TIMELINE: 12:35am November 1, 2002

Count Bakula's Estate
Logan, Ohio

"Facilis decensis Averno."

'Easy and swift is the descent into hell'. That's one translation. 'The gates of hell are open night and day; Smooth the descent, and easy is the way.' That's another.

I remember others from my studies at Oxford,(every scholar had his own interpretation) but those two stick in my memory. Virgil didn't know how accurate he was when he wrote those words just over 2000 years ago.

I wish I hadn't had the opportunity of validating his vision. The horror and brutality I've just witnessed and, to my complete and utter shame, participated in, will stay with me for all eternity. I'm certain not even death could erase the sights, sounds and smells from my senses and memory.

I thought I had seen every atrocity imaginable, every example of man's inhumanity to man during my career in the FBI, first as a profiler and then on the X-Files.

I was wrong.

I thought I couldn't be subjected to anything worse than what I've already experienced in the last couple of years.

I was wrong.

I thought I had already been to hell and back.

I was wrong.

I look down at the body that lies on the cold stone ground in front of me, drained of blood and life and spirit.

I killed him.

I slit his throat.

I drank his blood.

*&*&*&*&*&*&*&

Count Bakula's Estate

TWO HOURS EARLIER

I could feel my heart beating doubletime in my chest, hear it booming rhythmically in my ears and yet I had never felt so relaxed and at peace. Euphoric was the best description I could think of. It was like a high I never wanted to come down from.

My stomach was pleasantly filled for the first time in years, the almost constant hunger pangs fading quickly into memory. The welts on my back from Bakula's beating no longer stung.

The rings on my cock were only mildly uncomfortable despite my fully aroused state and the additional pressure of the constrictive velvet wrapped around my genitals.

'Family jewels' Father had called them earlier in the day as he supervised Justin massaging my muscles and applying richly scented oil liberally over my chest, belly and buttocks. My ass received special attention with generous amounts of lube pushed deep inside. At Father's command my keeper totally neglected my crotch, leaving me soft and aching for my lover's touch.

I couldn't help the chuckle that escaped hearing Father use that silly euphemism.

Father smiled, an infrequent and beautiful sight, that lit up his eyes and made him appear even more youthful and handsome. Dismissing Justin, he guided me into the dressing room.

"Yes, Fox. They most certainly are jewels; beautiful, rare and precious." Father had caressed my cock to full rigidity with a gentleness I had not thought him capable of. "They deserve to be on display and admired by all." Our eyes met and I felt myself being drawn into the warm hazel depths.

When I first caught sight of the outfit Father's valet had laid out for me, I put up a token protest about having to wear such revealing and skimpy clothes. Father had simply ignored me. He dressed me in the modified pants and tiny bolero jacket, then bound my erect cock and full balls tightly with long strips of soft velvet.

A glass of champagne being pushed into my hand by a servant startled me out of my musings. I took a sip and glanced at Father. He was deep in conversation with our host, seemingly unconcerned that I was drinking.

It took me some time to realize the pounding beats I was hearing was not my heart but drums, loud and primitive, that echoed throughout the massive dome. The sounds were muffled and indistinct though, like a radio slightly off tune. They quickly grew louder as drummers approached from the surrounding tropical vegetation, stirring some of the guests from stupors induced by too much food, alcohol and sex.

Everything around me was blurry and out of focus. I could see a few people struggling to stand up. Many were half naked, most were drunk, some still gorging themselves on the remains of the lavish feast. Servants attended the guests, wiping spilt food, beverages and various bodily fluids from naked flesh, assisting them back into assorted articles of clothing. Dozens of semi-conscious body slaves, ravaged as if they were just another course in the sumptuous feast, were left slumped over chairs or collapsed under tables.

Even the chair beneath me felt insubstantial. The only solid thing in the clearing, the dome, the whole world as far as I knew, was the man at my side.

My hand slid from thigh to groin. I felt my lover huge and hard beneath my fingers and, though my own cock couldn't get any harder in its tight bindings, it began to throb in time with his pulse. My heartbeat slowed down until we were in sync. His hand covered mine as I stroked him and I knew that as long as he was with me I could face whatever was to come.

Little did I know then that not even Father, the most powerful man on Earth, could protect me from the events that were to follow.

"Lord Spender? If you'll allow me to escort you and..."

Our host paused, unsure how to address me, unsure if he should even acknowledge my existence. I sure as hell didn't know my official status and, what's more, I didn't care.

"...you both to the Temple Abyss where the Ritual will take place," Bakula continued, taking the easy way out. He rose and stepped off the dais, gesturing towards the left of the clearing.

"Thank you." Father stood slowly, holding out his arm for me to rest my hand on. An almost overwhelming feeling of pride came over me as I realized he was giving me permission to walk by his side as his consort rather than behind as his slave. The gift of higher status was to last only about five minutes, but I'll forever remember and treasure it.

The few guests able to stand upright without support moved aside while servants and slaves genuflected as we made our way across the dining area.

We halted briefly at the start of a narrow path that led into the forest. Bakula directed the distribution of ceremonial robes made of lightweight black material embroidered with red stitching to some of the more sober guests. I vaguely recognized the patterns as sigils used to summon and, hopefully, control various demons and spirits. They were more than just decoration, added to enhance the menacing atmosphere Bakula undoubtedly wanted to create. They would come into play when the true purpose for the gathering, the sacrificial offering of humans, was enacted.

The robe presented to Father was as white as pure snow. Pentagrams and other ancient symbols of protection were outlined in glittering rubies, sapphires and emeralds. It was a robe fit for a king and Father filled it majestically.

I couldn't tear my gaze away from him. My heart was so infused with love for him I was sure it would burst. Tears of joy and happiness flooded my eyes and ran down my cheeks. Father wiped them away with a gentle touch of his thumb before pressing it to his own lips, tasting me, savouring my love and trust and devotion.

When a servant held out a silver platter, I didn't hesitate to take the items displayed upon it. I knew at once what was expected of me. Without breaking eye contact with Father, I fastened the ruby encrusted collar around my throat. It was tight to the point of slightly restricting my breathing and cold as ice against my flushed skin. I attached the matching leash to a ring above my Adam's apple and, dropping to my knees with head bowed and eyes downcast, offered the looped end to my Master.

"I'm proud to be the Master and owner of such a gloriously beautiful creature," Father announced, his voice dripping with pride. He petted and stroked me like I was a favoured pet. I leaned into his touch, truly content and at peace for perhaps the first time in my life.

Looking out the corner of my eye, I saw that Bakula's massive bulk had been draped in a cloak of deep crimson. He was proudly bragging that it had been dyed with the blood of only the most attractive of those he had sacrificed, young men and boys, born and bred for that very purpose.

"The blood in your boy's veins would enrich the color even further, Lord Spender."

It took all my self control not to react visibly to the Count's comment. Inside I was terrified. Was I to take a greater part in the ceremony than had been previously agreed upon by them? Was that what they had been discussing at the dinner table? Bakula had certainly seemed happy with what he had heard.

Suddenly I felt a wave of calm assurance wash over me.

*Relax, Fox. The Count knows you are denied to him.*

I perceived the words in my mind many seconds before Spender spoke them out loud. He brushed my hair off my sweaty forehead, guiding my face upwards to meet his soothing gaze.

One look from his hazel eyes, one touch of his hand upon my face was all it took to calm my fears, to strengthen my devotion to him. If he had indeed changed his mind, giving me to Bakula to be sacrificed, I would have laid myself on the altar without hesitation in order to please and obey him. I would have loved him even more- if that were possible- for granting me such an honorable opportunity to prove my absolute surrender to his will.

Strangely, I was both relieved and disappointed by his reassurance that I was not destined to be one of the Count's "chosen ones". Relieved because when I die, I want it to be by my Father's hand. He gave me life, he should be the one-the only one- to take it. Disappointed because I had wanted to prove my love and allegiance to him in whatever way he required of me and now he had denied me of that opportunity.

Or had he? There was still the upcoming ceremony in which I had the feeling I would still be playing a part.

I had attended numerous sites of occult activity and devil worship during my time in the FBI. The temples and altars, long since abandoned by Satanists and cult members, were still as creepy as hell, infused by the evil drawn there by spilt blood and charred flesh. The crime scenes were terrifying enough, even days or weeks after the event; I never wanted to be present whilst genuine human sacrifices were taking place. However, I was on my way to witness one firsthand and there was nothing I could do to avoid it.

"You have made yourself perfectly clear in that regard, M'Lord," Bakula said in a light tone, doing a piss poor job at hiding his disappointment.

I shuddered upon hearing his next words, knowing instantly who he had in mind.

"However, due to foolish overindulgence, we lack the required number to complete the Coven Circle." He gestured at the small group that surrounded us. Eleven black-cloaked figures stood silent and still as if already under some sort of spell. "Given your son's interests, he will make an excellent addition."

I gasped in shock at Bakula's audacity. Surely he was kidding. No-one spoke to Father like that and lived to brag about it.

"I've heard he is well-versed in the myths and legends of my beliefs. It would be a pity for you to have travelled all this way just to spectate."

I glanced up at my father to see his reaction. Avoiding my gaze, he barely hesitated before replying, "Fox would be honored to participate tonight."

Only then did he look at me, his eyes void of all feeling and emotion for a flash of a second before shining once more with love and affection.

It's a game to him, I realized. Just a game and he was simply being polite to his host by giving his permission. Though why he thought he had to kow-tow to a sleazy scumbag like Bakula I didn't know. Another idea then occurred to me. *He thinks I want this opportunity,* I thought. * Maybe he considers it a way of apologizing for my earlier mistreatment. He's not a believer like me. He hasn't seen the evil I've seen. He doesn't know how fine the line really is between reality and fantasy, between fact and fiction.*

I know it sounds like I was making excuses for him. I probably was. But I needed to be able to justify his actions in a way that didn't reflect badly on him. I needed to believe beyond all doubt that he wouldn't allow me to be harmed. Without that belief- that crutch- I would have collapsed to the floor in a sobbing heap, unable to move because of the terror of imagining what lay ahead.

I wanted to believe. And so I made myself believe.

I couldn't tell whether he was monitoring my thoughts, my silent pleas for him to deny our host's request. Not that it mattered anyway. He was in control, as always. Situation normal and, in a weird way, comforting as well. I could do nothing except give him my total obedience and trust. He has protected me all my life, even if that means placing me in danger temporarily. I was one hundred percent certain he wouldn't abandon or betray me.

A sharp tug on my leash made me rise to my feet and I found myself facing Bakula with Father close at my side. A servant handed Bakula another cloak. The demonic sigils were drawn in what looked liked dried blood. It was thick and crusty as if many layers had been applied, year after year, sacrifice after sacrifice. I really didn't want it touching any part of me, but could do nothing to prevent it being draped over my bare shoulders.

Bakula took his time smoothing the heavy fabric over my chest, not bothering to disguise his caresses. He lingered with his pudgy fingers at my throat as he arranged my hair so it fell in silky waves over my shoulders and down my back.

I could sense Father becoming restless while our host pawed me and was relieved when he cleared his throat in a none too subtle warning.

Bakula took a moment to step back, smugly satisfied at the liberties he had been able to take with me. More than ever, I longed to wash his touch and scent from my skin, replace it with the aroma of my Master and lover.

"He'll have to undergo initiation of course in order to be welcomed into my Master's embrace and under His protection." At my father's concerned look, he quickly added, "It's temporary, of course, only for the duration of the Ritual. We wouldn't want any harm to come to him, would we, M'Lord?"

Father didn't answer as we headed into the tropical vegetation, following a narrow winding path bordered with brightly colored flowers and exotic plants. The path sloped downwards, moss covered rocks scattered here and there. I felt as if I was floating, had to keep looking down to verify that my feet were touching the ground. I was sure that the only thing keeping me grounded was my Master's grip on my leash as I walked to heel behind him and the Count.

As we drew closer to our destination, a sense of unease came over me. I wasn't sure what caused it, a strange smell or vibration in the misty air. I had experienced something similar in Tooms' decrepit apartment, Mostow's hidden studio and countless number of other places where heinous crimes have been committed. But even adding all of them together didn't come close to the feeling of pure, unadulterated evil that seemed to emanate from somewhere up ahead. Looking around, I realised no one else in the procession seemed to be affected.

*Get a grip,* I told myself. *It's Halloween, it's supposed to be spooky and frightening.* According to the legends and myths, it's the night that the dead are free to walk the earth, to mingle with friends and loved ones left behind on the mortal coil. Some cultures even believed that it was the night that spirits could complete unfinished business, accomplish tasks interrupted by death so that they could pass over to the other side to be reborn anew.

Suddenly I was certain that I was on someone's list of unfinished tasks. What I wasn't sure of was who or how many would want to take up the opportunity. Hell, there would probably be a queue a mile long waiting to take another shot at me, planning their revenge because I had cut short their rein of terror, either directly with a bullet or indirectly with an accurate profile leading to capture and the death penalty.

We rounded a sharp curve coming upon another clearing, this one small and claustrophobic. It looked like a shallow cave, carved by hand out of the stone that formed the depression we were approaching. The trees surrounding it were ancient and gnarled, mutated and stunted by lack of sunlight and fertile soil. The feelings of danger and dread immediately grew stronger, more oppressive. It was as if we had passed through some invisible curtain, some one-way barrier that kept the deceased souls confined to the cavern that loomed like a giant open mouth up ahead.

"Father?" I croaked, my voice barely above a whisper. My courage was dissolving the closer we got to the location the ritual would take place at.

He turned and looked back at me. Reaching up, he stroked my cheek. Our bond was, once again, reinforced with a simple touch. He hadn't needed to probe my mind to know the fear I was experiencing. I'm sure it was written all over my face, in the way I shivered in the foggy grey mist that surrounded us.

"It's all right, son. What did I tell you on the night of your homecoming?" he asked gently as he caressed my face.

"That I would not be harmed unless it was your will," I replied, leaning into his touch.

"And what did you pledge to me?"

"Everything."

"Tell me again, Fox. I want to hear it and you need to be reminded, to never forget."

"I surrendered to you my body, my mind, my life and my soul." As he reminded me of what I was- his property to do with as he pleased- I felt that sense of peaceful relaxation settle over me, seep into me, once again.

He repeated the questions he had asked earlier whilst I fed at his breast. This time I was able to reply out loud.

"Who do you belong to?"

"Only you, M'Lord."

"Who do you love?"

"Only you, Master."

"Who do you trust?"

"Only you, Father."

It was a mantra, calming and soothing me into a trance-like state of complete and unconditional submission. I knew it would be spoken many times in the future, to subdue any hint of defiance I might display. I had the feeling he didn't want me totally broken. He wanted me on a short leash that he could loosen or tighten at his whim. He wanted to savour each time I fought my slavery like a fine wine. He wanted me defiant and spirited, forcing him to dominate and control me.

"That's correct, love. So there is no need to be afraid."

I had thought that was to be the end of our conversation, but Father continued.

"There are, however, forces that not even I can control, very powerful forces." So much for my earlier thoughts that he was a sceptic in regards to paranormal phenomena.

It was so unexpected that I really didn't know how to react. I was aware that he had always protected me, from convincing my parents to hand over Samantha to the Aliens instead of me, to returning Scully, to saving me from being abducted myself. But I had always thought he had ulterior motives for doing so, motives that had more to do with his own survival than any feelings, familial or otherwise, he had for me.

"You must face the consequences of your actions." I knew he was referring to the malevolence I had sensed coming from the cavern. "I won't lie to you, Fox. Suffering lies within, but pleasure is there also. A very special reward awaits should you conduct yourself satisfactorily."

A vivid image formed in my mind. Soft candlelight and romantic music. No servants, keepers or Alien Bounty Hunters. Just the two of us and an evening of slow, sensual love-making. No restraining straps of leather and chain on wrists and ankles, cock and balls. No pain delivered or received. No Master and slave, no Father and son, just the pleasure of two lovers exploring each others bodies for the very first time. Mutual seduction amid mutual declarations of love and need, desire and passion.

However, I would forsake that unrealistic dream of romantic bliss, if only he would tell me he loves me. Those three little words are all the reward I need and want.

I knew I had overstepped the bounds just fantasizing in that manner. What I wanted didn't matter. It was his pleasure and needs that were important, not mine.

"You will get all that you want, my love, and so much more."

I mentally apologized anyway and was rewarded on the spot with a passionate kiss that left me breathless and light-headed.

Before I could recover, Father, I and the eleven guests designated to serve as acolytes were being led by the Count inside the cavern.

Not wanting to dwell on who or what was waiting to renew acquaintances with me, I studied the cavern we were in. It was large in area but still claustrophobic with flaming torches along the walls. A large bonfire blazed to one side and steaming pits of water surrounded it. I recognized them as artesian wells that flooded the air with powerful odours of minerals.

Bakula showed Father around the cavern. I trailed a few paces behind, forgotten by the Count, but not by Father. I had a million and one questions buzzing around my mind, but knew I was forbidden to speak. Father sensed my need for knowledge, clues as to what I would encounter, and asked them for me.

"Does this place have any special significance?"

"Very much so," Bakula replied. "This Temple is situated on the intersection of several major ley lines, which carry currents of energy around the planet." He swept one arm in an arc, indicating the cavern we were in. "The Abyss is a gateway between two different worlds, a point where the magical worlds and the mundane worlds collide. As well as being a physical location, it also exists within the human psyche at the point where the conscious and the unconscious meet."

Father looked around, obviously searching for a sign of the gateway.

"It has yet to be created, Lord Spender. It will appear once the Ritual is underway, needing the spiritual energy that will be released to bring it into existence," he explained. "Each person has different experiences as he or she crosses the Abyss to become one with those who reside on the Other Side. Samhain or Halloween is a particularly potent time of the year. Little encouragement is needed to draw the departed from their resting places, especially those who seek revenge."

Bakula pointed out the many devices he had for sacrificing his chosen ones. Most of them looked as if they had come direct from the Dark Ages and the Spanish Inquisition. Guillotines and racks, inverted crosses large enough to crucify an adult male, stakes that stood eight feet high surrounded with kindling, ropes and chains attached to iron spikes embedded in the ground.

An unusual 13-point star design was painted on the stone floor of the cavern, a different sigil drawn at each point, one for each of the Coven members. A huge stone altar, stained crimson and maroon and splattered with scraps of pink and black flesh, stood at the centre, dominating the chamber.

There was a semi-circle of thirteen unlit red candles, made from the fat of his "chosen ones" according to our host, halfway between the altar and the entrance. At the open end was a second altar, the same length but half the height of the main sacrificial table. The top of it curved gently downwards with a narrow channel around the edge for the blood to drain into. On the floor below one corner was a crystal chalice to catch the gory offering. Positioned at the head of the altar was a small dagger. Spotlessly clean, it gleamed gold and silver in the flickering light given off by the burning torches. I could tell that it was razor sharp, crafted to slice through flesh like a knife through butter.

Sickened by what I saw, I tuned out most of Bakula's words, only catching bits and pieces of the conversation he was having with my father. I instead studied the many crystals and polished stones that made up the walls of the cave. There was the deep purple amethyst, the aptly named bloodstone in shades of red and dark green, vivid purple and black charoite.

"... very rare, M'Lord. Cost me a fortune to import it from Russia," Bakula was saying. "It's said to instill a brotherhood between the owner and the spiritual realm."

The tour over, Bakula lead Father to an expensively upholstered leather sofa that offered a perfect view of the upcoming proceedings. Servants and naked body slaves were in attendance to see to Father's every need and desire. I felt insanely jealous at the thought of strangers touching my Master, pouring him drinks and lighting his cigarettes.

Bakula was standing by my side. He held out a hand, silently demanding possession of my leash, possession of me.

I wanted to throw myself at my Master's feet, beg and plead with him not to hand me over, not to let me go.

I did nothing.

With one last long and loving look, Father relinquished his hold on my leash into the Count's pudgy grip and seated himself. He accepted a glass of Scotch and ice and drank all of it in two quick mouthfuls.

Was he preparing himself for what lay ahead, aware of what was to occur, the suffering I would experience? His earlier speech suggested he was very aware of what was to take place. Was he now regretting his decision in allowing me to participate?

I have no idea.

What I did know was what the fierce stare he directed at Bakula meant. **Hurt what is mine and you will die a death a million times more painful than any sacrifice you will perform tonight.**

If looks could kill... That saying was never so true as right there and then.

Bakula visibly flinched, taking a small step backwards before he managed to compose himself. He had decoded Father's meaning correctly. Bakula's initial fear made him tighten his grip on my leash. His hand trembled as he raised it to my throat and undid the collar which fell at my feet. He slid his hands down my chest until they rested at my waist. He gained confidence that he could do anything to me with each passing second.

"He is in safe hands, Lord Spender." His left hand travelled further, a feathery caress from belly to groin. He unwrapped the fabric binding my cock and balls, exposing my penis, purple and engorged in the dual cockrings. Pre-cum beaded at the slit. With surprising gracefulness for a man of his size, Bakula dropped to one knee and delicately caught the pearly drop of fluid with his tongue.

Undoing the button on my trousers, he slowly peeled them off my legs. Each inch of exposed flesh was moistened, worshipped almost, with languid swipes of his tongue and slobbery kisses. My boots were removed and suddenly I was naked underneath the ceremonial robe.

Still on his knees, he gestured to a servant and was handed a shallow bowl with three or four ice cubes in it. Aware of what he intended to do, I tried to brace myself for the coming shock.

I was unsuccessful, crying out as the freezing ice made contact with my erection which disappeared almost immediately.

Father sat forward hurriedly and reached out to me as I swayed. I wanted to fall into his arms and never let go. I never got that chance as two servants moved quicker, holding me upright just out of Father's reach.

Bakula quickly removed the metal bands from my now flaccid cock. "There must be no impediment to the pleasure given to and taken from the neophyte. My Lord and Master demands full and unrestricted access to all His creatures."

With help from a couple of his acolytes, Bakula stood. Grasping me gently around my upper arm, he turned us to face the center of the cavern.

He whispered in my ear as he slid a hand under my cloak and between my buttocks, "You belong to me now, Fox." He pushed two thick fingers inside me. Though my anus was slippery with lube, penetration still hurt. "Very soon you will have a new Master." A third was added, his thumb pressing hard against my perineum. "Spender can't help you now, can't save you if my Master decides He wants to keep you for Himself for all eternity."

I wanted to protest and rebel, tell him he was a liar, that Father would never let any harm come to me.

I did nothing.

I submitted to him finger fucking me without complaint. I knew in my heart that Father would protect me. Nothing that Bakula could say or do would lead me to doubt that conviction.

For the duration of the ritual, however, I would belong to another Master, temporarily another man's property and responsibility.

I snuck one last glance back at my Father, not hiding the fear and panic I was feeling. He returned my look with one of his own, full of love and pride.

Two hulking bodyguards stood behind the sofa on either side of Father. Though they didn't touch him, they were a clear warning for Father not to interfere and for me not to resist.

Bakula allowed us eye contact for only a few seconds. With lube-smeared fingers on my cheek, he turned my face away from Father.

He placed a piece of black cloth over my eyes and knotted it tightly behind my head.

I was plunged into pitch-blackness, darker than I had ever experienced before. It was more than just the total absence of light. It was like a physical pressure; heavy, suffocating and very, very cold. I shivered despite the thick cloak and burning torches.

For the second time that night, the reality of what was about to happen hit me like a sledgehammer. I knew for certain that the rituals would be totally real. Real people would die at the hands of others. This wouldn't be a game like the ones I played with Phoebe and her crowd at midnight make-out parties around Conan Doyle's grave in the English countryside. It wouldn't be like teenagers in New Hampshire reading words from borrowed library books for the solitary purpose of getting into their girlfriends' pants.

I was on the verge of all-out panic when I felt Father's loving warmth envelop me. Though I couldn't touch or see him, I relaxed into his comforting embrace that surrounded me like a second aura.

*Be brave, Fox,* accompanied by a gentle wave of pure affection and soothing protectiveness. *Remember the reward that awaits.*

*I'll try, Father,* I mentally replied. *I love you, Master.*

I wondered if the blindfold was part of my initiation. Or did he think that by severing visual contact between us he was denying me the strength and support afforded by Father's presence? I was almost certain that he was ignorant of the mental link Father and I shared and I sure as hell wasn't going to tell him about it. Not that he could have broken or interfered with it in any way. Or so I thought then.

"Welcome to the darkness, neophyte," Bakula spoke out loud as he escorted me into the centre of the chamber. Judging by the distance we had walked, I guessed we came to a stop near the smaller of the two altars.

Never had I been so grateful to possess a photographic memory, enabling me to visualize the layout of the area and the positions of the other participants. I remember telling Phoebe it was a curse, but on this night, it came in very handy.

The eleven acolytes, four women and seven men, had gathered around us. The shuffling of feet and rustling of cloaks was loud and harsh to my hyper-sensitive hearing. They were murmuring something, a chant I suppose, low and guttural and melodic. It was mildly hypnotic, slowing my pulse and heightening my awareness.

Bakula removed my cloak and guided me two steps forward. I felt something cold and waxy brush my bare leg and knew I was inside the circle of candles facing the altar where someone would be slaughtered within a matter of minutes.

Firm pressure on my shoulders forced me to my knees. The ground beneath me was smooth and eroded, shallow depressions cradling my feet and lower legs. I wondered how many others had knelt here awaiting initiation into Bakula's Coven.

Though he didn't make a sound, I knew Bakula had retreated and I was alone.

Alone, naked and terrified.

The other participants, accompanied by the drummers, continued to chant. It slowly built to a roaring crescendo that lasted for five minutes or five hours. Time had ceased to mean anything. It could have stopped completely for all I knew.

When the chant finally died down I heard soft cries and whimpers in front of me. Someone had been laid on the altar, someone awake and aware of what was going on. The apparent sacrificial victim was male, of undetermined age and just as scared as I was, maybe even more so. It was obvious he was well aware what was in store for him and that there would be no escape.

I smelled the fear that flowed from his body, heard the hopelessness and terror as he pleaded for mercy, knowing none would be granted, but pleaded anyway. He sounded young, mid-teens maybe if his high pitched voice was any guide.

"Hush, my little one," Bakula said quietly. "You will be delivered to your Master very soon. It is a great honor to personally welcome a new member into our Master's Family. To nourish others with your lifeblood is your destiny. It is why you were born a Bleeder."

His use of the term "Bleeder" brought to mind his earlier boast about using specially bred males to provide blood to dye his cloak. Using haemophiliacs made gruesome, though logical, sense. It would ensure a steady flow of blood without the possibility of clotting. The victims may have also been given blood thinning or anti-coagulant drugs prior to being sacrificed.

CONTINUED IN PART 2