flesh. He freezes.

Delilah shifts against him again harder. She moves her hips in a circular motion, blatantly grinding her zippered crotch into his.

Silver breathes in sharply.

Her grip on his wrist is hard. The tips of her nails dig in. Her legs shift so her knees support her on either side of his. She raises her hips, then brings her body down in a slam that rocks his, then a hard, slow grind against him. She rumbles low against his neck. His eyes widen, and he slowly hardens in his jeans, his body responding to the warmth from hers.

No—

Delilah presses her fangs harder against his throat to stifle his attempt at protest until he can feel a thin trickle of blood run down one side of his neck. He firmly shuts his lips and goes slack under her as she rubs herself over him, grinding against the friction of his rising erection trapped behind his jeans.

Silver gasps as much as he dares until Delilah releases his hair, and he opens his eyes as the burning in his scalp recedes. She uses that free hand to unzip his pants.

His eyes widen, and against his better judgment, he moves his free hand to stop her. She releases her grip on his neck just to clamp it back down again against his windpipe, and he chokes and gasps in a panicked breath against the bruising pain of it. His hand grips her wrist, but ineffectively, not daring to pull it away as she forces her fingers inside his fly to gently scrape her fingernails against his burning hot skin. He can’t stop his hips from bucking, his strangled plea, or her hand as she wraps her fingers around him in a teasing squeeze that his lengthening prick answers with a throb.

Silver struggles to breathe, and his head swims as she chokes him with deadly fangs and teases him with soft fingers.

Delilah pushes her hand in further, ignoring his stiff prick and gripping his balls. She squeezes gently at first, then hard, and Silver yelps and bucks again. Her jaw’s grip on his throat loosens. She breathes hard against him.

He becomes aware of her breasts squashed against his chest and the rise and fall of each breath, the way their bodies move intimately, even in stillness.

She loosens