Prologue: She Who Weakeneth

"– And Delilah said unto Samson, Tell me I pray thee, wherein thy great strength lieth, and wherewith thou mightest be bound to afflict thee."

• Judges 16:6

She strolled through the entrance of her favorite restaurant. Her makeup was flawless, just enough to be fair to those that needed it; her body, its usual perfectly-toned, hourglass frame bred of cornbread, cabbage, and regular exercise. Her outfit for the night was impeccable – a form-fitting deep purple Donna Karan business suit with a silver herringbone necklace and bracelet set engraved with her favorite scripture. Her hair was set in micro braids cascading down her back in a loose ponytail, amethyst-colored beads at the roots and tips.

"Your usual table, Miss Stapleton," the night manager asked.

"Yeah, James," she said, smiling. "And for the thousandth time, call me Toni." She had been dining there for years, so the exchange was a running joke between them. There was no way she would have risked his job making an actual stink about it, yet would never pass up a chance to needle one her few real male friends. It helped that James was as gay as the days were long, but refreshing to count him among the men in her life that were not interested in her purely physically. Disappointing in one case, whom she had been working on for years.

It's just a matter of time, she thought wryly.

As she made her way through to the private area in the back, she could feel the usual list of haters staring daggers at her: the old ladies who wished they could still flaunt her physique, the teetotalers who would have sold their souls for a portion of her self-assurance; the crotchety old farts who hated that they couldn't spend their life savings for a chance to use up their Viagra stashes. She pretended not to notice, as always.

After all, she mused, It's not my fault I look better than they ever will. If they knew the drawbacks, they'd never let themselves worry about me.

She had barely sat down when her phone rang, the ringtone making her smile uncontrollably. She shook off a naughty thought, then answered the phone.

"Hey, hon," she said sweetly.

"Well, hello to you, too, milady," came the similarly cheery response. "What be's the haps? You called me earlier." His voice was the deep rumble of a coming storm yet stroked her in places he had never seen with the smoothness of an artist working a delicate canvas.

Maybe it's just me, she thought.

Suddenly remembering calling him, she said, "Oh, yeah. I wanted to let you know that Max assigned me a last-minute dinner meeting, so I won't make it tonight." Typically, Friday nights were reserved for dinner and rentals at his place, as they had been for years. Sometimes, work called one of them away. This was to be one of those nights.

"Oh," was all he said, then was silent for a moment, clearly disappointed. "I guess I'll just have to go on to plan B."

"Don't be mad, baby," she said. Though not a couple, Toni and her friend used terms of endearment regularly. Still, she silently hoped he would not interrogate her about the latest rain check.

"I'm not," he said, "Really. Disappointed, of course, but it's hardly the first time one of us had to cancel."

Toni saw her dinner guest walk into the restaurant. Promising to call him back, she hung up and casually waved him over.

Her client for the evening, Raphael Cameron, was about six foot three, and cut an impressive figure given how old she was told he was. She often wondered if her detractors knew just how true their silent accusations were. Years of 'meetings' in the back area of the restaurant, almost always ending with her counting ceiling tiles, were draining emotionally- even if for a good cause. As much as she would have liked to say differently, tonight looked to be more of the same.

"Good evening, senorita," Cameron said, instantly switching into Don Juan mode. He was still married to his third wife, the mother of three of his seven acknowledged kids, yet couldn't keep it at home for a guaranteed pass through the Pearly Gates. His strict Catholic upbringing suggested he was headed south instead. Toni choked back her revulsion and played along, seeing that he was trying to turn on the charm.

"Buenos noches, Senior Cameron," she said, tilting her head downward and closing, then opening her eyes. She knew the sign of high respect would turn him on. They had met before, so were able to omit most of the pleasantries.

"Thank you for seeing me at such short notice," Toni said, using her mental abilities to turn the English she was speaking into his native Spanish. "You're helping Max out a great deal," She handed over a business envelope stuffed with paperwork.

Cameron waved it off. "Just trading a favor for a favor," he said, returning the Spanish. He reached across the table and clutched her fingers gently but firmly, leaning forward and lowering his voice.

"Hell, I'd have paid for the airtime myself if I knew I'd get you alone for dinner."

Had she not been there for much more than delivering a file and eating, she would have jerked her hand away.

Just then, the waiter made his way to our table. "You folks ready to order?" he asked.

"Oh, hey there, Tré," she said, switching out of Spanish and pretending to have been startled out of his charms. "I'll have my usual, thanks. Wine included. The gentleman will have to order for himself."

Tré, long used to Toni's order, was already typing it in on his iPad. Once he finished, he asked Cameron for his. Trying to turn up the machismo, he proceeded to order the house steak (medium rare) with a double side of cheese-smothered broccoli and a large baked potato with all the trimmings. A pint of Dos Equis completed his order.

"Will there be any dessert," Tré asked.

Cameron answered, "Maybe later, hermano. The senorita and I have business to discuss."

Instantly put off by the dismissive tone he had taken with her friend, Toni said graciously, "That's okay, love. You know what I like, and when to give it to me." She eyed Cameron seductively when she said that last part.

Tré took down the remainder of the order, nodded to them both, and walked away. Once he was out of earshot, Cameron fumbled at an attempt to apologize for insulting the waiter.

"Back to business," Toni said, switching the conversation back to Spanish. She reached into the slightly oversized clutch purse she had brought and produced a standard-sized brown envelope, stuffed with an obviously large amount of money.

"Max told me to add in a little compensation for your time and trouble," she said. "Is there anything else I can do to show our appreciation?" That was when she turned on her own brand of charm, which had never failed, and as ancient as seduction itself. Toni was of a bloodline that knew how to never be told 'No' under any circumstances, and member of an elite class known as Siren. She possessed a rare ability among the Afflicted, to transmit their condition through a combination of sex and magic. Her guardian had found a way to capitalize on this trait long before she was born, using her since she graduated high school to bring powerful men over to his cause. Her dinner date was simply the latest.

Cameron slipped the envelope into his inner jacket pocket. Still trying to make up for his faux pas, he opted for normal conversation.

"What did your uncle tell you about me," he asked.

"You're a transplant from the mean streets of Oakland, California," Toni began. "You grew up the third of four children- one older brother in between two sisters- in a drug-infested, single mother home. The gang life could easily have overtaken you, but you found a way to play the game long and well enough to quickly rise to the top of the local drug scene. What set you apart was the fact that you were able to make sure that everyone in your crew was literally the most intelligent around, in addition to well-versed in the streets.

"Everyone, male and female, was at least an honor graduate of their respective high schools. Your senior and higher-ranking members were college-educated by twenty-three, with many boasting degrees in chemistry, accounting, business administration, various forms of information technology, even the law, and a few doctors and nurses. This brought each one a savvy that the common thug was simply incapable of having.

"Every member of your crew was also a lawful employee. Your business fronts employed them, giving the police no legal basis to disrupt their daily activities. Even the people who handled the off-hand administrative miscellany (notaries, seasonal and year-round tax preparers, even the cleaning crew) were not just employees, but were sworn or bled into the gang as part of their orientation.

"No one who was aware was fooled by the stacks of pigskins plastered on the walls of the office complex you built by refurbishing a rundown local plaza using the laundered drug money brought in. Everyone under you was as dangerous as their boss, combining the ruthlessness and cunning of a leopard on the hunt. If the crimes attached to them stuck, each member would have had a body-sized rap sheet. Yet all that was left to the authorities was a mountain of paperwork, speculation, and frustration. They were organized enough to make sure that nothing could be traced back to anyone – least of all, you.

"This level of success carried on for years, until the entire operation was destroyed when your crew was betrayed from within by a rival faction of your own gang. Apparently, they didn't take too kindly to your crew's rousing success – especially considering you rose to the point of being a gang only nominally. A few anonymous phone calls to the Feds and a midday raid later, and the deck of cards came tumbling down.

"During the resulting trial, you were approached by the Special Prosecutor, sent in from Birmingham, Alabama, with an offer: help him make a name for himself with a guilty plea in exchange for minimum time at a country club facility and an additional favor to be assessed later. What was not public notice was that this also had a contingency for relocation to Birmingham. As soon as you were released, you loaded up the proverbial truck and headed southeast, where you spent the next several years parlaying your criminal fortune into becoming a major media mogul for the Central Alabama."

"Impressive," Cameron said. "I didn't think my dossier was that thick. Good to know you've got more than looks going for you."

Tré came back with their food before Toni could show him just how right he was. Cameron marveled that her dinner made his look like an afternoon snack. He watched in mock horror as Tré placed a just-under-well-done, forty-eight ounce tomahawk cut ribeye on the table, accompanied by a bowl of barbecue sauce that looked and smelled suspiciously like fresh blood. Along with this came a salad of watercress, spinach, kale and sunflower seeds, dressed with a mixture of citrus juice and white-wine vinegar. Tré placed a chilled bottle of green apple Verdi in an elevated ice bucket in the space between Toni and Cameron. After placing Cameron's order on the table, Tré left to tend another.

She blessed her food, as she had for as long as she could remember. Cameron asked when she finished, "You praying for the strength to choke this all down?" He seemed to have gotten the sense his mouth may have cost him some pussy.

Toni wished it had. She giggled like the proverbial schoolgirl. I should be praying for the strength to put up with your bullshit for another ten seconds, she thought, pretending that the joke was funny. Certainly not the first time she had to choke down more than her pride to get the job done, orders were orders. Besides, catching this whale would win a huge amount of support to the cause.

Two hours later, the real work began.

They crashed through the door to a downtown condominium Max rented for out of town clientele, lips locked. He tasted like jalapeño-flavored castor oil to Toni, but she suspected this would be quick.

They broke the kiss long enough to make their way to the bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes along the way. Toni started humming as she strutted down the hall, completely naked by the time she reached the bedroom.

I knew she was fine, but god-DAMN, Cameron thought, completely mesmerized. He was so swept up in his own lust, he failed to notice the faint glow her eyes had taken on.

Finally catching the sure sign that her fish was hooked, she knelt on the bed, a California king with sheets and a comforter set in different shades of blue, to match Cameron's reported favorite color.

Still humming the tune, she began a dance that she had perfected for the sole purpose of seduction. She got on all fours and arched her back downward, putting the goods on display for her undeniably captive audience. She then began spreading her legs at the knees while simultaneously swaying her hips at the waist. After a few rotations, she sat on her ankles and flexed her ass cheeks - first one at a time, then each in turn - while slowly rotating her hips.

For the finishing touch, she hunched forward and hugged herself, maintaining her earlier motions. Slowly, seductively, she straightened up and arched backward until she was able to see, upside down, that Cameron had sat down in the armchair near the bedroom door, enjoying the show. Already naked himself, he was beginning to masturbate.

Not the most impressive package for a guy his size, she thought, but I've dealt with worse. Time to bring him home.

The exertion made her perspire just enough to give off a faint musty scent, usually the icing on the cake when working because men found her even more irresistible when they caught it. To avoid unwanted advances from straight men and lesbians, she wore strong, scentless deodorants in public. Ironically, her natural scent was nauseating to anyone not attracted to her, regardless of orientation.

She slithered off the bed, body glistening, then got on all fours and crawled towards him, shimmering eyes showing nothing but pure fucking. The agony, the desire, the lust was evident in the cold sweat coming down his face as she glided the ten feet to where he was sitting.

She slid between his legs and up his body, making a point of rubbing against his. The movement caused her breasts to perfectly envelope his dick. Cameron put a death grip on the arms of the chair when her nipples rubbed against his inner thighs.

She resumed the kiss that started at the door when she got face-to-face with him. Straddling him, she pinned his shoulders to the back of the chair, showing strength he did not give her credit for. Instead of letting him penetrate right away, she sandwiched it between her other lips, keeping the head pressed against her clitoris. Not very easy, given his relative lack of size. Within three strokes, he was ready to cum.

Damn, she thought, I was hoping to get at least one orgasm this way, since the old-fashioned way isn't gonna work.

Toni slid back down his body and put the head in her mouth. She took a few seconds to tease him, glad she learned how to tie knots in cherry stems with her tongue back in her freshman year at Lawson State, then hopped up and led him by the hand to the bed.

She pinned his arms behind his back and kissed his nipples. He began straining to the point Toni thought his triceps would snap, so she lay down and crossed her ankles behind her head, blowing him a sleepy-eyed kiss.

Cameron, to his credit, wasted no time trying to return the mini lap dance he had just gotten. Rather than lay on top trying to smash immediately, he knelt at the foot of the bed, putting his face right above the sweet spot. He began gently kissing on and around her womanhood, with enough skill that Toni actually thought she might get one this way, if not from the actual sex.

Wrong.

Without warning, Cameron began lapping at her like a parched dog given a bowl of ice water. He was licking and sucking in all the wrong places with absolutely no rhyme and even less reason. Just to edge him towards the real action, Toni started twitching and gyrating in mock response to his machinations.

It went on for another minute, then Toni spasmed her way to the perfect fake orgasm. All that work served its purpose: she could finally feel the first tickles of that ole black magic. She needed him inside for that part, so she pretended to muster just enough energy to say, "Fuck me, baby."

He kissed his way up her body until they were face-to face, and kissed her with the same passion that had begun that portion of the evening. After the second time he forced her to swallow his tongue, he finally pushed his way inside. Almost immediately, she began pouring the magic into him. Thankfully, he was too far gone to notice.

Toni released the power into him just as he climaxed, the exchange of bodily fluids setting in motion a change that would bring Cameron a lot closer to the cause than even he realized. Genuinely spent, she collapsed in total exhaustion. Cameron would later swear up and down he tore the pussy up. Toni curled up and fell asleep, leaving him to his assumptions.

Toni retrieved her phone when she woke an hour later and sent a very simple, clear message to the recipient:

"MISSION ACCOMPLISHED"

A few weeks later…

Nocturnal Emissions, an underground nightclub in downtown Birmingham. While open to the public, it was known as a hotspot for the Afflicted. Though there were few reported incidents of any violence towards non-Afflicted, known as the Whole in the lycanthrope community, the rumors that floated up from the patronage made sure that everyone who stepped onto the parking lot got the sense that they may not make it home.

The building itself was a refurbished warehouse near the local Police precinct on First Avenue. From the outside, the building looked unassuming, just a plain brick building with an awning over the heavily-tinted front door and graffiti on the side. The second floor had the required fire escape, though ramshackle from long years of disuse. Even the rear of the building, which faced the Amtrak station, was nothing more than a symphony of faded glass and wrought-iron rust.

The interior was another story.

For those fortunate, or unfortunate, few who parted the darkened doors, a world beyond imagining awaited. From the entrance, patrons were led to a vestibule, in which two separate entrances stood. The first entered the club's public part. Patrons were treated to a two-story, silo-style bar and playroom. On the left-hand side of both floors stood matching bars, each wrapping around the respective walls. Lining the right-hand wall of the first floor were pool and billiard tables. Lining the second same wall on the second floor were several generations of arcade machines.

The dance floor took up the middle of the floor, about two hundred feet in circumference. The deejay booth was directly across from the entrance, set back from the floor to create a stage effect in the event a star wanted to make an appearance. The floor itself was depressed, allowing patrons to take steps onto it. The rim of the dance floor was lined with two-person tables and bar stools. The dance floor was viewable from the second floor.

Directly above the deejay booth on both floors and along the walls were spaced large flat-screen televisions put there to appease any sports fans patronizing that night.

The second entrance was only for a select class of people, or so the sign said. It was always guarded by two large gargoyles and led to an elevator which opened into a narrow hallway, the only illumination the soft glow of red florescent light bulbs. The door at the end of the hallway pulsed with activity, almost visibly.

The meeting room was similar in design to the main club, with a large central floor ringed by a raised walkway, a bar lining the left-hand side and a platform directly across from the entrance. That was where the similarities ended.

The dance floor itself was polished marble and tapered down to a drain with a steel grate. If one were lying on his or her back on the floor, they would see larger than normal, blood-stained meat hooks hanging from the ceiling.

The raised walkway was carpeted with red velvet. In the place of the stools and tables that ringed the main and second floors, red velvet love seats lined the half wall around the center floor. The platform across from the entrance was adorned with three chairs, a larger one flanked by slightly smaller ones, with a wooden podium in front of the larger one.

Unbeknownst to the general public, the rumors were closer to true than they were aware. At least one night a month, the scene was a mass of naked bodies, writhing and moaning to the pulse of the techno music being piped in from the club.

Most of the love seats were two couples deep, engaging in sex acts rarely seen outside of triple-x rated pornography. One seat had three men and one woman, with her giving textbook triple access. The seat next to them had a group of men giving and receiving all at once. Across the room, six women writhed and rubbed together like a nest of newborn snakes. The sexual energies were so high in the room, no one noticed the entrance of three figures in hooded robes – the first, a tall man in plain brown. The second was also a man in blood red with true gold tribal designs. The third, an obviously shapely female in jet black with a design of the mythical singing siren the deep red of dried blood.

The first man and the woman took the smaller seats, while the second man stood in front of the main one. He stood still for a few minutes, arms folded, looking around at the carnage around the great hall, and smiling inwardly at the carnage soon to come. He stepped forward to the podium and removed his hood, revealing the alpha male of Birmingham's Afflicted community, Deacon Adam Maxwell Eckert. Max was a one in five hundred case among the Afflicted in that he was born a lycanthrope. Genetically, this meant that he would default to the species namesake. However, he was born with a specific mutation that made him a rarity among even the Afflicted, a wendigo.

Max surveyed the scene, drinking in the building sexual energy. He inhaled, leaned his head back, and bellowed, the sound echoing throughout the chamber. When it died down, the sex had stopped and every eye was on the platform. All the lights faded out except for the center platform and the dance floor.

"Once again, my people, we have gathered to celebrate our newest convert," Max said, then he motioned the man forward. The man stepped forward and removed his hood, revealing Rafael Cameron. At Max's insistence, the woman stepped forward and removed her hood, revealing Delilah 'Toni' Stapleton.

"And once, again, we have our chief Siren to thank for winning him to our cause. Now he is ready to ascend to the heights of those chosen to lead mankind into its new era of slavery."

As he spoke, a door opened behind the bar. Two guards led a homeless man to the center of the chamber. He had been well fed and cleaned, but his station in life was no less obvious. They fitted him with a set of wrist and leg anklets and shackled him to the drainage grate. The hobo seemed to wake up from a stupor and look around at the sound of the shackle locking shut. The club members had begun chanting, but to him, it seemed more like they were growling. What frightened him, however, perhaps because of the dim light, was that none of the faces he could make out looked human, least of all the guy in red on the stage in front of him.

"Now, as before," Max was saying, "a sacrifice of flesh is required. One of low regard has been brought to give of himself, so that our newest brother can properly Ascend."

At the words 'sacrifice of flesh', it finally clicked to the hobo that he was about to learn the real price of his free meal and bath. He started to pull away from his bonds, never taking his attention from the stage. The three on the platform shed their robes, giving a glimpse of the sexiest woman he had ever seen. The sight of her gave him an instant hard-on. The sight of the man that had been in red nearly made him shit on himself. Before his eyes, the group leader's features changed from that of a man to something he could only describe as a part man, part dog, part lizard.

That was as far as he got before the creature leapt from the platform and ran past him. The next thing he knew, he felt clawed hands digging into his back, grabbing hold, and peeling the flesh away. Searing pain shot through every part of his body, his screams hitting a pitch he never thought he would hear coming from himself. He felt the skin on his entire upper-back, from his shoulders to the top of his ass, peeled away like a banana and left to dangle.

The creature took a black-clawed finger and drew a line across his stomach. Again, searing, screaming pain shot through his body. He did not realize just how deep the cut was until he felt his insides spilling onto the cold floor. The only thing left to do was drop to his knees and begin to make his peace, his screams now little more than defeated groans.

Mercifully, the first edges of death wafted through the hobo, but not before one last disgrace. The creature, apparently unsatisfied with the bloody mess he had made, walked behind him and forced his face to the floor. Despite the shock and blood loss, the hobo struggled as best he could, but the creature was clearly not finished. The hobo felt himself entered from behind, the creature pressing his head harder and harder into the floor with each thrust. Around thrust four or five, he felt his skull crack from the constant pressure. The last sound he heard before his head was smashed into the floor was a loud, sickening, crunch.

The creature finished his business and stood up, a trail of semen connecting his softening penis to the still throbbing rectum of the corpse. As he licked the blood, brains, and bits of skull from his fingers, he gestured to Cameron and said, "Feed, my son."

Mesmerized, Cameron jumped down from the platform and sniffed around the body. Finding a choice section, he took a huge bite of flesh. With each bite, he became hungrier and hungrier, until at last, all that remained were the bones of the hobo and a huge jaguar, slumped to one side, belly full.

"So," said Max, still in the form of the wendigo, "The spirit has chosen the jaguar for your Ascended form. Fitting." He looked up to address Toni, who had never left the platform throughout the ritual. "Your time of Ascendance will come, my dear. For now, go."

Toni hurried from the room as fast as human courtesy would take her. Human, she laughed inwardly. If anything more than our looks is human, somebody needs to show me how. She left to the sounds of the pre-ritual orgy starting up again.