Anthology The Care & Feeding Of Demons

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

Torquere Press

www.torquerepress.com

First published in www.torquerepress.com, 2009

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The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

CONTENTS

Foreword
Absolutely Magic
Reasonable Force
Hungry
Cool Heat
A Calling for Pleasure
Screamin' Demon
A Perfect Target
The One Who Comes in the Night
Payday
Contributors' Bios

* * * *

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

The Care and Feeding of Demons
Edited by M. Rode

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

Foreword

* * * *

What is it about demons that has us so fascinated? Is it

because they're taboo? Magical? Horned and tailed? Is it
because we can make them anything we want?

Or is it because demons are the ultimate bad boys?
This anthology brings you nine stories that explore the

human-demon relationship at its most fiery. Whether it's the
demon hunter who falls for his prey or a pretty human who
falls into a demon's trap, each of these stories bring human
and demon together and lets the bodies fall where they will.

Come take a walk on the wild side with The Care and

Feeding of Demons. Just watch out for the brimstone.

M. Rode

[Back to Table of Contents]

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

Absolutely Magic

By Julia Talbot
"Demon hunter, not demon fucker. Hunter. Not fucker. Got

it?" Damon's boss slammed a huge case file down on his
desk, glaring at him, looking like nothing so much as Wilford
Brimley on crack. "This makes what, six—"

"Eight."
"Eight! Eight that you've had to have sex with in the line of

duty? In the line of duty! Who in hell has sex with a demon to
bring them down?"

"Hey, this job has very few perks." Damon started

counting the detriments of the job down on his fingers. "No
hazard pay. Singed clothing. Lots of slime. I figure if there's
an attractive demon I might as well enjoy him before I send
him back to Hell."

"It's bad for our reputation."
"As what? We're not exactly the kind of place you look up

on Dunn and Bradstreet."

"We still have to prove that we can pull the trigger or do

the damned spell when we have to."

Damon let his feet slam to the floor, rolling off his desk. He

stood, looming over his boss so fast that the man backed up
a step.

"I never, ever have trouble sending their asses to Hell. No

matter what I do to said asses beforehand."

His boss stared at him for a long moment, something

weird flashing in those mossy old eyes. "One day, you'll meet

The Care and Feeding of Demons

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one you can't let go of. Then what the hell are you going to
do?"

Damon just sneered. "I do the dumping, Boss. Don't you

worry. The demon who can snare me doesn't exist."

* * * *

The book of spells kept burning his fingers. Damon hated

that kind of shit. Give him a straightforward kind of magical
object any day. None of this sneaky-assed bullshit for him.

Still, he needed the fucking thing to put this demon away.

Eight foot tall, with scales like a crocodile hide, the asshat
was not going down under any non-magical means. Finesse
hadn't worked either.

So Damon pulled out his oven mitts and fucking opened

the book, raising it enough to see in the dim light of the alley
where said scaly asshat was eating some poor schmuck's
brain.

He opened his mouth, drawing in enough air to chant the

whole line of symbols out loud all at once. He was just about
to start hawking and spitting when something streaked across
his line of vision, all lean and long and shadowy.

What the fuck?
The newcomer twirled like a dervish, rising up in the air

like something from an anime movie before slamming down
against the demon's back. A bright blade flashed, a deep
groan sounded, and acid-like demon blood splashed all over
the damned place. The thing groaned, staggered, and fell
down finally, sans its head.

Dude.

The Care and Feeding of Demons

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Long and Lean turned to face Damon, pulling its scarf

down off its face. His face. His angular, masculine, utterly
fucking beautiful face. It was probably bad to spring a boner
while holding a spellbook that could singe your short and
curlies, right?

The guy smiled, revealing very sharp, very not human

canines. Goddamn.

"I imagine you're wondering who I am, Damon McTavish."
"You're a demon," Damon said, wondering why the ones

who made him all hot and bothered had to be bad guys.

"Only after a fashion. My name is Alisdair. Care to join me

for a drink? I can explain."

That was what they always said. Still, the old demon was

dead, and the new one could carry the spell book without
being singed. Why not have a drink?

"Sure. Hold this, will you?"
One dark eyebrow winged up in a way Damon had always

wanted to achieve. "Oven mitts?"

"Necessity is the mother of invention."
"True. I like your style." The guy took the book, hissing a

little. "Powerful. Well, come along. I like a nice dry martini.
You?"

"Tequila with a beer chaser."
"Very manly. Well. Shall we?"
"Might as well. Can't dance."
Damon ignored the second eyebrow when it went up,

gesturing for the guy to go ahead of him. Beautiful or not, he
was still a demon.

The Care and Feeding of Demons

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No one ever let a demon have their back if they wanted to

stay alive.

* * * *

"Have you ever heard of sex magic?"
"Huh?" Both of Damon's eyebrows went up. Alisdair would

bet Damon wished he could raise only one.

"Sex magic." They sat in a seedy little bar of the type that

would allow demons and humans to mingle, sipping martinis.
Well, Alisdair had a martini. Damon had a double tequila and
a very large beer.

"I've heard of it, sure. I'm just not sure why you'd ask

me."

"Well, because your reputation precedes you, not to put

too fine a point on it." Alisdair smiled to soften the blow of
calling the man a slut. "You have a jones for demons; I have
a need for a human who can make sex magic with me. I find
you extraordinarily attractive. I think you find me
satisfactory."

Damon blinked. "You don't waste time, do you?"
"You also have a reputation for slaying the demons you

sleep with. I thought if I explained myself beforehand, you
might let me see if the spell works, first."

"See if it worked. Uh-huh. So what's your sob story?"
"My what?" Sometimes modern phrasing escaped him. It

had been a long time since he'd been human.

"Your tale of woe, man. Your reason for being all demon-

like, because I have no doubt you're gonna tell me you
weren't always like this."

The Care and Feeding of Demons

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Not exactly tea and sympathy. Blast. Alisdair began to

drum his fingers on the table. "I wasn't, as you well know. I
would not look so nearly human if I had been born this way."

"Could be a glamour." Damon shrugged, so casually

careless that it made Alisdair grit his teeth.

Instead of bashing the man alongside his head, though,

Alisdair reached out and touched Damon's wrist.

That simple touch was electric. Terrifying. Full of the truth

of how Damon was the only one who could help him.

"Not a glamour," Alisdair muttered, and Damon nodded,

staring at him, green eyes huge.

"No. What the fuck?"
"You can see why I chose you." His fingers still tingled. He

could only imagine what putting his cock inside Damon's body
would do.

"I guess. So, how would this work?"
"The easiest way would be for me to lie on my back and let

you ride me. That way I have my hands free to control spell
elements." And he could see it if they, er, summoned
anything. By accident.

"No." Damon sat back, arms crossing over his chest. He

had very nice forearms. Muscled, tanned...

"No?" Alisdair let his brow rise again. Just the one.
"I don't bottom."
"I believe I asked you to be on top." Really, was this going

to be such an issue? It could be so pleasurable either way.

"No. You asked me to take it up the ass."

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

That came out loud enough that even some of the patrons

in this seedy establishment turned to look. Alisdair only
smiled slightly.

"I did. You would like it."
"No. I would not." Distancing language. The lack of

contraction between would and not told him that Damon was
talking himself out of it rather quickly.

"I think you would. Nevertheless, that would be the easiest

way." His body thought so, as well. His cock, which was
unruly at the best of times, was growing and growing. He
wanted this man, and it was becoming less a matter of
pragmatism and far more a matter of need.

How odd.
"Well... I'm willing to help, but not to do that." Damon's

lower lips stuck out mutinously, but Alisdair could see the
heat in those bright eyes.

Damon felt it, too, whatever this thing was between them.
Alisdair wasn't sure if he had chosen wisely, or just made

the biggest mistake of his admittedly long and mistake-ridden
life.

* * * *

Damon couldn't believe he was letting a demon take him

back to a rented room and perform some kind of sex magick
ritual with him. Maybe his boss was right. Maybe he was
judgment impaired. Demon blind.

Maybe he was just really horny.
When Alisdair had touched his hand... Oh, God. Shivery

goodness. His cock had sprung right up, his nipples had

The Care and Feeding of Demons

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hardened, and when demon-boy had started talking about
fucking him? Yeah. There had almost been creamed denim.

So, he was following Alisdair's very intriguing 'I think he

has a tail' ass back to some seedy boarding house, where
they were going to do the nasty and make Alisdair human
again, or some shit like that.

Man, he needed to get into a new line of work. Maybe used

car sales.

Alisdair smiled over one shoulder, teeth flashing. That was

toothy. Really. Toothy. Damn. No wonder he'd worn a scarf at
first meeting. It lessened the shock a little.

"You don't bite, do you?" Damon asked, stuffing his hands

in his pockets.

"Only if you ask nicely. Really."
"Oh, good. Do you really have a tail, or do you stuff your

butt?"

"Are you always this crude, or am I special?" The door

yielded under Alisdair's hand, and they made their way into
the building and up a surprisingly cute set of stairs. It was all
like nineteen-forties in decor, and it didn't have the usual bad
boarding house smell of piss and vomit.

Nice.
"If the bed lives up to this, I'll be a happy man."
"Oh, did you want a bed? I thought an altar might suit

better?"

Damon opened his mouth to protest, but Alisdair stopped

on the landing, smiling, blue eyes sparkling. Oh. A joke. "In
my line of business, that might not be a funny thing to say."

"Sorry. You're just so tense."

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

"Yeah, well, contrary to what you seem to think, I don't do

this kind of thing every day."

"Of course not. Give me some credit for taste." When he

reached the landing, Alisdair reached out to take his elbow,
fingers cupping the bent joint.

All the air slid out of his lungs in a rush. Every bit. His skin

tingled, little sparks radiating out from that spot, all the way
up to his brain and down to his cock. Jesus, what was it about
this guy? He was... damn.

He was going all fuzzy.
"Here we are." Alisdair opened a door with a listing brass

'3' on it.

Damon hoped that was good. Three was a good number,

right? "Yay?"

"This is going to be fun." Suddenly, Alisdair was all sex...

well, kitten didn't work. Sex demon. Whatever. His voice was
all low and throaty, and his skin seemed to radiate heat, as
close as they were standing.

"Good." Damon took a deep breath, determined to get his

groove back. He was usually pretty suave. "I like to have
fun."

"Then come on."
The room had a forties-style bedstead and side table, a

washstand and a basin, and a wardrobe. It was almost
austere, save for the once exuberant floral wallpaper, now
faded to pastel and crumble. The mattress looked new,
though. So did the bedding.

"You went all out."

The Care and Feeding of Demons

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"Hmm? Oh, wait until you see what's in the wardrobe."

Alisdair turned and locked the door. "I think I will reward you
for your trust, first."

"My trust?" Had he been too trusting?
"You came up here with me." Alisdair moved close, hands

closing on Damon's hips.

Damon swayed, the touch all but burning him alive. "I

did."

"I appreciate that." Leaning in, Alisdair kissed him, lips

firm and hot on his, those teeth staying out of the way with
surprising ease.

Gasping, Damon pressed up against that long, lean body,

wanting more. He could get used to this, and fast. The kiss
was like a hit of a really good drug, making his head spin,
making his heart speed up.

He didn't want to think too much about what it did for him

below the waist.

If this was what it was like now, he hated to think about

how much energy they were going to expend making a little
magic.

* * * *

He was never going to be able to do the spell. Alisdair

knew it the moment their lips touched. The concentration he
would need... Oh, it was never going to survive the heat he
and Damon demonstrated.

Never.
He pulled back, trying to breathe. "I think we need to get

set up, or we'll forget."

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

Damon blinked at him, lips swollen, eyes dazed. "Huh? Oh.

Right. The spell."

"Right." Nodding, Alisdair stepped back, keeping his claws

from sliding out and tearing off Damon's clothes. "Wardrobe."

"Lion, witch." He got a ghost of a grin. "You set up. I'll just

go get naked and keep myself busy."

Oh, dear Heaven and Hell and everything in between. His

cock tried to get out of his trousers, and his tail tried to help,
being prehensile and having a mind of its own. He was really
going to miss it if they were successful.

"I'm not sure..."
Damon's shirt hit the floor, then the denim jeans, and the

man sprawled out on the bed before Alisdair could even finish
his sentence.

He might have drooled.
"Come on, man. I need this to get going if I'm going to

last." Damon reached down and stroked the most luscious-
looking cock, and Alisdair thought he might fall to his knees
and beg to suck it.

He didn't, but it was a near thing.
Instead, he went to the wardrobe and pulled out candles,

the herbs he needed, the... "Did you bring the spellbook? The
one from earlier?"

"Yeah. It's in my bag, wrapped in a grill pad. Why?"
"Because I need it."
"Oh, now I see why you chose me." Damon chuckled, the

sound rough and harsh.

The Care and Feeding of Demons

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"No. I would never had asked your employer to do this

with me, and he had it only hours before you did. The book, I
mean."

Really. He had scruples. Taste. A deep-seated need to fuck

Damon until the man screamed.

"Oh. Cool." Damon's arm was moving faster and faster,

and Alisdair knew he had to hurry.

He laid out the items associated with the spell, using what

little space there was on the bedside table. The spellbook
didn't burn him, so he took it to bed with him, shucking his
clothes as quickly as he could.

When he crawled up beside Damon, the man reached for

his buttocks, not his front. "Jesus, you really do have a tail."

"I do, Careful. It's sensitive."
"It's fucking hot." Damon gave him an experimental

stroke, and Alisdair moaned.

"It's... Please, we need to get into position."
"You still think you're going to fuck me?"
That was a rather important part of the ritual, actually. A

human had to trust him enough to offer that ultimate sort of
intimacy. "I do. You'll be in control. Take only what you can. I
promise."

"Uh-huh." Damon dragged the tip of Alisdair's tail around

his body, rubbing it against the head of Damon's cock.

Alisdair's eyes crossed. "Yes. I..." He pulled away sharply,

lifting Damon off the mattress so he could lie down on his
back. "There. Much better."

His tail was tucked under him where Damon's curious

hands couldn't get to it.

The Care and Feeding of Demons

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"I was having fun with that." Damon actually appeared

intoxicated. His pupils were dilated, his cheeks heated.

"I was, as well, but I really need you to get that bottle of

oil and get ready for me."

"I think you drugged me," Damon said, echoing his earlier

thought. "Why else would I just do this?" Damon reached for
the tiny bottle of oil that Alisdair had laid out, opening it up
and wetting his fingers.

Alisdair watched, entranced, as Damon pushed two fingers

inside his body, muscles clenching under the fine, pale skin.

"Maybe you just want me."
"This fast? This much?"
"Maybe it's magic. For me, as well."
"Maybe." Damon panted, riding his fingers. "Soon?"
"Soon." Alisdair reached for the spellbook, his fingers

finding the right page by sheer, dumb luck. He forced his lips
to move, forced himself to recite the short passage. The
words always seemed so anticlimactic, like they meant
nothing. Maybe they didn't. It was all about the intensity that
they could achieve, in the energy they could focus and send
into the fabric of the ether.

"Yeah. Yeah."
More oil spilled out, landing on Alisdair's cock. He almost

stuttered, just managing to keep his tongue from sticking to
the roof of his mouth.

The last two words fell into the room, and a strange

buzzing seemed to fill Alisdair's ears. He pushed the book
away and grabbed Damon's hips, pulling that heavily muscled
body up so that Damon straddled him.

The Care and Feeding of Demons

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"Promise me this won't hurt," Damon said, hands on

Alisdair's chest.

"I promise."
Damon nodded, obviously deciding to trust, and rose up

above him, setting Alisdair's cock to the tiny hole between
Damon's ass cheeks.

They came together like they were meant to fit that way,

and the need that washed over Alisdair was hotter than any
Hell dimension could even begin to imagine.

Damon moaned, head falling forward, and sank down on

him, taking him all the way in no time. Hot, wet come spilled
across Alisdair's belly, Damon shooting from just that small
contact.

"No stopping," Alisdair ordered. Not yet. They had to keep

going.

"No. More. Please." Those eyes met his, Damon starting to

ride.

Alisdair groped, finding the herbs and tossing them into

the candle flames. That was the last of the spell components.
Now he could concentrate on pleasure. His hips pushed up,
and Damon cried out, and it all began to blur.

He knew amazing heat and unbearable sensation, and he

knew that he would never find a hotter, tighter ass than
Damon's. Never. Not if he lived another five hundred years.

When he came, minutes or hours later, he knew Damon

was with him, spilling more seed across his belly, making a
sticky mess.

Alisdair didn't care. The buzzing in his ears became a

scream across dimensions, and then it was like someone

The Care and Feeding of Demons

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popped a bubble. His vision went black, and for the first time
since he became a demon, Alisdair passed out.

* * * *

"So, tell me again why you made it nine in a row,"

Damon's boss demanded, grabbing up a very singed
spellbook off of Damon's desk.

"I'm just a boy who can't say no." Damon grinned,

thinking of the mass chaos he and Alisdair had woken up to
after their exploration of sex magick. They'd been so
enthusiastic that they had actually torn a dimensional hole,
right there in the worn wallpaper of the boarding room.

In exchange for sending an upper level back home, Alisdair

had gotten a get out of Hell free card.

Damon was kind of glad they hadn't been able to make

Alisdair all human again, though. He liked the tail.

"So if I tell you there's this demon guy I need you to wine

and dine..."

"I'll say no." Damon grinned. "I'm taken these days."
"That's good to hear." Alisdair came in, smiling, leaning

one hip on his desk. "Hi, Boss."

Damon's boss rolled his eyes. "I should fire you both. Tell

me why I don't?"

Alisdair laughed, the tip of his tail appearing around the

edge of the desk where the boss probably couldn't see. Just
the sight of it made Damon hard, quick as lightning.

"Because we're magic together, Boss. It's that simple."
Alisdair nodded, eyes hot, that toothy smile widening.

"Absolutely magic."

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

* * * *

[Back to Table of Contents]

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

Reasonable Force

By Meredith Shayne

* * * *

Five minutes until the rendezvous time. Daniel's heartbeat

kicked up a notch, his skin tingling with suppressed power; he
flexed his hands and closed them into fists, sparks of white
light tinged with blue shooting from his fingertips.

Three minutes. Daniel crouched, leaning over the rickety

fire escape that snaked down the side of the building. His
brothers would be quiet as they approached the meeting
place, but they couldn't be silent, and his hearing was good.
He slowed his breathing to listen and heard nothing that he
hadn't been hearing for the last twenty minutes. A wave of
frustration and impatience broke over him, and he gritted his
teeth against it, staring down at the warehouse in front of
him.

One minute. Daniel stood, turning his back on the

warehouse, his eyes scouring the rooftop for any sign of life
or movement and seeing none. Maybe the hunt had been
called off. Maybe they'd been held up by some unforeseen
circumstance. Maybe they were in position already and were
going to destroy the nest without him.

He couldn't have that.
Rendezvous time. Daniel looked around again for his

brothers, his eyes straining to detect the smallest movement.
He took a deep breath. There were a lot of demons down

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there, probably too many for him to handle alone. He turned
away from the edge of the building, strode inward twenty
paces and back again, but when he reached the fire escape
he was still alone. He looked up at the sky for a moment, as if
the stars faintly visible through the fog and pollution
blanketing the city could give him inspiration. He took another
deep breath and counted off ten more seconds before
stepping lightly onto the fire escape and heading downward.
The energy crackled at his fingertips as he gripped the railing.
He was ready.

At the back of the warehouse, he paused next to the door

that, from the surveillance footage he'd seen, would lead him
into the storage area and the most cover. There was a prayer
to be said at such a time, just before battle: an appeal for
protection, or failing that for absolution, a pardon for all sins.
Daniel didn't bother with that now, nor did he cross himself or
wear any kind of talisman. Some people never got a chance
to ask to be forgiven their sins, so neither would he.

He reached under his coat to slip his knife from its sheath

where it rested against his hip. If he was lucky, he could
dispatch a few quietly before he had to make a scene. Not
that he believed in luck anymore. He reached for the
doorknob with his free hand and listened for a moment; when
he was sure he couldn't hear any noise from the other side,
he opened it and slipped inside.

They were waiting for him, but Daniel was ready. He threw

his knife away, listened to it clatter across the floor and away
into darkness, and smiled.

* * * *

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Normally, the docks held no interest for Korim; the oily

stink of the dank, foul-smelling water coated his nose and
throat and made him want to retch, and the humans who
frequented the abandoned warehouses and grimy gutters of
this district were so far gone as to be beyond even his reach.
The demons who gathered here, congregating in their nests
of pathetic, desperate malevolence, weren't much better. But
that was on a normal night.

Tonight, now... tonight was different. Tonight, the air was

filled with power, washing over him like waves. He closed his
eyes and took a deep breath, pulling the energy into his
lungs, letting it fill him up, every cell in his body welcoming it.
When he opened his eyes again, he could see its source, the
warehouse next to the roof on which he stood lit from within
as if by a lightning strike, power flickering along the edges of
the broken windows and the slanted, iron roof. He heard
shouting, the sounds of fighting, of smashing wood and
breaking glass. A small door in the warehouse wall closest to
him burst open, several demons tumbling out onto the street
as power flickered inside the warehouse again. The demons
scattered every which way in their haste to escape. Another
blast of power blew out the windows, blew the door off its
hinges. Then the sharp crack of gunshots had Korim
crouching on the edge of the roof, leaning forward and
straining his eyes and ears as the light inside the warehouse
flared once, then went out, the harsh voices of the demons
inside crying out their victory as the power that Korim had so
reveled in gradually leeched from the air.

The Care and Feeding of Demons

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Korim barely had a chance to regret its passing when the

sound of running footsteps had him turning his head, drawing
back from the edge of the roof as he spied the uniforms of
the demon hunters. The hunters poured into the warehouse
without slowing their pace, and the sounds of fighting
resumed. Light flickered in the building again, but the force
behind it wasn't as strong as before, Korim barely able to feel
it brush against his skin. Within minutes all was quiet, the
hunters emerging from the building carrying a limp,
unconscious form between them, the man's uniform marking
him as another hunter. His brothers didn't treat him gently,
his long, dark hair falling over his face, his head lolling
forward, and his feet dragging on the pavement as they
carried him out onto the street and dumped him in the gutter.
The unconscious hunter lay in a crumpled heap until one of
the brothers took a bottle from his belt and threw its contents
into the man's face. Korim leaned forward to watch as the
hunter's eyes opened and power began to fill the air once
more.

* * * *

The shock of the water hitting his face made Daniel gasp,

his eyes opening wide as he started to cough. He sat up,
rolling to the side so he could catch his breath as his coughing
eased. The water dripping from his hair didn't smell, and so
had to be Holy Water, from the stash that every hunter
carried with him. He was thankful for that at least, since it
could just as easily have been the stagnant, algae-infested
water from underneath the docks. He coughed once more and

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sat back, pushing his hair back off his face. The movement
had the muscles of his shoulder and arm protesting, and his
chest ached from the coughing fit. He looked up at the
brother looming over him, clearing his throat before he spoke.
"Brother James. Nice of you to make an appearance."

James looked like he couldn't decide whether to spit on

Daniel or turn and walk away. "You dare to speak to me like
that after you've just endangered my whole mission, not to
mention all of my team?" he asked through gritted teeth.
"We'll see if you can be so glib in front of the Abbot
tomorrow."

Daniel raised his eyebrows and smiled a tight, close-lipped

smile up at his furious brother. "Yes, I suppose we will."

James made a noise full of disgust and threw the bottle

he'd been holding in his hand into Daniel's lap. Daniel moved
to swipe it aside, a sudden pain as he twisted making him
gasp and hunch over. He'd been shot as well, he remembered
now, poking his side gingerly where the track one bullet had
left when it pierced his side was already healing. He hugged
himself while he watched James and the rest of his brothers
turn and walk away, and then turned his back on them,
rolling over onto his knees and suppressing a groan as he
sank down onto his elbows and rested his head on his hands
for a moment, breathing heavily. Gathering himself, he
staggered to his feet, putting his hands to the small of his
back to try and steady himself as he stretched. He considered
going back into the demolished nest to retrieve his knife, but
dismissed that as a bad idea, turning away from the docks

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and toward the city, but not home; the night wasn't quite
over for him yet.

He thought about going to his usual haunt, where the

darkness of the club would hide all but the worst of his ills,
but then thought better of it. Most of the patrons there could
do better than someone who looked like they'd been chewed
up and spat out by some monster from a nightmare. His
bullet wounds still ached, but at least the black of his shirt
would hide most of the bloodstains, and he'd managed to
work out most of the kinks in his muscles as he walked. He
considered just giving up and going home, but despite his
battering, the fighting had had its usual effect, the adrenaline
coursing through him demanding its post-hunt ritual. So he
headed for a place where desperation overrode common
sense and twenty bucks would buy a warm mouth and no
questions asked.

He passed by the first three tricks who called out to him,

young, lithe things with inviting smiles and slim hips who
couldn't have been much more than eighteen, if they were
even that. The fourth stood half in shadow, but Daniel could
still see the broad chest and shoulders straining the man's
tight T-shirt, strong, jeans-covered thighs, and a height that
matched Daniel's own. He slowed his pace. The man stepped
out into the light, and Daniel caught his breath; the man's
straw-colored hair and light eyes were so similar to David's
that it took his breath away and made the familiar ache of
grief well up in his chest again. He almost turned and walked
away, but then the man's lips quirked up in a smile, and a
gaze full of promise raked Daniel from head to foot.

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"You look like you've had better nights."
Daniel nodded, clearing his throat. "You could say that."
"Want some cheering up?"
Daniel hesitated, then stepped forward. "Yeah."
The man's smile turned into a grin. He caught the front of

Daniel's coat as Daniel got nearer and pressed Daniel back to
the alley wall, stepping closer until they were hip to hip.
Daniel turned his head to the side, and the man smiled again
and bent to nip at Daniel's neck. "Money now," he whispered,
lifting his head to lick at the shell of Daniel's ear. Daniel's
breath hitched, and he fumbled with his money, shoving a
wad of bills into the man's pocket and feeling a smile against
his cheek. "That's the ticket," the man whispered, and Daniel
felt the pressure of teeth at his jaw before the man's mouth
was on his neck, nimble fingers undoing the buttons of
Daniel's coat and shoving it open. He had a hand pressed to
the front of Daniel's trousers when he stopped, pulling back a
little.

Daniel groaned in frustration and shoved his hips forward.

"What?"

The man was staring at Daniel's throat, one eyebrow

raised at the sight of his clerical collar. "Been to a fancy dress
party, or should I be calling you Father?"

No one ever believed he could be a priest. He was far too

scruffy, with his long hair and constant three-day growth.
David used to think it was hilarious. "Fancy dress party," he
said. "But you can call me Father if you like."

The man laughed softly. "I'll have better things to do with

my mouth soon." He rubbed at the front of Daniel's trousers

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again, gripping Daniel's cock before slowly sinking to his
knees.

Daniel sighed as the man's warm, wet mouth enveloped

his cock, and he let his head fall back against the wall. The
man wasn't shy, squeezing Daniel's balls and sucking hard at
the head of Daniel's cock. Daniel moaned softly, his hands
finding the man's head, fingers stroking through the man's
hair, tiny sparks of white light shooting from his fingertips.
Daniel damped the power down and concentrated on the feel
of the man's hair, the heat of his mouth, the strength of his
hands as he reached up to grab Daniel's hips. The man
pushed Daniel up against the wall and took him all in, deep
throating him. Daniel bit down on his lip to stifle a cry, his
head falling to the side, his cheek pressed against the dirty
bricks of the wall at his back.

Staring down the alleyway with half-lidded eyes, distracted

by the hot mouth around his cock and the warm hand
massaging his balls, he almost didn't see the figure lurking in
the shadows against the wall of the building opposite. One
minute, all was impenetrable darkness; the next minute,
there was an outline of a broad shoulder, a muscular arm, the
face half-shadowed but the gaze no less intense because of it.
Daniel could practically feel that gaze burning into him as the
man kneeling in front of him pressed a finger up behind
Daniel's balls and rubbed, taking Daniel's cock deep again.
Daniel grunted and came hard, shooting down the man's
throat, closing his eyes and twisting his fingers in the man's
lovely, straw-colored hair that was so familiar and yet so

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heartbreakingly different. When he opened his eyes again,
the figure in the shadows had gone.

The man before him sat back, and Daniel shivered, the

cold air touching his damp, overheated skin. Daniel
rearranged himself and his clothes and pushed away from the
wall, stepping around the man and leaving the alley the way
he'd come in. His skin crawled as if he was still being
watched, the skin of his arms raising gooseflesh under his
clothes. He stared at the shadows as he passed them and saw
nothing but emptiness. A shiver ran down his spine, and he
wrapped his arms around himself as he walked, turning his
head for home.

* * * *

The door to Abbot Francis' office slammed with an ear-

splitting bang, the wind caused by its movement actually
ruffling Daniel's hair. He smiled to himself, secretly pleased
that it hadn't made him flinch.

There was silence in the room for a heartbeat before

Francis said, "It's really not funny. James is right to be angry.
You could have gotten yourself killed. What if it had been a
human with that gun, not a demon? And you forced the
others to enter into an unknown situation without the proper
preparation."

Daniel's smile faded. He let his gaze drop from the window

above Francis' head to Francis himself, then further until his
head was bowed. "I know. I'm sorry."

"It's not like this is the first time something like this has

happened."

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"I know."
"What would David make of all this, do you think?"
Daniel's stomach lurched. He looked up. "What?"
"I think that he'd be disappointed in you, still grieving for

him after all this time."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean? It's only been—"
"It's been over a year, Daniel. I know he was your friend,

but there's a limit. You have to try to move on."

A wave of hot anger swept over Daniel then, and he

actually swayed, only just managing to stop himself from
leaping over Francis' desk and throttling the man. The sheer
inadequacy of the word 'friend' to describe what he and David
had meant to each other took his breath away. But Francis
didn't know that. No one knew that. So when he spoke, his
voice was cold and clipped, betraying nothing, years of
pretending that David was just a friend standing him in good
stead even now. "I don't see how that's anyone's business but
mine. I can grieve for as long as I like."

"No, you can't, not when it's your brothers—my men—who

you're endangering with your recklessness. Smarten up,
Daniel, or I'll do more than just remove you from team
missions. No!" Francis held up a hand when Daniel opened his
mouth to speak. "Don't say that I can't do that, because I can
and I will. You might be powerful, but you're not
indispensable, and the sooner you remember that, the better
off we'll all be."

Daniel gritted his teeth so hard he thought his jaw might

break. "Is that all?"

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Francis sighed. "Yes, that's all. Don't let me have you in

here again for this, Dan. I mean it."

Daniel nodded, then turned to leave. It was only when his

hand was touching the doorknob that Francis spoke again. "I
hope one day to see you back in church. It's been a while."

Daniel paused, his hand tightening on the doorknob. "Has

it? I haven't really noticed."

He left the door open when he left the room. He felt

Francis' gaze on him the whole length of the long hallway, but
he didn't slow his step or turn and look back.

* * * *

Daniel went straight from Francis' office to his usual post-

hunt club. He was well on the way to drowning Francis' words
in beer and tequila when the waitress' shadow fell over him.
He looked up at her, his eyebrows raised. She put a shot of
tequila down on the table in front of him and jerked her head
in the direction of the dance floor. "Guy over there's bought
you a drink."

Daniel looked over to where she'd indicated, catching the

eye of a man leaning against the wall across the room. He
was tall and dark and built like a proverbial mountain. He was
good looking too, but what was most striking about him were
his eyes—they positively smoldered, and even from across
the room Daniel felt the man's gaze like a touch. Daniel
narrowed his eyes as the man smirked at him.

"Take it away. And tell him I don't want it."

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"Yeah, he said you'd say that. He said to tell you that if

you don't want him to come over and bother you, you'll take
the drink."

Daniel frowned. "What? Don't you usually buy a drink for

someone so you can talk to them?"

"That's how it usually works, darlin'. But this bar does get

all the strange ones."

She gave his table a cursory swipe with a cloth and left

him to it. Daniel looked at the drink at his elbow and then
back at the man across the room, who was still staring at
him. Daniel sighed and picked up the drink, saluting the man
before tipping his head back and downing it, smacking the
glass back on the table when he was done. When he looked
back across the room, the man looked delighted.

"Fucking weirdo," he muttered, turning back to his beer

and somber thoughts.

He wasn't left alone to brood for long. It couldn't have

been five minutes before another shadow fell across him, a
shadow much taller and broader than the waitress' had been.
Daniel gripped his glass with both hands until his knuckles
turned white and didn't look up.

"I thought you were going to leave me alone if I drank the

damn drink."

"Really? Perhaps that lovely waitress misheard me when I

told her what to say to you."

The shadow moved as the man slipped into the seat

opposite him. Daniel stared at him.

"I don't recall inviting you to sit."

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"Well, well, aren't you a rude one? I take it I am not going

to get a thank you for the drink?"

"You told the waitress it would keep you away!"
"You keep saying that," the man said lightly. "You are not

flattered that I wished to come and speak to you?"

"Should I be? Who the hell are you?"
"Someone who wishes to know you."
Daniel felt his lip curl as he sneered. "Oh, spare me. I

don't hook up with random strangers in bars."

"Is that right?" The smirk was back. "Because I would say

you do, if that business in the alleyway last night was any
indication of your... proclivities." The man chuckled. "Or is it
that you would rather pay than be paid for?"

Daniel's face grew hot, and he was glad for the lack of

lighting in the bar. "I don't have to listen to this shit," he said,
and slid out of his seat, putting a hand on the table to push
himself up. He was about to step away when strong, warm
fingers curled tightly around his wrist.

"Don't go," the man said. "We were just starting to have

fun."

Daniel could have had a snappy retort ready, if he hadn't

been distracted by every molecule of his being screaming an
alarm. He felt the power within him rise up in response, but it
was too much, in too public a place. He clamped down on it
as best he could, but he could still feel it raising the hairs on
the back of his neck. He lunged forward into the man's space.

"Let go, demon," Daniel hissed into his face, "Or I swear to

God, I will let you have it with all I've got, right here, right
now."

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The demon chuckled. "Of course you won't." He looked

down at where his hand circled Daniel's wrist, to where blue-
white light was crackling over Daniel's fingers, power barely
suppressed. He let go of Daniel's wrist suddenly, and before
Daniel could react, had swiped his hand over Daniel's and
held it up between them, blue-white light racing over his
fingertips. He wasn't smiling anymore as he looked Daniel
right in the eyes with that same blazingly intense stare he'd
used from across the room; it was almost hypnotic up close.
He snapped his fingers and the light—Daniel's power—
flickered and disappeared. "Not all of us are susceptible to
your powers, hunter. Some of us are above the common
stock. You would do well to remember that."

Daniel stared at the demon for a long moment before it

occurred to him that he was free to move. He leaned in again.
"Stay away from me," he said, then turned and headed for
the door. Just before he got there he turned back and caught
that hot, dark gaze on him again. A shiver ran up his spine
that he hoped didn't show on his face, and he turned for the
door without looking back again.

* * * *

The demon did what he was told and stayed away, but

that didn't stop Daniel from watching for him. It didn't help
that Daniel could still feel the demon, or thought he could: an
unseen presence, always in the shadows or just around the
corner. Daniel was managing to convince himself that he was
just paranoid when the demon came crashing into his life
again.

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Scouting through the back alleys of the red light district for

signs of a demon who was preying on prostitutes, Daniel
heard shouting and signs of a struggle coming from an alley
ahead of him. Breaking into a jog, Daniel rounded the corner
to see the demon from the club holding a man up against a
wall by his throat, the man's feet dangling far above the
ground. Without hesitation, Daniel threw a bolt of power at
the demon's back; it hit him square between the shoulder
blades, wreathing him in light. Daniel expected him to at least
drop the man he was holding, but all he did was turn to glare
at Daniel, making a gesture with his hand that had Daniel's
power disappearing with a soft pop, as if he'd just absorbed
it. Daniel prepared to attack him again, but the demon rolled
his eyes.

"Idiot," the demon said. "Enough!"
Daniel ignored him, throwing as much power as possible

behind his next hit. The demon put up a hand, palm out, and
a wave of unseen power knocked Daniel off his feet,
slamming him into the pavement and knocking him out.

* * * *

Daniel came awake suddenly, his heart pounding. He didn't

know what had woken him, but as awareness returned he
became aware of a presence in the room. He heard a noise
then, a breeze, or a soft sigh, or the rustle of material as
someone shifted their weight, and he turned his head toward
the window.

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Before he realized what he was doing, he was up,

crouching on the bed and throwing a bolt of power across the
room.

"Stop that," the figure at the window said, not even

bothering to turn around as he raised his left hand. Daniel's
power hit the demon in the back again, or at least it would
have if it had touched him. As it was, it stopped a few inches
from his back and sprayed outward like water hitting a glass
wall, gradually dissipating as Daniel ceased to throw it out. He
remained crouched on his bed, staring at the back of the
demon's head.

"What the hell are you doing here?"
"You would have preferred I leave you in the middle of the

street, unconscious and ripe for a mugging?"

"What did you do with that man? Kill him?"
"No. But he is no longer any of your concern."
"That's for me to decide. What did you do with him?"
The demon turned toward Daniel, scorn written all over his

face. "What does it matter? That man was a brute, a thief and
a rapist. The world is better off without him in it."

The demon turned back to the window, and Daniel

continued to stare at him.

"Who are you?"
The demon crossed his arms. Rain started spattering the

windows, leaving spots turned orange by the streetlights
outside Daniel's window. "I am Korim," the demon said, as if
that explained everything.

"That means nothing to me."

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"Then you are ignorant as well as idiotic. I am a warrior,

an Earl of Hell. I have legions of demons at my command."

"Ah." Daniel pondered that for such a long time the demon

turned around to look at him. Meeting the demon's inquiring
gaze, he smiled. "So, demon commander. Want to fight?"

The smile that Korim gave him had a greedy, feral edge.

"Oh, yes."

* * * *

Dawn was painting the horizon in shades of pink and

orange by the time Daniel sought his bed again. His clothing
was disheveled and sweat-stained, he had a bloody gash
down one cheek and a burn mark on his arm, but when he fell
into bed he was asleep in seconds. When he woke, he felt
more rested than he had in months.

He didn't start consciously looking for Korim after that; at

least, that was what he told himself. But often he didn't have
to, with the demon having a knack for showing up just when
he'd finished a hunt, or when he was on his way home. They
never talked about the fights, never agreed to a schedule or
even acknowledged that they were becoming a regular thing,
but that was what they became.

* * * *

Daniel watched as Korim turned in a circle with his arms

held out from his sides, looking around at the stacks of crates
lining the walls of the abandoned warehouse they were in.
"Come now, hunter," he said in his booming voice. "You know
that you cannot win. Do you yield?"

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Daniel laughed, pushing away from the crate he'd been

leaning against and walking quickly away as where he'd stood
lit up with a bolt of Korim's power, the demon following the
sound of his voice. "You need to get a new repertoire,
demon." He paused to throw a bolt of his own, aiming it at
the demon's head; Korim ducked to avoid it, hastily throwing
out a second shot that went wildly astray, and Daniel laughed
again and kept moving. "It's been four months. I'd think
you'd realize by now that I don't yield."

Daniel could hear the smirk in the demon's voice when he

spoke. "There is always a first time."

"True." Daniel stepped around the back of a crate to lean

against its side, finding Korim's gaze already on him. Daniel
felt it raking him, the violence it promised warming him,
making his pulse pound. He met the demon's smirk with one
of his own. "But it won't be tonight."

The demon's smirk widened. "We will see about that."
They grinned at each other for a moment more and then

lunged, Daniel running full speed and at the last moment
dropping his shoulder so that it slammed into Korim's chest.
Daniel heard him grunt as the force of the impact pushed the
air out of his lungs, the force of Daniel's momentum pushing
him back. He flailed, grabbing at Daniel's shirt and holding on
so that they both went down together. Daniel was tearing free
and scrabbling across the dusty floor to regain his footing
when Korim grabbed his shirt collar and yanked him
backward. Daniel twisted, and heard something tear; when
Korim yanked again, Daniel's collar came off in his hand.

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Daniel laughed. "You owe me a new shirt, demon," he said
breathlessly before charging again.

They kicked, they punched, they slammed each other

bodily into stacks of crates, the walls, the floor, sent each
other spinning across the room, each one giving as good as
they got, each one only gaining the upper hand for a moment
before the tables were turned again and again and again.
Every moment, Daniel gloried in it, laughing and taunting and
feeling alive in a way that he hadn't felt since David died. He
knew he could go on all night, knew that the demon could as
well, the only thing to stop them being the oncoming dawn or
utter, complete exhaustion.

Korim slammed into him again, knocking him to the

ground. Daniel landed with a grunt, the demon's weight
knocking the wind out of him, but as soon as he could get a
breath and some purchase, he bucked up wildly, intent on
throwing Korim off. The demon clung to Daniel, laughing, but
when Daniel's hands fisted in the front of Korim's shirt, he
grabbed them and thrust them away, pinning Daniel's wrists
to the floor on either side of Daniel's head. Still Daniel bucked
up, tangling their legs together, and he had just enough time
to register the demon's hard cock against his hip before
Korim growled, "Enough of this," and pressed Daniel to the
floor with all his weight, claiming Daniel's mouth with his
own.

The kiss was bruising, rough and hot like the demon's

gaze. Korim thrust his tongue inside Daniel's mouth, and
Daniel responded in kind, arching up and rubbing up against
Korim as they kissed. His power surged to the surface of his

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skin, and it was just about to burst from him when Korim
broke away. Dazed with lust, Daniel couldn't complain about
the interruption, unable to do anything but try to calm his
breathing and his frantically beating heart. Korim was
panting, too, his chest heaving, and he licked his lips
seductively as he stared down at Daniel with lust-darkened
eyes. "I will have you," he said softly, leaning down to nip at
Daniel's lips again. "But not here. Somewhere I can have my
fill of you."

Daniel reached up to wrap his hand around the demon's

neck and pull Korim's head down again. "I know just the
place," he whispered against Korim's lips.

* * * *

They stumbled up the stairs to Daniel's apartment,

stopping every minute or so to kiss and paw at each other.
Daniel fumbled his keys out of his pocket when they reached
his door, dropping them as Korim shoved him up against the
wood and rubbed against him, pulling his hair aside and biting
the back of his neck hard enough to leave teeth marks. Daniel
twitched, stifling a groan, and pushed back against the
demon. Korim shoved forward again, but Daniel elbowed him,
pushing the demon back and away.

Korim held up his hands with a chuckle and stepped back,

but only long enough to let Daniel open the door. When they
were over the threshold, the demon pounced again, kicking
the door shut behind them. Daniel pushed Korim away again,
but only to loosen the embrace enough to turn around; they
kissed fiercely, gasping into each other's mouths, their hands

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working at each other's clothes, undoing belts and buttons to
get at the flesh underneath. Daniel backed them toward the
bedroom, no easy feat with Korim holding him so close, and
groaned as he felt the demon's teeth at his throat. They
struggled out of the last of their clothes, still grabbing at each
other, biting and licking at every inch of newly-exposed skin.
Then the demon's slick fingers were inside Daniel, to be
replaced by the head of the demon's cock as Korim grasped
Daniel's hips and pulled him back. Both of them groaned as
the demon sheathed himself balls-deep in Daniel's body.
Daniel's breath came fast and hard as he leaned back into the
demon's chest, Korim's arm clamped across his torso, free
hand moving to Daniel's cock. Daniel shuddered when Korim
gripped him, damping down the surge of power that
threatened to surface at being so thoroughly taken, the
demon's arm tightening around him as he did so.

"Don't." Korim's voice was thick and heavy with lust. "I

want to feel it." He pulled out slowly and thrust in again. "I
want to feel everything." He thrust again and again, biting
down on Daniel's shoulder hard as he started to stroke
Daniel's cock in time with his thrusts, and soon Daniel
couldn't do anything but let go, blue-tinged light racing over
them as they moved together, lighting up the room and
flaring behind Daniel's closed eyelids as Daniel came.

When Daniel woke, the room was dark and he was alone in

the bed. He sighed and turned over onto his back, starting
when he caught a shape standing by his bedroom window.
Korim.

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Daniel watched him for a moment. "What's that in your

hand?"

Korim looked down, bringing his hands up so that Daniel

could see what he held by the light of the street outside; it
was Daniel's clerical collar. He opened his mouth to speak,
but the demon beat him to it.

"You are not a believer."
It wasn't a question. Daniel considered not answering.

"Not now. I used to be."

"Why do you stay?"
Daniel wasn't sure whether he was being asked why he

stayed in the Order or why he stayed in the city, this
apartment, this room. He chose the more comfortable option.
"They need me."

"You are not the only powerful hunter."
Daniel shifted his gaze from the back of Korim's head to

the bedside table. A plain wooden frame sat on it, inside it a
picture of him and David on their last holiday together before
David had died. They looked so happy, Daniel could barely
stand to look at it. "No. But I'm the only one here now."

Korim didn't bother to try and argue the point, choosing

instead to stare out the window again. Daniel threw the bed
covers back and got up, walking naked across the room to the
door. "I'm going to have a shower. I'm sure you don't need
me to show you out."

He shut the door to the bathroom firmly behind him and

turned the shower on, making the water as hot as he could
stand it. He stood under the spray a long time, until the
bathroom filled with steam and his skin turned pink. When he

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finally emerged with a towel around his waist, Korim was
gone, all trace of the demon's presence erased. When Daniel
went to get back into bed, he paused by the bedside table;
his clerical collar had been placed there, nestled up against
the edge of the photo frame. Daniel stared at it, picking it up
and rubbing his fingers across it before throwing it onto the
floor with the rest of his clothes. He got into bed and turned
his back on it, and on the photo frame, closing his eyes and
willing himself to sleep.

* * * *

Daniel didn't see hide nor hair of the demon for over a

week, but he could feel Korim's presence everywhere he
went. The resulting fury this caused him led to him laying
waste to the demon population of the city, with no
forethought, no strategy and no mercy. It was deeply
unsatisfying in more ways than one; each night after his hunt
he trawled the alleys and clubs for conquests, but each night
he came away from them feeling more frustrated than before.
It was driving him to distraction.

Ten days passed, and Daniel was almost at the end of his

tether. He pushed his way into his usual club, fresh from the
elimination of a nest of ten demons on the east side of the
city. He still felt angry, raw, his power only barely under his
control, coursing so close to the surface that he was surprised
he wasn't glowing with it. So close, in fact, that he almost
gave up and went home. Almost. He did mean to leave, but
as he turned for the door, he looked across the dance floor,
and what he saw stopped him in his tracks.

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Korim was already smirking at Daniel when their gazes

locked, as if he'd known it was only a matter of time before
Daniel saw him. Anger spiked through Daniel again, but he
stood still, rooted to the spot as the demon pushed himself
away from the wall. His heart skipped a beat as Korim came
toward him, slinking across the dance floor like a wild animal
stalking its prey, eyes still locked with Daniel's. But he veered
away before he was close enough to touch, giving Daniel a
good view of his retreating back as he headed for the men's
room.

The men's room door had barely swung shut behind the

demon before Daniel was storming after him. Bursting
through the door, Daniel ignored the other men in the
bathroom and followed Korim down the row of cubicles,
catching him near the end of the row. Korim started to turn
around when he heard Daniel approaching, and Daniel
grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket, herding him into the
nearest unoccupied cubicle and kicking the door shut behind
them.

He shoved, intending on pushing the demon against the

wall and taking a good swing at the bastard, but then he
found himself being shoved back, Korim slamming him
against the flimsy wooden wall of the cubicle and making the
whole row shake. Then Korim was pinning him, grinding
against him and leaning in for a kiss, fingers tangling in
Daniel's hair. Daniel groaned and tore at the front of the
demon's trousers and then his own, shoving them down and
clutching the demon to him, both of them gasping at the feel
of naked skin.

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Daniel's power arced between them as they thrust against

each other hard and fast, muffling their cries in each other's
mouths as they came. Daniel slumped against the wall at his
back, Korim's body still pinning him in place, the demon's
labored breath hot against his neck. Korim pulled Daniel's
head forward, fingers stroking through Daniel's hair. Daniel
closed his eyes and let his forehead rest against Korim's
shoulder, one arm moving slowly around the demon's waist to
keep their bodies close.

* * * *

Hours later, Daniel stepped out of his bathroom, a cloud of

steam billowing out behind him. Expecting to be alone again,
the sight of the demon standing at his window brought him
up short. Korim had something in his hand, but it wasn't
Daniel's collar this time. It was the picture of him and David,
smiling and happy and in love. Daniel bit down on a sudden
flare of anger.

"Put that down."
The demon ignored him, stroking the edge of the frame

with a finger, looking down at it. "It is funny, is it not? A
being of so much power should go out fighting, not in such a
mundane, human way as a car accident."

"It's only demon-related injuries we're protected from.

Anything else that can kill humans can kill us."

"Yes, but you hunters never actually expect it to happen

that way, do you? And you... you thought the two of you
would go out fighting, together, back to back. But that is not
what happened." Korim looked at him. "Death was

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

instantaneous; there was no time for him to fear its coming,
but also no time to ask forgiveness. No time to atone for you,
his biggest sin." He paused. "Is that not right?"

Daniel spoke through gritted teeth. "No, it's not right at all.

We did nothing wrong."

"Liar. You believe that about as much as your church

does," Korim said sharply. He paused again, and when he
next spoke, his tone was gentler. "But your church is not your
God, hunter. Only humans could conceive of such petty small-
mindedness."

Korim put the picture down and turned away from the

window without another word, not even glancing at Daniel as
he left the room. Daniel stood rooted to the spot and let him
go, not moving a muscle as the demon paused at the front
door for a moment before stepping through it. Daniel hardly
heard the door shut for the demon's final words ringing in his
ears.

* * * *

Korim sat on the roof of an old warehouse with his back

against the rough brick of a smoke-blackened chimney that
jutted from the end of the building. The night air was cool
against his skin, a pleasant sensation. The hunter was
nearby, and that was no accident; as always, Korim reveled
in the feel of Daniel's power in the air, closing his eyes and
breathing deeply, letting it thrill his every nerve. He wouldn't
stay away this time, as he had after their first encounter. No,
he would be there when the battle finished, ready to take and
be taken, rough and hard. The thought of it made him shiver,

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

his mouth watering as he pictured what they would do
together. Distracted by his fantasies, he didn't notice the
power in the air lessening, but when it disappeared
completely the shock of its absence was like a slap across his
face. His eyes snapped open, and he was on his feet before
he even realized he had moved.

* * * *

Daniel lay on the filthy, garbage-strewn ground, clutching

his stomach as blood poured out over his fingers from stab
wounds that he couldn't have counted even if he'd wanted to.
Still they laid into him, kicking him in the back, the chest, the
balls; a well-placed kick to the head would see him gone. He
could already feel his power ebbing out of him with the blood
from his wounds. There had been too many humans in the
nest, too many humans who hadn't run away like they
normally did in the face of a hunter's power. The demons had
stayed back as the humans jumped him, forcing him to fight
hand to hand to try and beat them off. He couldn't kill them,
wouldn't kill them. It was just a pity they hadn't felt the same
about him. No, he'd thought, when he'd first felt the searing
pain of the knife in his gut, but it was too late. He had no
backup now, and he'd finally got his comeuppance.

A kick to the face broke his nose and set his head to

ringing, so at first he thought he'd imagined the power filling
the street, until the force of it ruffled his hair as it swept over
him. The air grew hot around him, and he caught the smell of
sulphur, even through the blood in his nose; a moment later
the beating stopped, and he heard shouts and running

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

footsteps. Footsteps came from behind Daniel as well, heavy
but quick, and Daniel rolled onto his back to see Korim chase
down the man who had stabbed Daniel and pick him up by
the scruff of the neck, shaking him like he was a naughty
puppy in need of discipline. The man's knife, still stained with
Daniel's blood, clattered to the ground. Korim leaned in close
to the man and said something to him, and the man
disappeared, the footsteps of his companions fading in the
background as they left their friend to his fate. There wasn't a
demon left in sight. Daniel had only a moment to wonder
about that when Korim turned and came toward him,
crouching down beside him.

"Let me guess: a thief and a rapist?" His voice was weak

and breathless, clogged with blood from his broken nose.

Korim looked him up and down. "A murderer as well, by

the look of it."

That made Daniel laugh, setting off a fit of coughing that

had him doubling up in pain, groaning and gasping for breath.
The spasms over, he curled in on himself and closed his eyes,
sighing softly. "Yeah."

There was a moment of silence, then the demon spoke.

"Do you still wish to die, Daniel?"

Daniel opened his eyes, looking up at Korim without

turning his head. "Not really, no." His voice was a hoarse
whisper now.

The demon looked at him for a moment, then nodded,

reaching out to place a hand on Daniel's head. Daniel sighed
as the demon's power coursed through him, and slipped into
unconsciousness.

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

When he woke, he was in his own bed, his mouth dry and

rough, his body feeling like he'd been run over by a tank.
Korim was standing over by his window again.

"You are awake, I see."
Daniel had to clear his throat before he spoke. He tasted

blood. "How long have I been out?"

"A while." Korim turned, stepping away from the window.

"I will give you your privacy."

"No, don't." Daniel cleared his throat again, licked his dry

lips. "You don't have to."

Korim looked at him. "As you wish." Korim turned back to

the window, a slight smile on his face.

Daniel watched him. "So I'm not going to die?"
"Not today. But try to sleep again." Korim paused. "I will

be here when you wake."

A new ache started up in Daniel's chest that had nothing to

do with his injuries and everything to do with the man at his
window. He smiled as he closed his eyes again. "I know."

[Back to Table of Contents]

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

Hungry

by Glyn Soitino

* * * *

Please allow me to introduce myself... Yes, I know that

was mean, that you won't be able to get that song out of your
head for days, but what do you expect? I am a demon. And
it's a good song; you could be stuck with far worse things
running around inside your brain, as I'm sure you'll agree.

Anyway, to get back to me, my name is Rafael, and I've

being living among you humans for quite a while now. It's not
so difficult, as I can easily pass for one of you. I have a nice
place to live, and I don't need money or a job because I can
get into people's minds and make them believe whatever I
want them to. I'm perfectly assimilated into your culture and,
as demons and even most humans go, I'm a very nice guy.

My lover, Dominic, thinks so, too. He's a demon hunter,

which you might think would be an obstacle to our
relationship, but it's really not. Personally, I don't care how
many of the nasty bastards he takes down. There's no love
lost between them—the big, bad, evil-minded, hell-spawn
type of demons, I mean—and my kind. In fact, they look
down their noses, or in most cases drooling snouts, at us sex
demons, because we don't actually hurt anybody. Well, most
of us don't, and any that do soon find themselves on the
Council's list of undesirables.

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

Dominic spends a great deal of his time smiting the

wicked. He's arguably the Council's best operative, which is
why they tolerate our relationship. That, and the fact that I'm
not your common garden-variety demon. Being mixed race,
I'm in a category all my own.

And even if I were just a run-of-the-mill demon, the

Council couldn't afford to upset Dominic by having me
terminated. My death would indeed upset him, as his would
me. Enough to send either one of us to the bowels of hell, or
even the Council's boardroom, which is actually far scarier, to
wreak havoc in avenging the other. And though you might not
think so to look at me, my powers are far greater than the
hell-spawn, or the Council, or even Dominic himself could
ever suspect. Some secrets you're better off keeping, even
from those you love.

Speaking of love, Dominic and I are devoted and exclusive,

which might seem a little hard to believe given the type of
demon I am. See, I'm an incubus. Traditional lore has it that
an incubus is a male demon who has sexual intercourse with
sleeping women, which suggests that we're basically
heterosexual rapists. Of course, most incubi are heterosexual,
but just as there are gay humans, there are also gay demons.
Dig deeper into the storybooks and you'll learn that an
incubus gets his nourishment from the release of sexual
energy. Which is true, up to a point. But it's not only the
release of sexual energy that I need to sustain me. To put it
bluntly, I feed on human semen.

Dominic accepts that. After all, it's my nature. He

understands that when I'm hungry, I have to feed, on

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

whoever is both willing and available when the need arises.
Feeding doesn't count as cheating. Cheating would be if I
allowed anybody but him to take my ass, seeing as how I
don't top. Not that I'm physically incapable of it; I just don't
want to. I have never cheated on Dominic, and have no
intention of doing so. But it doesn't hurt to keep him on his
toes, especially when I'm feeling bored and a little neglected,
as I was last Saturday night. Which just happened to be
February 14.

Yes, it was St. Valentine's, and I'd been left all alone.

Dominic had been away for days, tracking down and then
cleaning out a nest of particularly vicious scritcher demons.
Scritchers typically set up home in the walls of your house or
under the floorboards, to nest and breed, coming out at night
when you're asleep to rip you and your kids and pets to
shreds and feed on your living flesh. They're disgusting little
creatures, and a whole brood of them can be pretty
formidable, but I trusted that Dominic could take care of them
without breaking a sweat. He's just that kind of guy.

But, as I said, he'd been away for days, and I was hungry.

And did I mention bored? When Dominic's not around to keep
me grounded, my mind tends to go off on wild tangents. This
time my hopelessly romantic nature, not to mention the
growing hunger, had set me on the path to a plan that
combined multiple threads.

Standing amid the loose group of men lounging outside the

nightclub, my shoulders and one booted foot propped against
the wall, I watched the squad car slowly pass by. That was
the third time in less than an hour. Confident that it would be

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

back within fifteen minutes, I glanced up as the smartly
dressed, middle-aged businessman who'd been hesitating for
the last ten minutes finally plucked up the courage to
approach me.

I always let them come to me. I have never coerced

anybody into anything; despite my paternal heritage, it's just
not the way I'm wired. Of course, I can put suggestions into
their heads, sway their decision if they're wavering, but I
would never, ever, force somebody to do something that they
didn't, deep down, really want to do anyway. Even though I
sure as hell could.

I cast the man a seductive look, gazing up at him through

my eyelashes, then pushed away from the wall and slowly
headed off along the sidewalk. Three blocks later, I turned
into a darkened alley and leaned back against the fence,
making sure that I could be seen from the street should the
squad car come back.

A few seconds later, the man entered the alleyway,

glancing nervously behind him. I smiled and ran a hand
through my curly, blond locks.

"Oh, God," he groaned, his erection straining against his

expensive suit pants. "Are you rent? How much?"

Dropping to my knees, I grinned and reached for his belt.

"Let's just say the first one's for free."

"Oh, Jesus." His hands clamped onto my shoulders as I

released his cock from the confinement of his silk boxer
shorts and took it deep into my mouth.

His skin was warm, his pubic hair springy but not coarse.

Swallowing rhythmically, I massaged the head of his cock

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

with my throat muscles and buried my nose in those soft
hairs, inhaling the residual scent of shower gel.

"Please," he murmured, his fingers tightening. "Please,

move."

Such a polite fellow. I clasped my hands around his hips

and pulled off, then proceeded to give him the sucking of his
life. As I did so, I kept an ear out for the sound of an engine,
the particular engine of a particular car that I knew would be
cruising by again pretty soon.

Too soon, as it turned out. The man's hips began to jerk

beneath my hands, his breathing raw and strained; I was just
about to get my first feed since Dominic had left on his latest
crusade when the brief blat of a siren shattered the calm of
the night.

"God, no!" Pulling out so fast I was afraid he might have

grazed himself on my teeth, the man turned away, his semen
spilling onto the ground as he came. Damn, what a waste! He
stuffed his still dripping cock back inside his pants and made
a rather stilted beeline toward the bright lights at the far end
of the alley, leaving me there on my knees, at the mercy of
the cops.

And I was still hungry.
Car doors slammed; I got to my feet, wiping the dirt from

my jeans, and waited patiently for the officers of the law to
approach.

I'd already encountered this particular pair of cops, had

even fed off of them a couple of times before wiping the
memory from their minds. And while I'd been inside their
heads, I'd learned that as well as being work partners and

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

close friends, each of them had lustful and potentially
romantic feelings for the other. Feelings that neither of them
had yet dared to express.

Hence the devious, angelically demonic plan that I had

decided to set in motion on this, the most romantic night of
the year.

"You do know that prostitution is against the law, don't

you?" the taller of the two said, looking down at my
deceptively youthful face. Rick, his name was. Six foot three,
broad and well built, with cropped blond hair and fair
complexion, he couldn't have been more different from his
partner. Charlie was a little on the short side for a cop,
though he was still a good few inches taller than me. His hair
and eyes were dark, and his looks were stunning. Feeding off
of Charlie had been something of a guilty pleasure, I must
admit.

"I'm not a prostitute," I said, holding Rick's gaze.
"Then why did that guy run off like that when he saw us?"
I passed my tongue over my lips and gave a suggestive

smile. "Maybe he's in the closet?"

Charlie cleared his throat. "Come on, Rick, let the kid go.

He wasn't doing any harm."

True, but it wasn't part of my plan for them to let me go.

Inspired by Charlie's use of the word 'kid,' I gave Rick a
mental nudge.

Rick's eyes widened, and his brows drew together in a

frown. "If he's underage and indulging in sexual activity with
an adult male, then it's our duty to report it."

"Rick..."

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

Turning to Charlie, I exerted a little push.
Charlie sighed and reached for his cuffs. "Okay, we'll get

him into the car and call it in."

Yes!
I turned around and let Charlie fasten the cuffs around my

wrists. The two cops walked me to the car and installed me
securely in the back, then climbed into their seats, Rick
behind the wheel, Charlie riding shotgun. Charlie reached for
the radio.

Uh-uh, Charlie, you don't want to do that.
Charlie sat back in his seat and looked up at Rick. "How

about we take him back to the precinct and check him out?"

Yeah, that's a good idea.
"We may as well," Rick agreed. "That way we can call his

parents to come pick him up."

So far, so good, I smirked to myself as Rick started the

engine and the car pulled away. But in order for my plan to
work, I needed to get us out of town, in some secluded place
far from prying eyes, where true love, or at least lust, would
be able to unleash its passion.

"Guys," I said, leaning forward as far as my seatbelt would

allow. "Please don't take me to the precinct."

Charlie turned toward me. "Why not?"
"Because if you call my father and tell him what you saw,

he'll kill me."

Rick snorted. "Don't exaggerate, kid. Sure, he'll be mad,

but he's your dad. He won't kill you."

At his words, visions flashed through my mind, and I had

to stifle a shudder. My father would like nothing better than

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

to grind me under his hooves and feed my broken flesh to his
filthy whores, but given the Dominical apocalypse that would
ensue if that ever happened, the evil bastard didn't dare.
And, with the powers I'd inherited from my mother, I
sincerely doubted that he could do it anyway.

Something of that mental turmoil must have leached

through my current connection with Rick and Charlie, for Rick
suddenly stamped on the brakes. As the car screeched to a
halt, other vehicles swerving and hooting around us, he
turned and looked straight at me.

"Your father is such a sick-minded bastard that he really

would kill you?" he said, his eyes wide.

"Yeah, he would. And not because I'm gay. Simply because

I exist." I sighed and looked Rick in the eye. "He's hated me
since the day I was born. Which is why I ran away, years ago.
If you let him know where I am, he'll kill me for sure."

"But what about your mom?" Charlie put in.
I closed my eyes, the pain still as vivid as it had been all

those years ago. No need to pretend here—all of this was
true. "She died," I whispered. "She was an angel, but she
died."

"How?" Rick said. "Did your father—"
"It was a long time ago," I said. "I don't remember the

details." Which was a lie, but even though I could wipe their
minds afterward, I didn't want to be going into this with Rick
and Charlie. "But whether or not he had anything to do with
my mother's death, my father is untouchable."

Making a conscious effort to compose myself, I sent

another little nudge in Charlie's direction.

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

"Where do you live, kid?" he said.
"With some friends, out of town. It's not too far from here.

And it's Rafael, not kid."

Charlie nodded his head. "Okay, Rafael. So if we take you

to the precinct and call up these friends of yours, they'll come
and get you?"

Not the precinct again, I moaned inwardly. Hell, did these

cops have a one-track mind or what? I concentrated my
thoughts on Rick.

Do you really want to go through all that paperwork for

something so trivial?

Rick glanced at the time display on the dashboard.

"Charlie," he said, "it's late. Why don't we just take the kid
home and call it a night?"

Yes, it is pretty late, and you've got another busy day

ahead of you tomorrow.

"Sure. Let's just take Rafael home and turn in."
Heaving a sigh of relief, I gave Rick the directions to my

fictional abode and leaned back in my seat, my handcuffed
wrists pressing into the small of my back as we continued on
our way. Apart from my own unexpected emotional
meltdown, everything was proceeding according to plan. I
closed my eyes and focused on Dominic.

The connection we share is strong. Whether that's because

we're soul mates or because of my demonic/angelic powers, I
don't know. With a little concentration, I can always pinpoint
his location and not exactly see, but sense what he's doing. It
doesn't work both ways, but despite being human, Dominic
has certain powers of his own, which he acquired when he

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

joined the Council. If I call to him, he'll hear me and
immediately transport to where I am, if I need him. A talent
that would be crucial to the success of this evening's little
scheme.

At that moment, Dominic was standing under a shower,

letting the warm water sluice away the slimy gore of the
scritchers from his skin. The mission had been a success.
Dominic had come away from the encounter with only a few
scratches that had healed almost immediately, and was
looking forward to a good night's sleep.

Sorry to disappoint you, baby, I murmured silently, but I

swear I'll make it up to you.

Fifteen minutes later, we were well clear of the town,

heading out along a mostly deserted highway bordered by
forest on both sides. The 'underage runaway' story had
served its purpose; I decided it was time for a new approach.

With a flick of my mind, I unlocked the handcuffs and slid

them from my wrists, then tapped Charlie on the shoulder.

He looked round, and I locked eyes with him and smiled.

"Thanks for rescuing me from those gay-bashers back there,"
I said. "And I really appreciate you offering to drive me
home."

Charlie frowned, then blinked a couple of times and smiled

back as my new story replaced the old one in his mind. "No
problem."

"Gay-bashers?" Rick queried, his eyes fixed on the road

ahead.

Yeah, they sure were a nasty bunch.

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

Rick nodded. "Right. No problem. Can't have a bunch of

big, bigoted bastards beating up on a little guy like you."

I smiled at the alliteration. And though these gay-bashers

were all in Rick's head, I could sense the sincerity behind his
words. Deciding to press my advantage, I leaned forward into
the space between the two front seats.

"I'm very grateful," I said softly, "and you guys are really

hot. How would you like to pull over and allow me to show my
appreciation properly?"

Rick's fingers tightened on the wheel as Charlie let out a

groan. I could feel them hesitate, their need warring with
their sense of duty.

A little blow job wouldn't hurt. It wouldn't mean you're

queer or anything, and nobody need ever know.

Taking his eyes from the road, Rick glanced at Charlie.

"What do you think, Charlie?"

Why not? Rick's not gonna blow you, so you may as well

let somebody else do it.

Charlie cleared his throat. "Okay, Rick. I'm game if you

are."

"There's a dirt track off to the right just up ahead," I said,

pointing. "You can park among the trees, out of sight of the
highway."

Without further hesitation, Rick did as I suggested and cut

the engine. He turned toward me, and so did Charlie.

"What was your name, again?" Charlie asked.
"Rafael."

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

"Well, Rafael," Rick said, and licked his lips a little

nervously. "How do you want to do this? We each take a turn
with you in the back seat, or what?"

I shook my head. "There's not enough room in here for me

to give you my best. It's a nice night, maybe a little cool, but
it's not raining. I say we do it outside. And you'll each get
your turn, but you let me call the shots, okay?"

Rick shrugged. "You're the expert."
"Yes," I said, "I am."
We climbed out of the car, and I led the two of them

around to the front. Although we were out in the middle of
nowhere with not a streetlamp in sight, the moon and stars
cast enough light for us to see what we were doing.

I proceeded to call the shots, giving instructions both

verbal and subliminal. "You first, Charlie." Charlie's hands
went to his fly. I shook my head. "You have to take your
pants all the way off, Charlie."

"I do?"
"If you want me to do you right, yes, you do." Oh, I could

have sucked him off without—I'd done it before, though I
hadn't been able to deep-throat him properly with all the
paraphernalia hanging from his belt—but for the purposes of
my plan, Charlie had to be pantless.

Charlie obeyed, and with a little prompting was soon in

position on the hood of the car, his back propped against the
windshield. Standing, my knees against the fender, I bent
forward from the hips and sucked Charlie's semi-erect cock
into my mouth.

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

Unlike the businessman earlier that evening, Charlie

smelled and tasted of fresh sweat and earthy, male musk.
Just the way a man should, as far as I'm concerned. As I
warmed to my task, wringing moans and whimpers from
Charlie, I could feel the heat emanating from Rick's body
behind me.

"How is it, Charlie?" Rick said, his voice unsteady.
"Oh, God, Rick," Charlie gasped, his fists clenched by his

sides. "It's fantastic! The best ever!"

With a groan, Rick pressed up close; leaning forward, his

larger body covering mine, he braced his hands on the hood
and rubbed his erection against the base of my spine.

"You gonna be finished soon, Charlie?" Rick growled, his

impatience beginning to show.

"Maybe. Can't tell. Damn, Rafael, you're better than any

woman I've ever known!"

Of course I was. I gave Rick a little subliminal nudge, and

he pushed away from me. Seconds later I heard his belt,
hung with God knew how many pounds of police equipment,
hit the ground, and the sound of his pants' zipper going down.

I lifted off of Charlie's cock just long enough to turn my

head to Rick and say, "I have lube and condoms in my
pocket," then turned my attention back to Charlie. Just a little
bit longer...

"Oh, man!" Rick unfastened my jeans and slid them down

to my knees, then reached into my jacket pocket to retrieve
the stuff.

I had fully intended to get a feed off of Charlie before

implementing the next stage of my plan, but bringing him off

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

was taking longer than I'd expected. Maybe he was enjoying
this so much that he didn't want it to end. I redoubled my
efforts as I heard the foil packet being torn open.

"Rick?" Charlie sat up and opened his eyes—apparently

he'd heard it, too. "What are you doing?"

Never mind what he's doing!
Charlie slumped back down onto the hood and moaned

appreciatively at my ministrations, but it was too late. Rick's
hands landed on my ass, his thumbs spreading my cheeks,
and I felt the head of his cock nudge against my hole. Damn,
my timing was so off tonight! With a flick of my mind, I froze
the two cops in position, then raised my head from Charlie's
cock.

Dominic!
I was so going to get my ass chewed off. And I was still

hungry.

Seconds later, my lover appeared, stark naked but bearing

a huge, two-handed sword. I almost laughed out loud at the
look of shock on his face as he surveyed the scene, but
decided to hold it in. We'd both laugh later, of course we
would. I hoped.

"Rafael, what the fuck is going on?"
"I wouldn't have let him do it, Dominic," I pointed out

reasonably, "and I assure you there's a perfectly good
explanation for what you see before you. But in the
meantime, would you hold the big guy steady so I can
squiggle out of here?"

Dominic growled and glared at me, but did as I asked. I

inched my way out from between the two cops and

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

refastened my jeans before looking up, way up, into
Dominic's fierce, dark eyes. His thick, black hair was tousled
from the pillow, and he looked about ready to kill. My cock
suddenly filled at the sight of him, and I wanted nothing more
than to drop and spread for him, there and then.

But my plan had not yet run its course. Standing at the

side of the car, I took Charlie by one ankle and gently pulled
him down the hood.

"Now," I said to Dominic, "lay Rick down on top of

Charlie."

Dominic eased Rick into position, Rick's hands braced on

the hood, his condom-clad erection nestled against Charlie's.

"That explanation of yours had better be damn good,

Rafael," Dominic said as he retrieved his sword, which he'd
stuck about a foot deep into the forest floor.

"Oh, it is." I proceeded to tell him about Rick and Charlie,

and how I knew about their not merely unrequited but above
all unacknowledged love for one another.

"So you just took it upon yourself to make them

acknowledge it?"

I shook my head. "You know I don't make anybody do

anything they don't really want to do, Dominic. It's their
decision. All I'm doing is giving them a little nudge."

Dominic snorted. "A bloody big nudge. You've got them

practically fucking on the hood of a police car!"

"Do you think the positioning is right?" I said, cocking my

head on one side. "Maybe I should move—"

"Rafael. Enough!"

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

He was still looking pretty angry, so I decided to leave it at

that. "Okay. Now, let's watch and see what happens." Settling
a cloak of invisibility around the two of us, I wiped all memory
of myself from Charlie's and Rick's minds and released them
from the freeze.

Rick shook his head and looked down at Charlie's face,

then at Charlie's naked body lying beneath his. "What the
fuck?"

"Rick," Charlie said, his eyes wide. "What are you doing?"
"Hell if I know." Rick pushed himself up, gazing down at

his and Charlie's erections, at the condom on his own cock.
"But it would be a pity to waste it, don't you think?"

"Are you pushing them?" Dominic whispered in my ear.
"Absolutely not. This is their show now, not mine."
We watched in silence as Rick slung Charlie's legs around

his waist and reached for the lube, which was now
miraculously lying on the hood next to Charlie.

"Okay, that's enough," Dominic said. "You've made your

point."

"Not yet, I haven't," I retorted, my eyes riveted to the

scene. Rick was now easing himself into Charlie, gently,
tenderly. He leaned down and gathered Charlie into his arms,
kissing Charlie's lips, as he slowly made love to his partner.
Made love, not fucked, I noted with a satisfied smile. "Okay,
now I have."

"Then come on and leave them to it." Dominic grabbed my

hand and strode off through the trees, his sword resting on
his other shoulder. I struggled to keep up with him, marveling
at the beauty of those firm, rounded buttocks, his strong,

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lean thighs, and the tantalizing sway of his balls and cock
whenever I managed to catch up enough to get a peek at the
front of him. He was really pissed off, but I had no idea why.

"Dominic, stop." I tugged on his hand, digging my heels in.

To his credit, he did stop, otherwise I'd have found myself flat
on my face on the forest floor. "Why are you so mad at me?"

Dominic let out an explosive sigh and looked me in the

eye. "I'm mad at you because you're always all for the
moment. You never think ahead, of the consequences that
could arise from what you do. Case in point, those two cops.
Yeah, they're getting it on tonight, and maybe they do really
love each other. But did you even think about how they're
going to deal with this afterward? You might have just put an
end to their friendship, not to mention their careers!"

"Or it could be the start of a beautiful and strong

relationship," I pointed out. "Yeah, I pushed them toward it,
but now it's up to them how they deal with it, up to them to
make things work, if they really want to. And even if it all
amounts to nothing and they end up as just a one night
stand; even if despite their love they're not strong enough to
stand up to the rest of the world and say 'fuck you, if you
don't like it!' Even if. Hell, at least someone will have had a
happy Valentine's Day."

"Valentine's Day?" Dominic looked down at me, his

expression softening, and shook his head. "Oh, baby, for a
demon, you are such a romantic."

"Yes, I am. And I missed you, Dominic. I wanted you to be

with me tonight—I had to do something to get your
attention."

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"Well, you did that all right."
I reached up and clasped a hand around the back of his

head, pulling him down. I heard the thunk of the broadsword
burying itself in the ground as my lips parted to receive his
kiss. His arms went around me, and he held me to him in a
fierce embrace. By the time he let me up for air, my cock was
all but bursting out of my jeans, his own prick hard against
my belly.

"Your ass is mine, Rafael," he growled, "and don't you ever

forget it."

"I won't. But a little reminder wouldn't go amiss."
"You asked for it." He stood back and shoved me in the

chest. Caught off balance, I fell back onto the ground.
Dominic pounced on me, tearing the clothes from my
unresisting body, then flipped me over onto my front.
Grabbing me by the hips, he hauled me onto my knees and
braced one arm around my neck. For a moment, the thought
crossed my mind that he was going to fuck me dry, which
would have been painful for both of us, but then I heard the
familiar, reassuring snap of a plastic cap being popped open.
Apparently, Dominic was just as adept as I was at conjuring
tubes of lube out of nowhere.

Instinctively knowing what I needed, he made no attempt

to prep me. Instead, he just launched right on in there, his
cock breaching me and forging straight ahead, filling me
completely in a matter of seconds.

"Mine, Rafael."
"Oh, yeah?" I gasped, struggling to get the words out past

the constriction of his arm around my throat. "Prove it."

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With another little growl, Dominic released his

stranglehold. Placing both hands around my hips, he
proceeded to take up the challenge, fucking me deep and
hard, pounding my ass as if he was the demon, not me. It
was mean and down and dirty, and it hurt like hell.

But it felt like heaven. "Dominic!"
"Yeah, baby, I'm with you." His hand fastened around my

cock, jerking me hard; my come spilled over his fingers as he
came inside me, and we collapsed onto the dirt and leaves
littering the floor of the forest, still joined together, united in
our love.

I lay there, gasping for breath, the warm weight of

Dominic's body pinning me to the ground, and for the
thousandth time counted myself lucky to have found
somebody who loved me for myself, regardless of my
heritage.

After a long moment, Dominic eased out of me and flopped

down onto his back. Rolling me over to face him, he stroked a
callused fingertip down my cheek.

"Happy Valentine's Day, baby," he murmured. "And since

tomorrow's my day off, and I've had a really shitty week, can
we please spend it having nice, gentle, leisurely sex?"

Even nice, gentle, leisurely sex with Dominic was better

than any kind of sex with anybody else. And after what he'd
had to endure that week, what with the scritcher demons and
all, my beloved really did deserve a break.

My stomach began to growl, reminding me that I hadn't

actually managed to get a feed in over a week. "Anything you

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want, Dominic. But do you think you'll be ready to go again
any time soon? Like, say, in the next few minutes?"

Dominic snorted and shook his head. "Why? Wasn't that

enough for you?"

"For my ass, you bet." I kissed him tenderly, then drew

back and gave him a pathetic look. "But sweetheart, I am
really, really hungry."

[Back to Table of Contents]

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

Cool Heat

By Taylor Lochland

* * * *

An ordinary man probably wouldn't have noticed the faint

cinnamon and smoke odor in the air. On the off chance he
did, he wouldn't think anything of it. After all, the smell in
itself wasn't unusual. However, Jason was a demon hunter,
and he could sense the subtle energy contained within it. He
recognized it as the signature of a demon. He closed his eyes
and inhaled deeply. It didn't take him long to locate the
source—the apartment building across the street.

He hurried over and found the main entrance required a

key for entry, but that wasn't an obstacle for him. He picked
the lock and followed the energy trail to an apartment on the
third floor. As expected, the door was locked, but he
conquered it as easily as he did the first. His fingers twitched
as he pulled his knife out of its sheath. He held it out in front
of his body, and the dim hallway light glinted off the symbols
carved into the blade. Symbols that would send a demon back
to Hell permanently once they touched its blood.

Jason cautiously entered the apartment. Though the living

room was empty, he could sense the demon was nearby. He
ventured further inside, but hesitated when he heard moaning
and the rhythmic creaking of furniture coming from what
must have been the bedroom. Shit. The idea of humans and
demons making love had always intrigued him. He'd been

The Care and Feeding of Demons

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hunting for just over four years, and so far, he'd been lucky
enough to avoid seeing a sex demon in action. Going further
might be a bad idea. He shook his head. A human might be in
danger. He couldn't let his twisted fantasy stop him.

He crept to the bedroom and put one hand on the

doorknob. In his other hand, he tightened his grip on the
knife, taking comfort in its familiar weight. He took a deep
breath and pushed open the door.

A red-haired demon lay on top of a man, thrusting

forcefully and holding his wrists down at his sides. They both
must have been engrossed in what they were doing, as
neither seemed to have noticed Jason.

Jason raised the knife, got ready to throw, and then froze

when he saw the look of pure ecstasy on the man's face.
Jason was sexually experienced, but he'd never seen any of
his partners look like that. He was certain he'd never looked
that way either.

"Want to join in, Hunter?" the demon asked without

looking up or slowing down his pace. "You're small enough.
We could easily fit you on the bed with us."

At only 5'4" and 125 pounds, Jason was used to cracks

about his size, so he easily shrugged off the jab. However,
the demon's other comment was a different matter. The
thought of being a participant rather than an observer made
his palms sweat so much that he almost dropped his knife.

"Hunter?" The demon's human companion opened his eyes

for the first time and looked at Jason with fear. "Please don't
take him. You can see he's not hurting me."

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Jason had to work his mouth for a moment before any

words would come out. "He might try to steal your soul while
you're physically distracted." He was embarrassed by how
lame he sounded.

"If he wanted to do that, he would have done it a long

time ago. We've been together for almost six years."

"Maybe he's using you for something else. He could be

draining your life energy."

The demon grunted. "Talking about me like I'm not here.

So rude. Anyway, if I was draining his energy, he'd look
eighty by now." He shifted one hand to the man's cock and
pumped. "He summoned me. He wanted a demon lover. I
would never hurt him. Unless he wants me to."

Jason felt a stirring in his pants as he watched the scene.

He shook his head in an attempt to regain his wits. A demon
hunter shouldn't let such a thing affect him. "It's my duty to
send you back to Hell."

The man looked at Jason again, his free hand clutching the

demon's shoulder. "Please don't. I love him. I need him."

The demon smiled at the man with what appeared to be

genuine fondness and then turned back to Jason. "Send me to
Hell, and you'll break his heart. He'll end up in a dark
depression, possibly for the rest of his life, and it'll be on your
conscience. I'm not bothering anyone. Who are you to
interfere?"

Jason was at a loss. He'd been trained to send all demons

to Hell for the sake of humankind, but there was clearly no
harm coming to this human. There was no reason to take the
demon away from him against his will. Telling himself it was

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only out of pity for the man and had nothing to do with his
own fantasy, Jason turned away from the door. He had only
taken a few steps when the human's loud cry of pleasure and
the demon's groan stopped him in his tracks. He glanced
down at his sweatpants and wished he had a longer jacket.
His windbreaker was about an inch too short.

He tried to will the bulge to go down, but he wasn't having

any luck. Still, he didn't want to linger. He'd take his chances
outside. At least it's dark out, and the streets should be
empty by now. He started to move, but the sound of
footsteps halted him yet again.

"Hunter."
Jason turned around to see the demon emerge from the

bedroom. "Where's the human?"

"He's sleeping now. Sex with a demon is physically

exhausting. Probably about twice as tiring as sex with another
human. I hear it's worth it, though." He glanced at Jason's
crotch and chuckled. "You should try it sometime. For some
reason, I think you'd like to."

Jason set his jaw and did his best not to look as interested

as he felt. "That would go against my code as a demon
hunter."

"Code." The word sounded like a curse. "It amazes me that

so many of you humans have codes against doing what you
truly want, even if it's not hurting anybody else. Stupid."

"I'm not stupid."
"I didn't say you. I said the codes were stupid. Though,

the fact that you follow them even when there's no good
reason to do so is stupid, too." The demon moved so close

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by M. Rode

that Jason could feel the coolness of his skin. "What's your
name, Hunter?"

"Jason."
"How old are you, Jason? Twenty-five?"
"Twenty-six." Jason knew he shouldn't share his personal

information, but he couldn't seem to stop himself from
answering the questions.

"So you have, what... fifty or sixty years left? Assuming

you don't get yourself killed earlier." The demon shook his
head. "Seriously, human lives are so short. Too many of you
waste the little time you have and never experience what you
truly desire." He brushed Jason's cheek with the back of his
hand. "You're cute. I'd love to help you out in return for
sparing me, but I'm a one-human demon. Matt is
monogamous to me, and I'm monogamous to him." He
dropped his hand and stepped back, grinning. "I'm sure I can
hook you up, though."

"No thank you. I'm not interested."
"Lying isn't against your code?" The demon chuckled. "Ah,

well. You hunters tend to be stubborn." He turned away from
Jason and returned to the bedroom. "If you change your
mind, my name is Larsehl."

Jason forced himself to leave the apartment as soon as the

bedroom door closed. Larsehl had hit close to home. Far too
close.

* * * *

Jason thought about calling off from his day job at the

library. He was used to getting through the day on only a few

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

hours sleep, but he'd barely gotten any sleep at all, and the
little sleep he did get had been restless. He went into work
anyway. If he stayed home, his thoughts would torment him.

It turned out he might have been better off staying home.

More than once, he found himself in the occult section
thumbing through the books about demons. He already knew
most of the information in them, but that didn't stop him from
searching out pictures. Especially pictures of humans and
demons engaged in carnal acts. Most of the drawings and
paintings depicted demons as repulsive monsters, which was
a gross misrepresentation. Sure, some demons were ugly, but
those were in the minority. Most were dangerously beautiful.
Accurate or not, the pictures only heightened his lust.

He didn't go hunting that night, or the next. At least, not in

the usual sense. Instead of prowling the streets looking for
demons to hunt, he prowled the internet looking for ways of
summoning a demon for sex. Summoning had not been part
of his hunter training, since his purpose was to get rid of
demons, not bring them to earth. He told himself he was only
researching out of curiosity, even though he knew that was a
lie.

Jason honestly did try to tear himself away, concerned his

desire would lead to his self-destruction. Maybe not as a
person, but as a hunter. Unfortunately, the more he tried to
resist, the tighter the obsession gripped his consciousness. He
wished he had somebody to turn to. However, the college
friends who'd recruited him into the hunting life would tear
him apart if they knew what was going on inside him.

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

Eventually, he realized fighting was futile. He had no

choice but to go through with it. Maybe once he'd had the
experience, he could get it out of his system and his life
would go back to normal.

He stopped at the occult shop after work and purchased

the supplies he needed. When he got home, he situated
himself and the bag of supplies at the kitchen table and set
his knife within easy reach—just in case. He took a deep
breath and took out the contents of the bag. It'll all work out.
The ritual called for an altar, but as he didn't have one, he
hoped the table would be good enough.

He sprinkled the herbs and lit the incense and candles.

Satisfied that everything was where it should be, he closed
his eyes, centered himself, and said the incantation. He
couldn't sense the presence of a demon, so he waited
patiently. The websites did say it might take a few moments
for the ritual to take effect. After several minutes, he opened
his eyes and looked around. Nothing. Maybe he really did
need that altar. He felt a mixture of relief and
disappointment. Perhaps the fact that he'd tried and failed
would be enough to ease his desire. Kind of like the way a
rejection suddenly makes the one doing the rejecting less
attractive.

He stood up and blew out the candles. He'd let the incense

burn itself down. The aroma was pleasant, even if it wasn't
doing anything mystical. When he turned away from the
table, he suddenly noticed another scent underlying that of
the incense. A demon's scent. His heart started to pound as
he picked up his knife and moved away from the kitchen to

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try to locate the source of the smell. He sniffed the air. The
demon was in the bedroom. He should have known.

Jason felt a little dizzy by the time he got to the bedroom

door. He held his breath and peeked inside, and what he saw
in his bed ignited his passion ten-fold. The naked demon was
amazingly beautiful and most definitely male, with a trim,
athletic-looking body, tan skin, and long, blond hair—more
golden than Jason's own platinum.

The demon rolled onto his side and smiled sweetly.

Somebody without Jason's training might have mistaken him
for angel. "You summoned me, did you not, Hunter? Don't be
shy." He patted the empty side of the bed. "You're not the
first hunter to find yourself wanting what you thought you
despised. Don't worry; I'm not your enemy. Come and let me
give you what you crave."

When Jason entered the bedroom, the demon's eyes fell

on the knife. The angelic expression left his face. "You're not
planning on sending me home to Hell when you're finished
with me, are you?"

Jason felt like an idiot. He tossed the knife out into the

hallway. "No." As he tentatively approached the bed, he held
his hands out in front of him to prove they were empty. "I
won't hurt you. I brought you here for the reason you
originally thought, and only for that reason."

A smile slowly spread across the demon's face as he

studied Jason. "I can see the desire radiating off you in
waves. Still, take off your clothes. I need to make sure you
don't have another knife hidden somewhere."

"Can't you tell I don't?"

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There was laughter. "You caught me. I know you're clean.

I still want to watch you take off your clothes. Slowly."

Jason laughed, too. The joke made him feel a bit more

relaxed about the situation. He unbuttoned his shirt,
shrugged out of it, and dropped it on the floor. He proceeded
to pull off his undershirt, revealing a thin chest with a
smattering of curly, blond hair. When he put his hand on the
zipper of his khakis, he paused. "I think I'd rather you did this
for me."

"You're doing fine."
"If you say so." Jason pulled down the zipper, one click at

a time. By the time his pants and underwear were off and
added to the pile of discarded clothing, he was completely
hard and ready to go.

The demon nodded. "Very nice. You can join me now. If

you'd like to."

Jason knew he was taking a risk, but his desire was so

strong he didn't care. "I'd like to." He stretched out on the
bed, shivering when he felt the coolness coming from the
demon.

The demon noticed. "Ah, you humans and your intolerance

for lower body temperatures. Not that it matters. It won't
bother you for long."

A cold hand brushed the front of Jason's body, making him

shiver more. "It's fine." Jason watched the hand in
anticipation, but it didn't touch him where he wanted it. At
least, not yet. "What's your name?"

"I am Kirhal," the demon answered, and then pressed his

lips to Jason's.

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

The sensation felt pleasantly cool when Kirhal's tongue

pushed into Jason's hot mouth. Jason slid his own tongue
over it, the heat and cold mixing and balancing each other
out. He felt more and more relaxed as the kiss continued. By
the time it ended, all of his apprehensions had melted away.
Only lust remained. "I-I'm Jason."

"I know." Kirhal rolled onto his back, took Jason's hand

and guided it to the blond hair covering his balls.

The hair was much silkier than Jason expected. He stroked

it for a moment, enjoying the way it felt under his fingers,
and also enjoying the way it made Kirhal gasp. "You like
that?"

"I'm a sex demon. Of course I do." Kirhal reached over and

gave Jason's sac the same treatment. "But really, what male
doesn't like that?"

Jason closed his eyes, his breath coming in sharply

through his nose. He was surprised that the cold touch didn't
bother him. In fact, he liked it. "Not many." When Kirhal
nudged him to lie on his back, Jason complied. Cold lips
pressed against his skin in various places—his throat, his
chest, his nipples, his belly, and finally his cock.

Kirhal took the organ into his mouth and gave it a quick

suck before releasing it again. After pausing a few seconds,
he repeated the action, sucking a tiny bit longer.

It went on for several minutes, the intensity and duration

varying constantly with no discernable pattern. Jason
squirmed and moaned, his hips rising in a futile attempt at
keeping himself in Kirhal's mouth. Eventually, he didn't feel

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

anything but air. He opened his eyes to see Kirhal grinning at
him. "What?"

"Nothing. You seemed to be enjoying yourself."
"I suppose you could put it that way."
Kirhal laughed and patted Jason's thigh. He retrieved a

small glass bottle from the floor, opened it, and poured a bit
of its contents onto his fingers. "I think you'll like this oil."

Jason initially tensed when he saw the oil. Can't use that

with a condom. He opened his mouth to state his concern, but
quickly closed it again when he remembered demons didn't
carry human diseases. No need for latex. He rolled over onto
his stomach and braced himself for the cold touch. However,
the oil felt warm and tingly on his skin. "Mm. Feels nice."

"I figured you'd appreciate it."
"I do." Jason closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh of

contentment, even though Kirhal was merely giving his ass a
light massage. Sure, he was anxious for more, but he wasn't
going to complain about getting some extra attention and
preparation. The fingers gradually moved closer to his
opening, eventually pushing inside him and spreading the
warmth further. When the sensation reached his prostate, he
couldn't help but cry out.

Kirhal reached his free hand forward and covered Jason's

mouth. "Shh. You'll disturb the neighbors," he whispered,
before dropping the hand.

The neighbors were the furthest thing from Jason's mind.

Still, he did his best to keep the volume down, though he
wasn't sure how long that was going to last. The pressure was
still on his prostate, and Jason started to think he was going

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

to have an orgasm already. However, right when he got to
the edge, he felt Kirhal's fingers pull out.

"If you're that excited from my fingers, I hope you can

handle what's coming next." Kirhal raised Jason up onto his
knees, got into position behind him, and pushed inside.

Jason had to bite his lower lip to keep silent. The feeling

was amazing. He'd been penetrated numerous times, but this
was far better than any of those experiences. There was
absolutely no discomfort, and his entire lower body tingled
before Kirhal even started to move.

"Intense already, isn't it?"
All Jason could do was nod. The cold lips kissed the back of

his neck, which brought the tingles all the way up his spine.
Then the thrusting started. Jason's breath went in and out
sharply through his nose as he tried not to moan too loudly.
When Kirhal started to play with his nipples, he gave up on
being quiet. His nipples had always been extremely sensitive,
and now they were even more so than normal. He grabbed a
handful of blanket and buried his face in it, using it to muffle
his cries. After a few moments, he noticed a slight tightness
around the base of his cock. Yet Kirhal's hands were both still
occupied elsewhere. No big surprise, though. Some demons
were capable of touching a person without using their
physical hands.

Kirhal started to thrust faster, and Jason felt the silky

strands of long, blond hair brushing against his back. The
pleasure that had started in his groin spread throughout the
rest of his body. He'd never felt anything quite like it, and he
was certain he had the same expression on his face as the

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

man he saw with Larsehl. The expression that had driven him
to this.

The tightness around the base of Jason's cock moved up

his organ and back down again. The pace was agonizingly
slow in contrast to the frantic motion of Kirhal's hips. It didn't
matter. The second time it reached the head, Jason trembled
violently and his seed came out in a rush. The orgasm was
more intense than anything he'd ever experienced, and it
lasted over twice as long. If it had not been for the strong
hands holding him up, he would have collapsed as soon as he
finished.

Just a few seconds later, Kirhal stopped thrusting and let

out a grunt, his groin pressing hard against Jason's ass.
Amazingly, Jason experienced another small climax, like an
earthquake's aftershock, when Kirhal's fluid filled him. After
that, his entire body went limp, all his energy gone. He
wanted to say how incredible it was, but he didn't even have
the strength to open his mouth.

Kirhal chuckled softly as he pulled out. "You're going to

sleep well tonight, little hunter. You'll be a bit sore and very
hungry when you wake up, though." Kirhal covered Jason
with the blankets after helping him get into a more
comfortable position, and then leaned over to kiss his cheek.
"Goodnight, Jason. I'll see you soon." He remained where he
was until Jason fell asleep, which wasn't long at all.

* * * *

As soon as Jason got out of bed, he polished off the half

box of cereal he had in his apartment, but it wasn't enough to

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

satisfy his ravenous appetite. He actually didn't mind much—
it gave him an excuse to stop at the diner and get some
pancakes and sausages. It had been a while since he'd last
treated himself to his favorite breakfast.

He got lost in his thoughts while he ate his food and sipped

at his coffee. As much as he tried, he couldn't get the
previous night's events out of his mind. Kirhal had far
exceeded his expectations, both in performance and in
general appeal. Even though he'd originally told himself it
would only be a one-time deal, Jason already looked forward
to the next encounter.

Somebody joined him in his booth, interrupting his

daydreams. He knew who it was without looking up. "Good
morning, Larsehl."

"Good morning, Jason." Larsehl rested his elbows on the

table and leaned forward. "I hear you had an exciting night."
He snatched a piece of sausage off Jason's plate and popped
it in his mouth.

Jason glared at him a moment before speaking. "You

heard, or you can tell?"

"Both. Kirhal's a friend of mine. You can thank me, by the

way. No self-respecting demon would normally answer a
summons from a hunter, but I told him about you. He's
always had a thing for hunters, though I'm not sure why."

"So you went and hooked me up anyway, even though I

told you not to."

"As I said, you would have been unsuccessful otherwise."

Larsehl's gaze landed on Jason's untouched glass of water.
"Didn't he tell you to drink plenty of fluids today?" He shook

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

his head and pushed the glass across the table. "By the way,
he's really taken with you. I've known him over a thousand
years, and I don't remember him ever falling for somebody
quite so fast."

"Falling for me? As, in love?"
"Of course. Believe it or not, we demons are in fact

capable of love."

Jason gulped down the water. His heart started to beat

faster, and it had nothing to do with the two cups of coffee
he'd had.

"Anyway, you should consider it. A relationship with a

demon can be most fulfilling, and I'm not talking strictly in
the sexual sense. Though, that's a huge benefit, as you've
already seen and experienced." Larsehl drummed his fingers
on the table until Jason looked at him again. "Just as a
warning, getting involved with one of us is a big commitment.
We don't handle breakups very well, especially when
somebody else gets involved. We have issues with jealousy.
Still, Kirhal's a good guy, as far as demons go. He's as loyal
as they come, as long as you don't betray him." He stood up
and squeezed Jason's shoulder when he saw the waitress
walking toward the table. "Well, whatever you decide, good
luck. Thanks for the sausage."

Jason watched him go, wondering what the hell he'd

gotten himself into. The summoning and sex was supposed to
get things out of his system, not get him into a relationship
with a demon. Still, the possibility stirred something within
him, and the thought of having incredible sex every night was
only part of the reason.

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

The waitress refilled his coffee. He sipped at it and looked

out the window, knowing he was already lost.

* * * *

Jason went hunting that night, though his heart wasn't in

it. There was only one demon he wanted to find, and he
definitely did not want to send that particular demon back to
Hell. He hadn't decided yet if he would call for Kirhal when he
got home, but as luck would have it, he didn't need to make
that decision. As he made his rounds through the city park, a
familiar scent tickled his nose. He glanced around and spotted
the demon sitting on the bench, blond hair shining in the
moonlight.

"Kirhal. I almost didn't recognize you with clothes on."
Kirhal laughed and patted the empty side of the bench. "I

know I look much better without them."

Jason sat down next to him. "I think you look pretty good

either way."

"Thank you. I won't lie, you look much better without

them. Not that you look bad with them, of course. It's just
that they hide too much." Kirhal leaned in so that his lips
almost touched Jason's ear. "You don't know how much I
want to rip them off you right now."

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't. It's chilly tonight." Jason

hoped the darkness of night hid the coloring of his cheeks.

"Is it? I can't tell." Kirhal sat up straight once again and

glanced at the knife in Jason's hand. "Not doing very well on
your hunt tonight?"

"Not at all."

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

"I'm sorry if I'm the cause of your distraction."
When Jason looked at the self-satisfied expression on

Kirhal's face, he couldn't help but chuckle. "You don't look
very sorry."

"It's nice to know I'm on your mind. You've been on my

mind a lot today, too."

"So I hear."
Kirhal let out a snarl. "I told Larsehl not to say anything.

That bastard." He shook his head. "Sorry. In any case, now
that you know how I feel, what do you say?"

Jason averted his gaze and absently played with the knife.

"I like you, but I have to think about it."

"I understand. It's a bit soon. I hope you won't keep me

waiting too long, though." Kirhal stood up and held out a
hand. "In the meantime, shall we hunt together?"

"You'd hunt other demons?" Jason accepted the hand and

rose to his feet.

"Sure, why not? Some demons deserve it. Much like

humans, we're not all the same. It's a shame hunters are
taught to send us all back to Hell, no questions asked. So
many of you miss out on so many wonderful opportunities."

The pointed way Kirhal looked at him when speaking the

last sentence was not lost on Jason. "Most humans believe all
demons are evil. I thought so too until recently."

"Keep in mind that I'm not exactly good, either. I do deal

with the sin of lust, as you may have noticed."

Jason smirked. "I was embroiled in that sin for a long time

before I met you."

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

They checked out every inch of the park—demons seemed

to like that park—but they didn't find anything. Not that they
were trying very hard. Jason knew he should try a little
harder, since it had been a few days since he'd last sent a
demon to Hell. However, he was more interested in spending
time with Kirhal.

"Why don't we go back to your apartment and hang out?"

Kirhal asked as they left the park and walked side by side
down the sidewalk.

"And fuck, you mean?"
A slow grin spread across Kirhal's face. "Perhaps."
Jason was tempted. However, for the first time since this

whole mess started, his brain won out over his body. "I'm not
sure, Kirhal. I can see myself getting addicted to sex with
you."

"Would that be such a terrible thing?" Kirhal rested a hand

on the side of Jason's face, thumb stroking his cheek.

"Of course not. But I don't want addiction to force my

choice about... us."

"You're very wise, little hunter." Kirhal dropped his hand

and nodded. "I'll wait until you're ready, as long as it takes."

That's not fair. How the hell am I not supposed to fall for

him when he's considerate like that? Jason opened his mouth
to thank Kirhal for understanding, but he didn't have time to
get the words out. Something large and cold flew out of
nowhere and tackled him to the ground, the impact knocking
the knife out of his hand. He winced when he heard it
clattering out of reach.

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

"Go to Hell, Hunter," the intruder growled as he put his

hands on Jason's neck and started to squeeze.

Jason reached back and groped for the knife, but his

fingers touched only air and concrete. He looked up at the
demon and saw pure hatred and rage—the expression he was
used to seeing in a demon's face. A heartbeat later, that face
was gone, and Jason found himself looking at Kirhal's
concerned expression instead.

Kirhal helped Jason to his feet and performed a quick

examination. "You're going to have a few bruises, and not the
fun kind." He handed back the knife.

"Thanks." Jason slipped the knife into the sheath on his

belt and brushed the dirt off the back of his clothes. "I think
my ego's bruised worse than my skin. I can't believe I didn't
notice him."

"Don't feel bad. I should have sensed him, too, but I

didn't." Kirhal pulled a leaf out of Jason's hair. "I think we
were a bit too distracted by each other. Maybe hunting
together wasn't such a good idea after all."

"Maybe not."
Neither one made a move to leave the other. In fact, they

didn't part for several hours. They roamed all over the city,
sometimes making small talk and sometimes walking silently.
Even though they made it a point to be more aware of their
surroundings, they weren't really hunting, so they didn't catch
any more demons. When the first hints of dawn were visible
on the horizon, they headed back toward Jason's apartment.

"Good thing I have the day off," Jason said with a yawn.

He rubbed his eyes and stretched.

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

Kirhal grinned. "Looks like I wore you out yet again. Not as

much fun as yesterday, but still worthwhile."

"I agree." Jason returned the smile and blinked, trying to

get his eyes to focus properly.

"Good." Kirhal walked up to the apartment with him, but

stopped outside the door. "Forgive me for not tucking you in,
but I don't think I'll be able to control myself if I go inside."

"I think I have just enough energy left to tuck my own self

in, thank you. Unlike last night." Jason took a step toward
Kirhal and leaned in for a kiss, but hands on his shoulders
stopped him.

"Trust me, I want to kiss you. But again, I won't be able to

stop with just a kiss."

Jason nodded and turned away to unlock the door. "I'll see

you soon." He entered his apartment without looking back.
He'd lose control himself if he did.

* * * *

Jason and Kirhal hunted together every night for the next

two weeks, and they actually managed to catch many demons
without being attacked first themselves. "It looks like we're
learning to work together, Hunter Jason. I think we make a
good team," Kirhal said after an extraordinarily successful
night.

"It seems so." Since that first close call, they'd learned

how to be more on their guard while enjoying each other's
company at the same time. Kirhal helped him distinguish the
harmful demons from the not-so-bad ones, and in an average
night, they dispatched more evil demons while working

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

together than Jason ever had done while alone. Hunting had
become a pleasure rather than a duty, though Jason knew
that had more to do with the company than the work itself.

"We'd make a good team in other ways, too." Kirhal

grinned. When Jason returned the smile, he continued, "You
should spend tomorrow alone so you can think. I know it's
hard to do so while we're together."

Jason had gotten so accustomed to seeing Kirhal each

night that he couldn't help but feel a little sad about missing
one. Even so, he knew taking a night off was for the best. He
still needed to sort things out, and he'd put his decision off
long enough. "All right. I'll miss you, though."

"Not to sound cruel, but I hope you do."

* * * *

As Jason did his lonely rounds the next night, he did miss

Kirhal, far more than he'd expected. Still, he took the time to
consider his situation.

He knew getting involved with a demon had its drawbacks.

First, there were the jealousy issues Larsehl warned him
about, and the fact he would age and Kirhal wouldn't. On the
other hand, he'd fallen for Kirhal. He knew it had happened
fast, but Kirhal was kind and considerate to him, incredibly
attractive, and much more interesting than a human. Kirhal
had already proven himself a great ally. Even though Jason
didn't expect to be able to hunt on nights they made love—
the act drained too much energy—it didn't matter. They
wouldn't have to hunt every night anymore, considering how
productive they were when working together. Then there was

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

the sex. Jason had a feeling he'd never be satisfied with a
human lover again.

When Jason got home and lay in bed, he made his final

decision. He would accept Kirhal's love and love the demon
back. He fell asleep, feeling at peace for the first time in a
long time.

He hadn't slept long when he woke to the feeling of cool

lips pressing against his own warm ones. Kirhal. Unable to
help himself, he kissed back, slipping his tongue into Kirhal's
mouth.

After a moment, Kirhal pulled away, though he still held

Jason's face gently between his hands. "You're a cold, cruel
human, Jason. I know you made up your mind, so why didn't
you call for me?"

"I didn't realize you wanted me to let you know

immediately. What are you doing reading my mind, anyway?"

"I don't have to read your mind to know. I can sense your

emotions, and I could feel the turmoil that had been raging
within you come to a rest."

"In that case, you should be able to sense what I'm feeling

for you right now." Jason's expression softened. "You
wouldn't have kissed me if you didn't already know."

Kirhal smiled his almost angelic smile and pulled Jason into

his arms. "That doesn't mean I don't want to hear the words."

"I want to be with you." Jason resumed the kiss where

they'd left off. He closed his eyes and buried a hand in the
thick, golden hair on the back of Kirhal's head, his lips melting
against Kirhal's. Once he'd explored every nook and cranny of
that cool mouth with his tongue, he pulled away and took a

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

breath. "I haven't known you for long, but I already can't
imagine being without you."

"I'm glad. I feel the same."
"I'm going to age, though."
Kirhal rolled his eyes. "I obviously knew and accepted that

when I offered to be with you. Why do you humans worry so
much about that shit?" He pulled Jason into another kiss, but
this time it was more passionate. Desperate.

Jason's hands slid all over Kirhal's naked body, as if he

needed to touch every millimeter of skin to keep his lover
from disappearing. Kirhal's hands were just as busy, and
eventually came to a rest on the waistband of Jason's boxers.

"You shouldn't sleep in clothes. It's bad for your

circulation."

"Circulation, huh?" Jason laughed and raised his hips to

make it easy for Kirhal to pull the shorts off. "Funny, that's
not something my doctor ever warned me about."

"Doctors don't know everything." Kirhal tossed the

garment on the floor, looked Jason up and down, and nodded
in approval. "It's been too long since I saw you like this." He
leaned over and sucked on Jason's neck hard enough to leave
a mark. Then Kirhal shifted lower, kissed each of Jason's
nipples in turn, and proceeded to lick all the way down the
front of his body, making him shiver.

"Your tongue feels like an ice cube."
Kirhal blew on the damp trails and pointedly looked at

Jason's hardening cock. "It doesn't look like you're
complaining."

"That thing? All I have to do is see you and it stands up."

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

"I've noticed."
Jason's shivering got a little worse as the tongue and

kisses continued to move down his inner thighs and then
came back up again. He let out a gasp. "Kirhal, please... I
can't take much more."

"Too cold for you?" Kirhal stopped what he was doing and

looked up with a smirk.

"That's not it."
"Didn't think so."
When Kirhal's cool, damp mouth finally engulfed his sex,

Jason's hips bucked. He tried to still them at first, out of
habit, but soon remembered he didn't need to worry about
Kirhal choking. It felt good so let himself go for once. Jason
felt suction and the gentle scrape of teeth as Kirhal started to
move his head up and down, working the organ and taking it
as deep as it could go. Jason pressed his head back against
the pillows, a loud moan escaping his throat.

Without breaking his rhythm, Kirhal gracefully turned his

body around so that his own cock hung a few inches over
Jason's face. Jason didn't need anybody to tell him what to
do. He raised his head and took the tip of the offered organ
between his lips, sucking gently and slowly pulling it deeper
into his mouth. Once it was completely in, he felt something
like a small shock in the back of his throat, as if the action
completed a circuit. He could feel energy flowing between
their bodies—starting at his cock, traveling up his spine, and
continuing through his mouth. His lips and tongue tingled as
the energy passed to Kirhal. He started to moan again, as did

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

Kirhal, and the sounds sent vibrations through their flesh,
intensifying the electric sensation.

Over the noises of sex, Jason heard the scraping sound of

a jar opening. A moment later, an oiled finger teased his
crack. He shifted his hips, and his breath came in sharply
through his nose when the finger pushed inside his body.
Another quickly followed it. The frequency and intensity of the
sounds coming from his throat increased dramatically,
especially when the fingertips stroked his prostate.

Just as Jason got lost in the sensation, he felt the jar

pressing against one of his hands. His lips curled into as much
of a smile as they could as he poured some of the oil onto his
fingers. He reached up and ran a finger in a circle around the
ring of muscle, enjoying the way it made Kirhal twitch. When
he heard the impatient grunt, Jason finally inserted the finger.
He gave Kirhal's sweet spot the same treatment Kirhal gave
his, eliciting moans and sharp breaths to match his own.
Jason had never imagined a demon would want penetration—
even with fingers—and he wasn't sure if Kirhal wanted it for
physical pleasure or to put human and demon on equal
ground. Either way, Jason felt honored.

As the intensity built up and they both got closer to the

edge, their hips rocked in unison, and they moaned and
gasped in synch with each other. Jason wrapped his free hand
around the root of Kirhal's cock, and Kirhal did the same for
him. Finally, their bodies tensed and quivered; they went limp
as they filled each other's mouths.

The cool liquid tasted much better than Jason had

expected. Sweeter. He swallowed, released the softening

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

flesh from his mouth, and removed his finger from Kirhal's
ass. "I'm glad we found each other, Kirhal."

Kirhal gave Jason's limp cock one last kiss and pulled his

own fingers out. The expression he wore as he turned around
made Jason's heartbeat quicken. It was a look of honest love
and affection—something he'd never seen so clearly on
anybody's face. "I love you," Kirhal said, nuzzling Jason's
neck.

Jason found it a little funny that a demon had less trouble

saying "I love you" than any human he'd been with. "I love
you, too." He'd never been able to say it so easily himself.

"I'm glad." Kirhal ran a hand through Jason's platinum

hair. "We definitely make a good team in things other than
hunting."

"Very true." Jason grinned and snuggled close. "I don't

think I have the stamina for sex with you every night,
though." He wasn't quite as drained as he was after their first
experience, but he was definitely tired and almost ready for
sleep.

"Amateur. I'll have to whip you into shape." Kirhal leaned

in and kissed him tenderly.

Jason reciprocated, resting a hand on Kirhal's chest, right

where his heart would be if he were human. When Jason
pulled away, he twirled a strand of long, golden hair around a
finger. "What's going to happen if we can't make this work?"

Kirhal grinned and kissed his forehead. "That's a silly

question. Can't you tell it's going to work? I can. Close your
eyes and clear your mind. You'll see it."

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

When Jason closed his eyes, he could feel that Kirhal had

spoken the truth. He used to laugh at people who said they
just 'knew' when they found the right person. Now, he
understood what they felt. "I see it," he barely managed to
say before he fell asleep.

* * * *

Jason woke up shortly after the sun rose. His sleep had

been deep, even if it hadn't been long, and he felt refreshed.
He sat up and stretched—and smiled when he saw Kirhal
watching him from the bedroom doorway, wearing a pair of
dark gray jeans and an oversized, black hoodie. The golden
locks were tied back in a loose ponytail, but several strands
hung in his face. He looked like he'd just returned from a
heavy metal concert. "It's the first time I've seen you in
daylight."

"I know." Kirhal winced. "It's not my best time of day."
"I think you look fine." Jason swung his feet to the floor

and got out of bed. As he approached Kirhal, his stomach
roared. "I'm really going to have to keep the kitchen better
stocked, aren't I?"

"That would be wise." Kirhal pulled Jason into his arms.

"Just don't expect me to cook anything that isn't
microwaveable. You know, that whole temperature thing."

"Nice excuse." Jason raised himself on the balls of his feet

so their mouths could meet in a quick kiss before he pulled
away. "I guess I'm stopping for breakfast on my way to work.
Are you coming with me?"

"Absolutely."

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

After Jason showered and dressed, they headed to the

diner. Jason couldn't really say he was surprised when they
entered and saw Larsehl waving at them from one of the
booths. Larsehl's human lover was there, too.

"Good morning," Larsehl said, grinning broadly, as Jason

and Kirhal joined them. "I'm sensing that you two had a good
night."

Jason nodded, his face feeling hot. "Morning." He turned

his attention to Larsehl's companion. "It's Matt, isn't it?"

"Correct." Matt nodded. "Welcome to the club. If you ever

need any advice on how to deal with these guys, feel free to
pay me a visit. My way of saying thanks for sparing Larsehl
that night."

"Thanks. I'll keep that in mind."
Matt rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward.

"They're pretty amazing, aren't they?"

"Yeah." Jason glanced at Kirhal with a grin. "They are."
Kirhal slipped a hand under the table and squeezed Jason's

leg, just above the knee. "Humans are pretty amazing, too.
At least, this one is."

"I'm glad you two are into each other." Larsehl laughed

and looked at Jason. "I did warn you you'd be stuck at his
side indefinitely, didn't I?"

"You did." Jason put his hand over Kirhal's and laced their

fingers together. "It's fine. Seems like a nice place to be."

* * * *

[Back to Table of Contents]

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

A Calling for Pleasure

By JL Merrow

* * * *

Prologue
The rush of the summoning fizzled out of Rael's brain,

leaving his mood switched to high and all his senses buzzing.
He found himself sitting in a small room inside some raggedy
old salt circle, surrounded by stubby, smoky little candles he
was just itching to snuff before they made the whole damn
place reek like rancid fat. There was a pimply-faced kid sitting
kitty-corner from Rael with his jaw hanging open because,
damn, this magic shit actually worked!

Rael gave the sebum king his best slow smile. "You

called?" he breathed, feeling the vibes as his powers rippled
right on out through the air.

"You're... you're not a succubus!" the kid croaked. "You're

a man!"

Rael raised an eyebrow. "You know, there are laws against

gender discrimination in the workplace."

"In Hell?"
"Especially in Hell." Rael leaned forward, fixing the kid

right in the eye. "Now, why don't we get me out of this circle,
and I'll show you what a real demon can do for you?"

* * * *

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

Detective Lars Thornsson of the Paranormal Enforcement

Agency felt the iron bands of an incipient migraine tightening
around his forehead. "Another one already?"

"Not exactly. This one's still alive. Morton Meers, age

eighteen. Found by his parents. He'd called a demon into his
bedroom, would you believe it? Salt circle a fucking fairy
could have gotten out of, and the candles damn near set fire
to the drapes." Lars' partner, Chelle Rochelle, snorted her
disapproval. "Amateur."

"So what was the damage? To the kid, I mean."
"Usual. Massive dehydration, exhaustion. Only not fatal,

this time."

"So we got us a demon with a conscience?"
"Guess so. Either that or it was real grossed out by the

kid's acne."

Lars grinned despite himself. "Doesn't sound like our girl,

but I guess we'll have to check it out. Has the kid made a
statement?"

"Oh, yeah. Doesn't remember a damn thing, he says. Can't

explain how the salt got there, just put the candles out
because he thought they were pretty, and no, sir, he'd never
seen that grimoire in his life." She laughed. At least, if it was
anyone else, Lars would have called that sound a laugh.
Rochelle wasn't exactly known for her sense of humor. Unlike
her parents, of course. Actually, come to think of it, that
probably went a long way toward explaining why she didn't
have a sense of humor.

"So, do we know if he had the brains to command the

demon to get its ass back to Hell after it had done its thing?"

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100

"Actually, we pretty much know he didn't. Window was

broken. Demon must have leapt out after it munched on the
kid."

Fucking fantastic. So now they maybe had two rogue

succubi running loose in the city. "Hell. We have to get a
description out of this kid, put out an APB. Just because
Meers got lucky doesn't mean the next victim isn't going to
wind up dehumidifying the morgue."

* * * *

Morton Meers looked a hell of a lot younger than eighteen.

Maybe the hospital gown helped some, but Lars reckoned the
fact that he was a scrawny little runt with a face you could
play connect-the-dots on probably had more to do with it.

"Mr. Meers? We need to ask you a couple of questions

about the night you were attacked."

The kid blanched, making those zits stand out like spots of

blood on an angel's wing. "I told you guys already, I don't
remember anything," he whined.

Lars sighed. "That was the regular cops, son. We're the

Paranormal Enforcement Agency. I'm Detective Thornsson,
this is Detective Rochelle. We understand you might not want
everyone to know exactly what happened that night." He tried
to look approachable, but he was pretty damn sure he hadn't
pulled it off. At six foot four, he was aware he tended to
intimidate people. "Maybe you'd prefer to talk to my partner?"
He looked at Rochelle for help.

Never having been too big on maternal instincts, Rochelle

scowled at Lars briefly before directing an insincere smile at

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

101

the victim. "You know, you'd hardly be the first young man
who's looked for supernatural assistance in finding a
girlfriend."

And why the hell did that make the kid look like he was

about to crap his pants?

"It wasn't a girl!" the kid blurted out, clapping his hands to

his mouth afterward like it needed help to stay shut.

Well, that put a different slant on it. If the kid had called

up an incubus, then clearly it wasn't the same demon Lars
and Rochelle had been hunting the last three weeks. The
succubus they were after had put, at last count, thirteen men
in the morgue, their souls literally sucked out through their
dicks.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Meers, I guess there's been a

misunderstanding. We're on the hunt for a succubus that's a
serial killer. But if you called up an incubus—"

"No! I'm not like that!" Meers looked even smaller in his

desperation.

Lars felt sorry for him. "Son, there's no shame in being

gay. I'm that way myself—"

The kid actually flinched. "I'm not! I wanted a girl, okay,

but this, this man turned up, and he... oh, fuck, he..."

"Blew your brains out?" Rochelle's tone was sardonic.
Lars looked at her in resignation.
"Oh, God!" The kid put his face in his hands. "Am I going

to turn into a fag?"

That migraine was coming along nicely now. "That's

generally not how it happens," Lars said, as kindly as he
could.

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102

* * * *

"So, do you think it's our demon?" Rochelle asked bluntly

as they got back into their squad car.

Lars shrugged. "Hard to tell. Hell, I didn't even know you

could get male succubi."

Rochelle fixed him with a speculative look. "Lemme guess,

Thornsson, your teenage years would've been one helluva lot
more interesting if you'd known."

Lars coloured. "We need to re-examine the files of the

previous victims," he said, pressing on with business. "See if
there's anything to suggest they were bisexual or
homosexual."

Rochelle chewed her lip reflectively. "Or, we could try a

scrying. Get me those pieces of glass from the kid's window—
a dollar will get you twenty that demon left some blood on
one of them when it busted outta there."

"Okay, C, you're the expert here. Fire up that bowl of

yours and let's see what you can get."

* * * *

Licking distractedly at the scratch on his hand, Rael

wandered through the city streets with a big old happy grin
on his face. Damn, it had been way too long since he'd last
been topside. What was it, a century? Two? The population
seemed to have exploded since then. Main Street was like a
frickin' smorgasbord. A cute kid in jeans so tight he had to
have made a deal with the devil just to get them on that
perfect, round ass handed Rael a flyer and tipped him a wink.

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103

"You been to Mefisto's yet, dude?"
Rael tore his eyes away from that gorgeous bod long

enough to glance at the leaflet. "Hey, I think you got a
spelling mistake here."

Cute-as-a-button grinned. "No mistake, dude. But that's

on a strictly voluntary basis. Plenty of guys go there just to
dance and meet up. It's the best place to meet hot guys, and
Friday nights the drinks are half price if you take your shirt
off. And man, that shirt of yours seriously needs to come off,
dude."

Rael pouted. "You don't like my shirt?"
The kid licked his lips. "Hell, no. That shirt has way too

much fabric in it."

Rael raised an eyebrow. "Well, honey, maybe we should do

something about that. You got a minute?"

Perky-and-shiny was practically drooling now. "Dude, I got

several."

* * * *

Man, Rael loved this city with its big wide streets and its

dark, narrow alleyways. Perfect for when you just couldn't
wait for your next meal. Didn't take but a minute before they
were both shirtless, jeans open, Rael's mouth wrapped
around that young, sweet cock like he was a kid with a
popsicle.

"Dude!" the kid gasped, as Rael swallowed him down,

careful not to get too carried away like the last time. Rael felt
kind of bad about that. Poor kid had summoned him out of
Hell, given him a free ride to the all-you-can-eat buffet

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104

topside, and Rael had damn near sucked the life out of him.
That was just rude.

Plus, he'd tasted kinda icky. Damn low calorie foods. You

just ate and ate and you were never satisfied.

* * * *

Refreshed by the sweetest snack he'd had in an eternity,

Rael kissed the kid goodbye and made sure the little cutie
could still walk straight before heading on over to Mefisto's.
He flashed the guy on the door a smile full of promise and
sauntered on in, the beat of the music heading straight on
down to where he lived.

The club was all dark corners, loud music, and hot, hot

men. Rael figured he finally knew why the angels kept
banging on about Heaven because, baby, this was it and it
rocked.

He sashayed through the crowd, a touch of hips here, a

sultry caress there, getting drunk on the rush of male
hormones, alcohol, and good old-fashioned lust that was
saturating the air. If he flicked his tongue out, he could taste
it, rich and spicy like the best goddamned banquet he'd ever
crashed. Hell, you could bottle this stuff. Rael had never
known anything like it. He was just starting to wonder if
anyone would mind if he just orgasmed himself to death bang
in the middle of the dance floor when she walked in to call out
the rainclouds on Rael's parade.

Tall, stacked, with hair the color of hellfire, she stood out

in this joint like a priest in a bordello, only Rael didn't figure
her intentions were any too pure. This kitten was sin on a

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stick and damn, did she know it. Easy to spot the bi boys,
they were drawn to her like flies to Beelzebub himself.
Although from the looks of surprise on some of those faces,
half of those boys had figured themselves to be as bent as a
satyr's horn not five minutes ago. Man, what Rael couldn't do
if he had a quarter of her power. This chick was way out of
his league, must be eighth, even ninth circle. Rael was just a
small-town boy from the fringes of the second and man, was
he feelin' it.

Sonuvabitch! This was supposed to be his party!
"Hey, man, you wanna dance?"
Rael looked at the guy mournfully, his happy buzz having

gone up in smoke like a pious thought in Hell. "Not really in
the mood."

"Hey, c'mon, man, lighten up a little! Someone as pretty

as you shouldn't be looking so blue."

The guy was short, solid, with the cutest pair of eyes Rael

had ever seen, set in a face Rael hoped like hell his mother
had loved because no one else this side of Heaven ever
would. Rael smiled sadly. "Honey, looks aren't everything.
Hell, maybe I could go for one little dance."

They moved off into the throng, Rael making damn sure he

steered his ass well away from Hell-chick. Not that he could
have gotten near her if he'd tried, with all those macho types
jostlin' and fightin' for position around her like vultures on a
three-day-old corpse.

Pug-ugly snorted. "What the hell's she doing in here with

her high heels and her implants? On a mission to convert the
masses?"

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"Honey, you don't know how right you are," Rael purred.

He was getting to like this guy.

* * * *

Lars did his damnedest not to drum his fingers on the desk

as Rochelle got out her scrying bowl, filled it up from a bottle
he was damn sure he'd seen her topping up from the station
water cooler earlier, muttered an incantation, threw in a
handful of herbs, added a shard of glass from the crime scene
and then just sat there with her eyes shut for a nerve-
grinding thirteen minutes.

He sagged in relief when she opened her eyes and started

staring into the bowl, frown wrinkling up her forehead like
corrugated iron. Lars wondered if she'd flatten him if he said
anything about Botox.

"What've you got?" he asked, peering forward into the

bowl impatiently, forgetting for the moment that all he'd be
able to see would be his own reflection. And even that was
pretty damn fuzzy around the edges.

"Jesus, Thornsson, this ain't like frickin' cable! Some kind

of club, all right? Dark. Mostly men—guess we hit pay dirt
with the fag angle."

Lars decided to ignore the dig at his sexuality. Hell, at

least he occasionally got some. "Damn it, C, there are a
hundred and one gay bars in this city! Can't you narrow it
down?"

"I'm trying, dickwad. Jeez, does it have to be so damn

dark in these places? Right. On the wall, some weird-ass devil
motif. Like a pair of horns, forked tail, pitchfork—you know,

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Thornsson, I thought you guys were supposed to have
decorative flair? And a clenched fist, like on those old commie
flags..."

"Got it! Mefisto's." Lars colored slightly.
Rochelle raised an eyebrow. "Mephisto's?"
"Uh, yeah. Mefisto's. I don't go there a whole lot."
Rochelle snorted. "Sure you don't."

* * * *

Steering the squad car one-handed around hairpin bends,

Lars spoke rapidly into the radio while Rochelle tried to hold
the cling-film covered scrying bowl steady.

"Damn it, Thornsson! You got any idea how frickin' hard it

is to see a picture in this thing? Quit with the fucking
handbrake turns! Jeezus!"

"She still there?"
"How the fuck would I know? Way you're driving, I may as

well have my head down a frickin' curry-house toilet!"

* * * *

Rael's good mood was coming back in spades. Little Miss I-

steal-your-menfolk bitch had disappeared, and short, squat
and homely had a hard on the size of Manhattan humpin' like
a puppy dog against Rael's thigh.

"Hey, you want to go out back for a little fresh air?" Rael

pulled Mr. sure, but he's got a nice personality by the hand.
"You are going to love what I can do with my tongue."

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The guy's pretty eyes lit up. "Hey, you got a piercing,

man? I got blown by a guy with a tongue-stud once, and it
was un-be-fucking-lievable!"

"Honey, you ain't seen nothing yet!" Rael promised him.

* * * *

"Okay, Thornsson, you're the expert here. You want we

should go in the front, guns blazing? Or do we make like the
locals and use the back door?"

"Real funny, C. We'll go in the front. Without the guns. We

don't want to start a frickin' riot."

Flashing their badges, they struggled through the heaving,

sweaty mass of dancers.

"Hey, C?" Lars shouted over the bump'n'grind of the

music. "Your spidey-senses tingling?"

"No, but some asshole just groped my crotch."
"Don't sweat it, C, he musta thought you were a guy.

Okay, this way. Looks like we're heading for the back door
after all."

Walking out of the pheromone-drenched atmosphere of

the club into what passed for fresh air outside was like
walking into a block of ice. Evidence that it didn't hit all of the
club goers that way was all around them—couples were
grinding into each other up against the wall, guys were on
their knees to other guys, one lightweight had passed out
cold... shit.

"C? I think we got here too late."
Lars bent down to feel the guy's neck. No pulse. And dry,

real dry.

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"Goddammit!" Rochelle swore, flipping open her radio.

"Need a meat wagon here!"

Suddenly she whirled and grabbed the cutest of the

kneeling guys by the collar, jerking him forcibly off his
partner's dick, which seemed to be the coup de grace as far
as blow job guy was concerned. Rochelle swore again,
unsuccessfully trying to dodge a huge spurt of spunk.

Lars just had time to glimpse a forked tongue slipping back

inside full, pretty lips before Rochelle was slapping the silver
cuffs onto a pair of slender, elegant wrists.

"You are so busted, asshole!"

* * * *

Rael sat in the specially-warded interrogation room, his

spirits so low he figured they'd made it all the way back down
to Hell on their own and were probably sitting on his
momma's couch right now, getting their ass busted for
getting caught by the law. This was so not the way things
were supposed to go!

The only bright spot in Rael's cloudy skies had been the

arresting officer's partner. He was tall, blond, and bulked out
in all the right places. And if Rael wasn't very much mistaken,
he'd gotten just a little bulkier in one of them when he'd
manhandled Rael into the squad car.

Rael shifted in his seat on the rowanwood chair. Man, he

was gettin' a hard on just thinking about being interrogated
by that cutie.

* * * *

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"Is this your demon?" Lars asked, gesturing toward the

two-way mirror that showed their pretty little captive sitting
in the interrogation room getting his pout on.

Meers, clearly still shaky from his ordeal, nodded mutely.

"Am I going to have to give evidence against him?" he
whined. "I don't want everyone knowing I let a guy demon do
me. Do I even have to file charges?"

Lars sighed. "It may not come down to that. We got a

whole bunch of other crimes we may be able to tie him to."

Nodding his thanks to Meers, Lars left the room and

marched in to see the demon, a hard-faced Rochelle at his
heels.

The demon looked up at them from beneath lush, dark

eyelashes, his full, sensual mouth down-turned at the
corners.

"You'll have to excuse me not getting up." The prisoner

shrugged as best he could with both arms cuffed behind him
to the chair. Lars wondered if the silver was hurting the guy.

He tried not to let the demon get to him. This guy had

maybe murdered fourteen people, and he'd certainly put one
kid in the hospital. The last thing Lars needed was to start
feeling sorry for him. But damn, he was cute. Slender and
snake-hipped, Lars could just imagine what it'd be like to
have that lithe body in between his thighs, to feel those
delicate hands flowing all over his skin like melted chocolate...

"Damn it, C!" he cursed. "I thought these amulets were

supposed to be hot stuff!"

Rochelle looked at him. "They are. You got a problem with

being in on this interrogation, Thornsson?"

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"Uh, no, I'm good," Lars muttered, shamefacedly.
"Oh, I'll bet you are, honey," the demon purred, looking a

lot happier all of a sudden. Oh, yeah, he knew he was getting
to Lars, all right. Lars fingered his amulet nervously,
wondering if the protection was going to kick in any time
soon.

"What do you go by?" he asked brusquely. No need to get

onto actual names this early in proceedings.

"Rael," the demon answered, batting those damn

eyelashes like a southern coquette at a debutantes' ball. "But
you can call me anything you want."

"Rael, then," Lars said, with an attempt at sternness. "I'm

DI Thornsson, this is DI Rochelle. We're investigating a series
of demonic murders. I don't think I need to spell out just how
bad it looks for you to be found at the scene of the latest
crime? First of all, can you confirm you are a succubus?"

Rael lifted an eyebrow. "Sure thing. How would you like

me to confirm it? I got plenty of ways, and they're all good."

Lars flushed. He'd walked into that one. "Orally. I mean,

verbally!"

A lazy smile with a promise of wicked, wicked delights

spread slowly over those beautiful features. "Oh, honey, I can
think of so many better things we could be doing right now."
Suddenly, the demon's angelic face darkened. "So it's true,
then? Hell-bitch took out one of those bi boys tonight?"

Rochelle rolled her eyes. "Jesus, Hellboy, the corpse was

lying right next to you. You tryin' to tell me you had no damn
idea you were sucking dick next to a dead guy?"

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"I take pride in my work," Rael pouted. "When I'm on the

job, ain't nothing gonna distract me."

"Uh, wait a minute," Lars butted in, before he could get

too distracted himself by thoughts of Rael single-mindedly
sucking dick. "Hell-bitch? Who the fuck's that?"

"At a guess, I'd say she's your girl. 'Bout as tall as you, but

not half as pretty. Red hair, kinda well-endowed, if you like
that kind of thing. Looked like an Amazon, but without the
home cosmetic improvements, if you get my drift. Had all the
bi boys tripping over their tongues back at the club. I didn't
see her leave; I was too busy feelin' glad she was gone. Way
out of my league." He paused a minute and looked at Lars
speculatively. "You know, sugar, I'm pretty sure I could find
out her name."

"You can do that?"
"Sure thing. But I'll need my arms free and a couple

things. Candles, herbs, you know the drill, honey."

Rochelle snickered. "Well, we got a kid named Meers I

don't figure will be using his occult supplies again in a hurry."
Her face straightened out again quickly. "Nice try, Hell-spawn.
Only way you're getting out of those cuffs is at the ass-end of
a banishing spell, and the day we let you near any witching
stuff is the day your hometown starts gritting for ice. Even if
you're not our guy, you damn near killed that kid."

Lars watched as Rael's face fell, fighting the urge to go

over there and comfort him.

"I've been beating myself up so much over that. Is the kid

okay? I swear, it's so damn easy to forget how fragile you
mortals are."

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"Meers is fine," Lars told him, ignoring Rochelle's look of

disgust. "He's more embarrassed than anything else. Uh, on
account of you not being female."

Rael smiled, lighting up his whole face. "Damn, it's give

them what they ask for, not what they really want, isn't it? I
always get that one back to front."

Rochelle scowled. "Thornsson, when you've finished hitting

on the suspect, we got us a demon to catch. You coming, or
were you just planning on getting a room?"

"Uh, gimme a minute, would you, C?"
Rochelle's eyes narrowed. "If this is something I don't

want to know about, you'd better make damn sure I never
find out, Thornsson."

As she stormed out of the room, limpid brown eyes looked

up at Lars from beneath the rainforest of lashes. "Is this
where you offer me a deal?" That forked tongue flicked out to
wet full, dark lips, and Lars found his mouth unexpectedly
dry. "Because a man like you? It'd be my pleasure, and you
can bet your badge it'd be yours, too."

Lars pulled himself together. "That's just it, Rael. I would

be betting my badge on it. And in any case, I'm not that kind
of cop, okay? I just... listen Rael, are you telling us the truth
about this girl?"

"I'd offer to swear on a Bible, but I don't think that'd be

such a great idea."

"Guess not. I hear they're still scraping the last demon

that tried that off the walls over at the 35th. Listen, they're
gonna take you down to the cells now and lock you up so

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tight Lucifer himself couldn't get you out, but you get one call
first. You got anyone to call up here?"

"Honey, last time I was up here, they were kind of more

into signal fires."

Lars nodded and fished out a business card from his breast

pocket. "Okay. You call this guy. He's used to dealing with
your kind. Tell him Lars says hi, you got that?"

The demon blinked, actually looking thrown for the first

time since they'd met. "Thank you, Lars Thornsson," he said,
sounding oddly formal. "I'll do that."

Not without some difficulty, both physical and libido-

related, Lars tucked the card into Rael's trouser pocket, which
he could have sworn wouldn't have had room for a fairy's
wings.

As he turned to go fetch a uniform to take Rael to the

cells, the demon called him back. "Detective? This girl you're
after, she's one bad-ass momma. Be careful, you hear?"

* * * *

A uniformed cop came to take Rael down to the holding

cell. By the sneering look he gave Rael, he was as straight as
the road to hell and wouldn't be half as much fun to go down
on.

"How about my phone call?" Rael asked as they walked

past the desk.

The grunt shrugged. "Go for it, Hellboy. But these phones

are strictly mortal, so," he snickered, "if you've got friends in
high places you're gonna have to get down on your knees and
get in touch the old-fashioned way."

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"Honey, I'll get down on my knees and do it any way you

like," Rael murmured automatically, but his heart wasn't
really in it.

Shuddering a little at the cop's look of disgust, he pulled

out the card with a flourish and dialed the number.

* * * *

"Damn it, C, can't you get anything more useful on that

thing?" Lars had a tightening in his gut at the thought of
another guy getting sucked dry by Hell-bitch while they sat on
their asses watching bowl-o-vision.

"Fuck you, Thornsson. You wanna come over here and give

it a go? See what you can make out of this crock of shit?"

Lars winced. They both knew he had the Talent of a frickin'

tadpole. It was kind of a sore point, considering his family.
"I'm sorry, C. I know this ain't easy."

Rochelle actually looked contrite at that. "My bad,

Thornsson," she muttered.

Lars risked resting a hand on her shoulder. Damn, this

case was getting to them both. They'd been so close to
busting that succubus' ass at Mefisto's—and they'd gotten
there just too late to do anything but pick up the pieces after
she'd chewed them up and spat them out.

And then there was Rael. Something told him that in other

circumstances, Rael would be just the kind of demon Lars
wouldn't have minded getting to know a little better, but no
way in Hell was that going to happen now the guy was all
mixed up with this damn case.

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"Damn it, Thornsson, I got nothing. Without anything to

give us a link, it's like looking for a needle in a frickin'
haystack. In Kansas."

"Okay. New tactic. Our girl targets bisexuals, right? So we

check out the bi hangouts."

"So where do we start, then? You're the expert on this

shit."

Lars ran the clubs he knew through his head. "I know a

few places. Some more likely than others."

"So what are we waiting for? Let's get our asses outta

here!"

Lars hesitated. "You think we should take backup? Rael

said she was pretty high-grade evil."

Rochelle looked like she was about to spit. "You gonna

take the word of Hell's own rent boy? It'll only slow us down,
and no way am I letting her up the body count while we ring
our moms. Trust me, Thornsson, we're going to nail this
bitch's ass to the wall."

* * * *

"Mr. Abelard, I am so damn grateful to you for getting me

out of that place." Rael looked at the elderly lawyer from
underneath his lashes and gave the liver-spotted hand he was
shaking a little extra squeeze.

"No problem, son. Any friend of Lars is a friend of mine."
Rael had never had such an urge to confess the truth, that

he'd only just met the lovely Lars, and that at the wrong end
of a gun. His momma would have been horrified.

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Instead, he smiled. "He's that kind of a guy, isn't he? You

know that boy long?"

"All his life, son. Lars is practically family." The craggy face

crinkled with a rueful smile. "His mother was my first love,
you know."

Rael blinked. Either this guy was a real late starter, or he'd

done some seriously bad shit to end up looking like he did,
which was one breath short of a century and only a whisper
away from the grave.

"Oh, I know what you're thinking, son! No, I wasn't some

Humbert Humbert type, lusting after a pretty young thing.
Lars is older than he looks—he's fifty-seven, although he
doesn't look half that, does he? His mother's a Valkyrie. He
gets his looks from her, you know. His father was a senior
partner at the firm I started out in. She came in for advice
after the neighbors made some complaint about her ravens,
and well, I guess it was just love at first sight for all
concerned. Of course, I wasn't the one who got to marry her,
more's the pity."

"Oh, sugar, that's just too bad," Rael told him distractedly.

Lars was half-immortal? That was... interesting. Rael had
heard a few things about Valkyries. They were kind of known
for their strength. And stamina, man, they had that in
spades.

Rael had always regretted having to stick to one-night-

stands when he was up topside. Most humans just weren't
built for anything long-term with a succubus. And while Rael
never exactly had to worry about where his next meal was
coming from, he'd always figured it'd be kinda nice to be able

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to get used to home cooking, instead of eatin' somewhere
new every night.

"Now, son, is there anything else I can do for you? Do you

need a place to stay?"

"Oh, honey, you are just too kind! Thanks, but I figure I'll

be able to find a bed for the night. It's sort of my specialty,
you know? But do you think you might be able to lay those
capable hands of yours on a scrying bowl?"

He still had the card Lars had given him, and one precious

blond hair that had fallen on his shoulder as Lars had slipped
the card into his pocket. It ought to be enough.

* * * *

Lars and Rochelle hit pay-dirt at the third club they tried.

Rochelle had the succubus spotted the minute they'd walked
in the front door.

"Hell-bitch at twelve o'clock, and damn, she's one mean

mother of a bitch. Xena with a bad dye-job—looks like Hell-
slut was on the level."

Lars forced down his annoyance and tried to focus on the

suspect. "Okay. Looks like she's heading out the back, so I'll
cut around outside. You move in from here in case she
doubles back."

"Gotcha. That soul-sucking succubus is history."
Lars ducked out quickly and headed to the alley behind the

club. It only took him a minute, but there she was already in
all her evil frickin' glory, hanging onto a weedy little guy who
was looking at her like she was a candy bar and he thought
he was the one who'd be getting to do the eating.

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Hell-bitch dropped the pickup, who started to complain

then took one look at Lars and backed away into the night.
The demon turned to face Lars, and abruptly his mouth went
dry. Hell, his whole alimentary system went drier than the
skin-covered bones she'd left behind in that back street by
Mefisto's.

Normally, Lars preferred guys, but this gal... there was

just something about her, about the way she wiggled those
impossibly full hips below that itty-bitty waist, the way she
licked those red, red lips. And since when had forked tongues
suddenly started giving Lars the mother of all hard ons? This
was just like with Rael...

Rael. Hot damn, speak of the devil... Lars' brain snapped

back into focus just as Rael appeared in his field of vision,
that pretty face all twisted with demonic fury. It was kind of
cute.

"Back off, Hell-bitch, this one's mine!" Rael growled low in

his throat.

She laughed. Lars was ready to punch her out just for

that.

"Yours, little imp?" Hell-bitch was laying on the arrogance

so thick you could slice it and package it. "He came to me; he
is mine to do with what I wish, just like all the rest of his
worthless kind."

"You know, honey, the Church has kinda cornered the

homophobia market already," Rael told her reproachfully.

The demon tossed her head. "I care nothing if a man

prefers his own sex. It is this kind, the ones who claim to be
one thing when they are another, who cannot decide, who

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pretend love for a woman and then leave her for a man..." It
had started off arrogant, but by the time she trailed off at the
end, she was just sounding like any other girl who'd found out
the hard way that guys could be assholes.

"Sounds to me, sugar, like you're talkin' about someone

you know."

Hell-bitch didn't answer, just stood there with her lips

pressed together and her arms wrapped around herself.

Rael sighed. "Oh, honey. Some big bad bi guy done you

wrong?"

Lars stared. Hell-bitch was crying now, big, fat, yellow

drops that hissed as they hit her cheeks and smelled of
brimstone.

"Honey, those guys aren't worth it. I know you're hurtin',

but you can't take out every man who looks both ways, you
know?"

"What would you know, imp?" She was struggling for aloof,

Lars could tell, but it came out plaintive.

"You think I've never been burned?"
Lars decided all this sex-demon mojo had to be affecting

his brain. Rael was perched on a trash can with his arm
around the serial-killing succubus, offering her a
handkerchief. She accepted with haughty thanks and sniffled
into it piteously.

Rael was still talking away to her like they were girlfriends

or something. "Listen, sugar, I had this thing going with an
envy demon, you know? He had the cutest green eyes you
ever saw... I thought it was for keeps, thought we'd be
picking out drapes for our own little corner of Hell, the works.

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Then one day I come home and I find him making it with a
tree sprite! You'll bounce back, sugar. You're way better than
him, you hear me?"

Hell-bitch was nodding.
"You know what you should do, honey?" Rael continued.

"Get yourself back home, summon up a few of the girls and
go have yourself a damn good time, you hear me?"

The succubus stood up, dwarfing her comforter and putting

Lars back on edge. He wondered if he should go for his gun,
or maybe a Bible. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw
Rochelle creeping out of the club's back door, gun in hand...

Hell-bitch didn't even look at her, just waved a hand and

pinned her to the wall with an invisible force, Rochelle cursing
and wriggling like a fly caught in a spider's web. Lars flinched
and stopped reaching for his piece.

"You are right, imp," the demon said. "This place is not

worthy of me. I shall go." She hesitated a moment. "You have
been of service to me. Would you like me to eviscerate this
human for you before I go?"

Lars quailed as red-rimmed—and now, he noticed with

disquiet, red-irised—eyes looked directly at him. "Uh..."

"Oh, honey, that's so damn sweet of you! But I don't figure

he'd taste so good after that, you know?"

"As you wish."
With a foul stench of sulfur, she was gone.
Lars blinked and coughed. "What the hell? How did she do

that? I didn't banish her..."

Rael gave him a pitying look. "Honey, she's a ninth-circle

demon. She goes where she wants to."

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Ninth circle? No wonder she'd swatted Rochelle like a fly.

"So is she gone for good, or are we going to be doing this
again next week?" Because if so, Lars figured he had some
leave coming up.

Rael considered. "I figure you're good for a couple

decades, at least. After that, who knows?"

As the demon's binding belatedly failed, Rochelle slid

abruptly down the wall and landed on her ass. "Ninth circle?
Ninth frickin' circle? You fucking with me, Hellboy? Ninth
frickin' circle?"

Lars was relieved to note he wasn't the only one about to

start hyperventilating here.

"Uh, yeah, C. Guess maybe we shoulda waited for backup

after all."

That snapped her right out of it. "Fuck that, Thornsson! We

sent that demon packing all on our own, didn't we?"

Lars considered pointing out just whose ass got nailed to

which wall, but Rochelle's trigger finger was still looking kind
of jumpy, so he figured this would be as good a time as any
to start practicing a little tact.

* * * *

Rael was wondering what was going to happen to him now

they'd gotten rid of the bad guy. He was kind of hoping DI
Rochelle wouldn't be hitting him with that banishing spell
she'd had all ready for Hell-bitch.

"Uh, Rael? I guess I owe you for saving my ass there,"

Lars told him, still looking kinda dazed and cute as all get out.

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"Honey, no way was I gonna let anything bad happen to

an ass like that," Rael purred, looking him straight in the eye.
Lars flushed, which Rael figured had to be a good sign.

"I guess you probably ought to stick around until we're

certain Meers isn't going to file charges, but I kind of think
he's just going to want to drop it. So, uh, you need a ride
anywhere?"

Rael fixed his hunky, half-immortal detective with his best

come-hither-and-fuck-me look. "Depends who's doing the
riding, sugar."

The partner made gagging noises. "If I barf, just ignore

me, okay? Screw it, Thornsson, I'll ride the subway home.
You go and... fuck, Thornsson, I don't even want to think
about what you'll be doing. I'll see you tomorrow. And don't
even think about blowing me off for Hellslut here and leaving
me all the fucking paperwork."

Man, even the damned on their way to eternal torment

didn't look half as pissed as DI Rochelle when she had a snit
on.

Lars watched her go and then turned back to Rael. "So,

uh..."

Damn, the man was cute when he was flustered.
"You know, honey, you look real hungry," Rael told him,

letting his concern shine through. "So why don't we find us
someplace you can get yourself a meal?"

"Uh, sure. Can you actually, you know...?"
Rael gave him a wicked grin. "I'll eat later."

* * * *

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Rael kept his arm wrapped right around his man as far as

it would go as they stumbled into Lars' apartment a rack of
ribs and a shit-load of red wine later.

"You sure that wasn't too boring for you, just sitting there

watching me eat?" Lars asked.

Rael smiled. Hot, half-immortal, and solicitous, too. He'd

gotten himself a keeper here, right enough. "Sugar, I love
watching a man indulge his appetites. Gets me right in the
mood to indulge mine."

Lars gave a weird-ass sort of half-laugh. "Are you ever not

in the mood?"

"When I'm with you? Never." Rael flashed his wickedest

smile. "That partner of yours, on the other hand..."

Lars winced. It was cute as all get out. "Uh, if you keep

bringing C into this, you're going to bed hungry."

"You would do that to me?" Rael pouted.
"Baby, I don't think I could tell you no even if I wanted

to," Lars told him. Then Lars grinned, starting to unbutton his
shirt. "C'mon, lover. Bedroom's this-a-way."

Rael raised an eyebrow. "You sure we're going to make it

that far?" He shimmied out of his shirt and his leather
trousers right there in the hallway, his heart humming a
happy little ditty that he wiggled his hips in time to. Then he
noticed the direction of his Norse godling's stare, and his own
personal sun ducked right behind a big ol' cloud.

"Shit, sugar, is this going to be a deal-breaker?" he asked,

feeling a whole-body droop coming on.

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"Uh..." Lars cleared his throat. "No. Really, really... no." He

swallowed. "How do you even fit that thing inside trousers
that tight?"

Rael smiled. "Magic, honey. And one hell of a lot of talcum

powder."

"Can... can I touch it?"
There was a yearning in those baby blues a dead man

couldn't have missed. The sun came right out from behind
those clouds and started dancing like a dervish. Rael
managed to resist the urge to clap along to the beat.

"Sure thing, sugar," he purred. "You know, it's been kinda

jonesin' to touch you."

Rael stepped forward, and with Lars' eyes upon it every

inch of the way, his tail snaked out to caress that beautiful
man's chest, the point at the end just flicking at Lars' nipples
like it wanted to see if they'd come out to play.

Lars groaned. "Do you..." he took a deep breath. "Do you

ever, uh, do yourself with it?"

"Well, honey, we wouldn't want it to drop off from lack of

use."

His big hunk of manhood nearly sobbed at that.
"Sugar, you can not be comfortable in those jeans," Rael

told him. "We gotta do something about that."

His tail whipped off of Lars' chest and wrapped itself

around that broad back, pulling Lars in real close to Rael,
where he belonged.

"Guh," moaned Lars.

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"Honey, you are so right," Rael breathed into Lars' throat.

He let his tongue flicker over Lars' pulse point, tasting the
heat rising off of that perfect skin like hellfire.

Flying higher than a kite up on cloud number nine, Rael

started to unbutton Lars' jeans, and damn if his fingers
weren't shaking just a little.

"Honey, you are one hell of a man, you know that?" he

murmured as he pushed the jeans down over thick, muscled
thighs, leaving Lars in nothing but tightey-whiteys. There was
a wet spot right where they were pushed out the fullest, and
Rael figured he'd just die if he didn't get him a taste of that.
Since he was kinda hoping Lars would be wanting him to stay
on this plane for a good long while, he slid to his knees and,
opening his mouth wide, took in that heavenly, cotton-
covered bulge just as far as it would go.

"Jeez, Rael, you're gonna kill me!"
Rael pulled his mouth off long enough to answer. "But

wouldn't you die happy?"

"Nope," Lars croaked.
Rael looked up at him reproachfully.
"Want you... want it all," Lars muttered hoarsely. "Then I

can die happy."

"Then, honey, we gotta give you it all," Rael purred. He

slithered back up from his knees, a little slower than he might
have done on account of his tongue insisting it get to taste
every inch of Lars along the way. His big ol' lover seemed to
whimper a little at that, so Rael closed that poor mouth with a
kiss, twining his tongue around Lars' until he felt those knees
begin to tremble.

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"You want to take this someplace more horizontal?" he

breathed into Lars' mouth.

Lars just moaned. Rael figured that was a yes.
They stumbled into Lars' bedroom, and Rael found he liked

it just fine. Not too small, not too tidy... and a really big bed.
Rael spun them around and let Lars push him down onto the
covers, his cock so hard it was damn near torture.

"Sugar, you gotta fuck me, you know that?" he moaned.

His tail snuck right in between them to add its two cents to
the argument. One day soon, he was going to jack Lars off
with his tail, Rael decided. But right now, he had needs of his
own.

Lars gave Rael a long, hard stare, the yearning coming off

of him in waves, then turned aside to scrabble in a bedside
drawer, bringing out a tube of lube and a couple foil packets.

"Sugar," Rael told him fondly, "now what kind of a

succubus would I be if I needed either of those?"

His beautiful man just whimpered again.
"Oh, honey, you sure need looking after, don't you?" Rael

held out both hands. "Let Rael look after you."

Lars spread his legs and, with some strange kind of noise

like he was in pain, almost, Lars launched himself upon Rael,
his cock—and oh, man, what a cock—pressing hard against
Rael's opening like it was just busting to get in.

"Honey, if you don't give it to me now I will die, you know

that?" Rael breathed, and with a moan, Lars pushed inside.

Oh, that was sweet. Rael felt his whole damn body quiver.

That was more than sweet. That was the real deal, the full-
fat, high-sugar, mega caffeine works with chocolate sprinkles

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on the top. "Lars, honey..." Rael had never had a lover who'd
left him speechless before. He let his tail curl around their
bodies and stroke Lars on that rock-hard ass.

Lars shuddered. "Rael, baby, damn..." He was thrusting in

and out of Rael now, every movement bringing waves of
sweet delight.

"Oh, honey, ain't nobody like you," Rael breathed, as that

pistoning cock brought him higher and higher. Sweat was
dripping off of Lars' forehead and into Rael's mouth and
damn, it was sweeter than wine.

Rael gave that fine ass one last caress with his tail before

bringing it around between them and letting it slip into his
mouth, in and out, fucking it like that huge slab of meat was
doing to his ass.

"Baby, you're killing me..." Lars panted.
Rael let his tail slip out of his mouth with a pop, all wet

and slick with his spit, and it flicked back behind his lover.
Somehow it knew just where to go.

Lars moaned as it circled his entrance. Man, Rael loved

that sound. "You want me, sugar?" he breathed.

Lars didn't seem capable of giving him an answer, so Rael

just figured he'd do what felt good. Arching his back, he
plunged the tip of his tail right up inside his lover.

Lars screamed and came, pumping Rael full of hot, sweet

juice. Rael lost all control, shaking and shuddering and crying
as his own release pulsed out between them.

"Oh, honey..."
"Rael, baby..."

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They collapsed down together, huffing and panting. Rael

couldn't hardly hold a thought together, but one thing he
knew: he was spoiled for anyone else now. He'd never had a
lover who'd even come close to leaving him so wonderfully,
gloriously sated.

"Honey, you ain't the only one who's gonna die happy," he

breathed into his lover's ear.

Lars stirred. "No. No way. You are not going to die and

leave me now that you've shown me just how damn good it
can be with you. Hell, do I have to handcuff you to the bed to
keep you here?"

Rael smiled like he was fixing to split his whole damn face

in two. "No way in Heaven am I running out on you, lover."
He managed to squeeze a millimeter or so closer to Lars'
beautiful body. "But if you want to try the handcuffs, Officer, I
promise I won't resist arrest."

* * * *

[Back to Table of Contents]

The Care and Feeding of Demons

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130

Screamin' Demon

By Kiernan Kelly

* * * *

Mick sat down on a tall stool, propped an elbow up on the

polished surface of the bar, and cupped his chin in his hand.
He winked at the good-looking, blond man sitting next to him,
and smiled.

"Here's a joke," Mick said when the blond looked at him.

"Stop me if you've heard this one before. Man walks into a
bar, sits down next to another guy, except—here's the
punchline—the second guy isn't a man at all. He's a soul-
sucking demon straight from the bowels of Hell, and he stinks
like boiled devil shit. Funny, huh?"

The man next to him scowled, blue eyes flaring red for a

moment.

It was all the proof Mick needed to confirm what his nose

had already told him—the man sitting next to him was
actually a demon. He whipped out his dagger—a wicked
weapon with an incredibly sharp, rippled blade and a
bejeweled, bone hilt—from under his leather coat and plunged
it straight into the demon's heart in one smooth, practiced
movement. The demon exploded with a flash of white-hot
light, instantly disintegrating into a cloud of fine, black ash.
The ash slowly sifted down to coat the barstool and floor
gray.

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He eyed the mess thoughtfully. The natural blood-red

coloring of demon eyes was one of only three ways to be
absolutely certain the creature in question was, in fact, a
demon, and not some sick human masquerading as one. The
second was the odor of brimstone that clung to their skin—
although that could be easily faked—and the last was the
black birthmark all demons carried on their right hip shaped
like an infinity symbol. When touched, it would flare red in
much the same way their eyes did.

It wasn't often that a demon showed its true colors so

quickly. It usually took a lot of quick talking, some goading,
and finally insults, accusations, and maybe a punch or two
before Mick was able to get a demon riled enough for it to let
down its guard and show Mick the color of its eyes.

Kills usually didn't go so smoothly, though. Demons could

normally be counted on to put up quite a fight, using
everything in their considerable arsenal to delay the
inevitable. Claws. Fangs. Magick. This one had practically
unbuttoned its shirt and drawn a bull's-eye on its chest for
Mick.

Interesting.
He noticed something glittering in the cinders and bent to

retrieve it. It was a smooth, gleaming black stone that felt
warm and slightly oily to touch. He grimaced, stuck it in a
pocket of his coat, and made a mental note to ask his usual
sources about what possible use a demon might have for such
a stone.

"Aw, damn it, Mick! What've I told you about hunting in

my bar? Now it's going to take me an hour to sweep up all

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that fucking demon dust!" Rolly, the bartender and owner of
the pub, came over, wiping his hands on a white towel tucked
under his belt. "You know that shit is still sort of alive. It
scatters every time you go near it with a broom and
dustpan!"

"Better a little cleanup than having your patrons' souls

sucked dry in the middle of Happy Hour, isn't it? Need I
remind you about the last time you lost a customer to a
demon? The wife threatened to sue."

Rolly snorted, but looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Yeah,

well, she could try to sue. Doesn't mean she'd win. Everybody
knows I can't be held responsible for every Tom, Dick, and
Beelzebub that walks in through the front door, right?"

It was a weak argument, legally, and they both knew it. As

far as the courts were concerned, Rolly could install anti-
demonic hardware, although the cost was prohibitive. In
reality, Rolly's Tavern was strictly small potatoes, a family-
run, blue collar beer joint, and the technology was far out of
reach of Rolly's pocketbook. The larger bars and restaurants,
the chains owned by major corporations or by investors with
deep pockets, all had the latest demon detection systems
installed in their establishments, of course, and that's all that
most judges and juries considered when it came to handing
out fat settlements to bereaved families.

"Just paying for a lawyer and court fees to defend against

a case like that would ruin you, even if you were to win,
which you wouldn't," Mick reasoned. "You'd lose everything,
Rolly." He wiped his blade with a drink napkin before sticking

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it back in the sheath secreted under his floor-length, black
leather duster. "Give me a drink, okay?"

"How about I give you the broom and you clean up the

fucking mess you just made, instead?"

"How about I start charging you for demon removal, like

every other Hunter in town?" Mick countered. "Do you have
any idea what the going rate is for a kill nowadays?" He
jerked his thumb at the empty barstool next to him, still
coated with twitching ashes. "He was a mean one, too. Class
Three, at least, maybe Class Four."

Rolly was loud and a little crass, but he wasn't stupid.

"Never mind, never mind. I'll take care of it. You want your
usual?"

Mick nodded. "Why not? It tastes like shit going down, and

it burns just like its namesake, but it does the trick."

Rolly laughed, and set a shot glass full of muddy liquid in

front of Mick. "Here you go. One Screamin' Demon Semen
shot. Butterscotch Schnapps, a Bailey's Irish Cream, a 151
Rum floater, and a couple of drops of Midori Melon. Sweet
Jesus on toast, Mick, why do you drink this crap?"

"It's the only thing that'll burn the stench of demon out of

my nostrils," Mick answered. "Bottoms up." He downed the
glass in one gulp, quelling a shudder as the foul-tasting, fiery
liquor singed his nose hair and burned a path down his throat.
He set the glass back on the counter and gave Rolly a mock-
salute. "I have to run. Things to do, people to see, demons to
kill and all that."

"Yeah, I know the drill. Hey, Mick?"
"Yeah?"

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"Your folks would be real proud, kid. You're a good man."
Mick felt a familiar pain stab him in the general area of his

heart at the thought of his parents, dead these past
seventeen years. Orphaned at the age of thirteen, he
would've been made a ward of the State if it hadn't been for
Rolly. Rolly had been his dad's best friend and took Mick in
after his parents were killed. It was why he hunted in Rolly's
bar for free. Rolly was the only family Mick had left. "Thanks,
Rolly. See you tomorrow."

He turned and walked out of the door without another

word. He didn't have time for nostalgia, and definitely none
for feeling sorry for himself. He had a city full of demons out
there waiting to be slaughtered.

* * * *

Azarian pressed himself up against the wall in the alley,

holding his breath. His skin was covered with a thin sheen of
sweat, and he couldn't stop the shudders rippling through his
muscles. It'd been a close call, and he wasn't out of danger
yet.

He'd been seated in a small, quiet, neighborhood bar,

enjoying a frosty mug of beer, when the Hunter had come in.
Azarian hadn't heard or seen the Hunter's entrance, but the
Hunter's presence was so strong it had rolled through the
room like a seismic event.

The Hunter was a study in black, from his hair coloring and

clothing to the scowl crumpling his features. He'd stood just a
couple feet inside the door of the bar, sniffing the air.

Azarian had cringed, knowing he'd been scented.

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His options had been limited. There were only two exits,

the front door and the back, and the Hunter blocked one of
them. If he'd made a dash for the back door, it would confirm
Azarian to the Hunter as his prey. If he'd remained where he
was, the Hunter would've sniffed him out in a matter of
minutes.

He'd chosen the lesser of two evils—so to speak—and

made a mad dash for the back door. He staggered when the
leashing spell hit him in the small of his back like a hard fist,
but he kept going. Through the kitchen, knocking pots and
pans to the floor, startling the cook, and out into the alley.
He'd fled to the street and kept going, not stopping until he
ran smack into an invisible wall a couple of blocks away.

Bound by the powerful leashing spell the Hunter had hit

him with, he couldn't pop out of the area to his small
basement apartment. He was stuck within a two-block radius
of the bar just as surely as if he'd been chained to the
neighborhood. He'd found the boundary—run face-first into it,
in fact.

Unable to flee any farther, he'd immediately implemented

Stage Two of his master escape plan—duck-and-cover. He'd
dashed into a narrow alleyway between two buildings and
huddled in the shadows, hoping against hope that the Hunter
wouldn't track him there.

He knew what would happen if the Hunter found him.

Azarian didn't relish the idea of dying, particularly not so
nasty a death as he'd receive from the Hunter. Maybe he
didn't know from personal experience what it felt like to be
immolated, but he'd seen others succumb to a Hunter's

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weapon, and it sure as hell didn't look like a boatload of fun
to him.

Boot heels clicking against pavement reached his ears,

making him press harder against the wall, trying to flatten
himself out, to become smaller and unnoticeable.
Unfortunately, he couldn't do anything about his personal
odor, and since that was what all Hunters used to track
demons, he knew he was shit out of luck.

Then what little light filtered into the alley from the street

was blocked by the broad-shouldered form of the Hunter
standing in the opening.

"Demon! Show yourself!" The Hunter's voice was deep and

commanding.

Azarian inched deeper into the shadows. Right. Like I'm

going to jump out and skewer myself on your knife, or sword,
or whatever blade you're carrying, just because you say so. I
may be a Demon, but I'm not stupid, pal. The keen vision of
his species kept the Hunter in view, although he was fairly
certain the Hunter did not possess the same advantage. The
stench of a nearby Dumpster was quite ripe; he felt a brief
flurry of hope that the odor might mask his scent from the
Hunter.

"I can smell you, Demon!" the Hunter shouted, as if in

answer to Azarian's thoughts. "I know you're in there. Come
out and face me, coward!" The Hunter took another step
forward.

"I'm not a coward! I'm unarmed, but I know you're not.

Doesn't that make you the coward?" Azarian fired back,
unable to resist returning the insult, but taking another step

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backward at the same time. He felt another wall intersect
with the one behind him, and realized he'd hit a dead end.

"You have teeth and claws, not to mention that hellborn

magick of your kind! Those are weapons enough."

"Let's see you fight with just your teeth and fingernails!"

Azarian retorted.

"And the magick? It would be just like a demon to play on

my sympathies, then zap me with a fireball."

Azariel barked a sardonic laugh. The Hunter had

inadvertently hit on a sore spot with him. "I only have
defensive magick, and not much of that. I couldn't even hurt
a bug unless I stepped on it."

"Liar! I'm losing patience with you, demon!" The Hunter

took another cautious step closer. Azarian could see him
clearly now. He had strong, even features, wide shoulders, a
narrow waist, and long legs. He'd be a nice looking man,
handsome even, or so one would think if he weren't trying to
kill Azarian. "Stop wasting my time!"

"Oh, well, then, let me run right over there and shish

kabob myself for you. The Fates forbid you should be
inconvenienced!"

"I'm going to make you scream, demon!"
"Fuck you!"
"Not on your best day," the Hunter said, and took yet

another step forward, so close now that Azarian could smell
his warm, woodsy cologne. He smelled... good, and that was
very bad. Good was distracting. Good could get Azarian killed.

Azarian's heart pounded, and his shudders grew into a

shiver that wouldn't subside. Was he really going to die in a

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filth-strewn alley, put down like a rabid dog? He saw light
glint off the Hunter's blade and thought it very likely indeed.
His mind filled with snips of memories, his life playing in fast
forward.

"What did I ever do to anyone to make Hunters want to kill

me so badly?" It was the question that had haunted Azarian
for years, and the one he most wanted answered before the
Hunter's knife filleted him. "What have I done?"

"You know what you've done! How many souls have you

stolen in your lifetime? How many innocent lives have you
taken?"

"I've never taken a single soul or hurt anybody. My mother

was human."

The Hunter gasped audibly and took a step backward. It

was the exact reaction Azarian had been hoping for. He
sprang forward, sprinting past the stunned Hunter toward the
alley opening. He was nearly there when a pair of strong arms
grabbed him around the waist and a heavy weight pushed
him to the ground. He struggled and managed to twist around
to face his attacker.

"Show me. Show me your eyes," the Hunter growled.
"What are you talking about? Let me go!" Azarian yelled

uselessly. He fought against the Hunter's hold, but the man
was incredibly strong for a human. Then again, Azarian was
only half as strong as a demon, being of mixed heritage,
which might account for at least part of his trouble in
throwing off the Hunter.

"Show me the true color of your eyes!"

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"My eyes are green, always were, always will be. I have a

slight astigmatism, if that helps." He shoved against the
Hunter's weight again, uselessly. "Are you colorblind as well
as homicidal? Get off me!"

"Demons have red eyes. By your species' own hellborn

law, you must show them when challenged! Show me!"

"I told you I'm only half-demon. My eyes don't change

color. Could you please get your knee out of my spleen,
now?"

The Hunter paused only for a moment before straddling

Azarian's legs, tearing at the zipper on his pants and yanking
them roughly down on the right side. The night air felt cool
against Azarian's bared hip. "Where is it? Where is your
mark?"

"Homicidal, colorblind, and deaf," Azarian said, trying to

pull his jeans closed and ignore the fact that the handsome-if-
deadly Hunter was rubbing against his suddenly wide-awake
and interested dick. How could I be aroused at a moment like
this? By a man who seems bent on killing me? Gods, I must
really, really need to get laid.

The Hunter's eyes narrowed dangerously, but he smiled.

"If you're telling the truth about being only half-demon, then
logic says if I stab you, you shouldn't explode."

Azarian fought to remain calm. The Hunter was not only

deadly, he was nuts! "True, but since I'm also half-human, a
blade in the heart will kill me anyway. The point I've been
trying to make is that I don't want to die at all."

"The law forbids killing you unless I see the true color of

your eyes or your mark!" The Hunter stared hard at Azarian

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for a couple of minutes, obviously trying to figure out a way
to force Azarian to give him the proof he wanted, but then his
gaze flicked toward the sky. When he looked back down at
Azarian, he flashed a sly smile. "The sun will be coming up
soon, demon, and when it does there won't be anywhere for
you to hide from it. Your lies won't help you then. I'll give you
a choice—show me your true eye color, and I'll grant you
mercy—a quick death by my dagger. If not, suffer a slow one
burning to death in the sun."

"I'll take the sun," Azarian said immediately, with utter

conviction. He returned the Hunter's smile with one of his
own, every bit as crafty.

"So be it. I'll enjoy watching you burn."
"Why do you hate me so much? You don't even know me."
"You're a soul-sucking demon capable of indescribable

atrocities. Why would I want to know more than that about
you?"

"I have never in my life sucked anything even remotely

resembling a soul, and I hate pain, be it my own or someone
else's."

"I hope your lying tongue burns first."
"You are obsessed with this burning thing. Did you play

with matches when you were a kid?" Azarian could see a
patch of sky over the Hunter's left shoulder, between the
steep sides of the two buildings forming the alley. It was
slowly but steadily growing lighter. All he had to do was keep
the Hunter talking, keep him distracted so he wouldn't reach
for his knife, and the situation might just resolve itself. Of
course, then he'd have a whole new layer of shitcake to eat,

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but he figured it would still be an improvement over becoming
instant charcoal. "What's your name, anyway?"

The Hunter blinked. "Why?"
"I just like to know the names of strange men who pin me

to the pavement and threaten to carve out my kidneys. I'm
funny that way." Just a little longer. The sky was beginning to
streak with pinks and lavenders.

"Mick." There was a defiant tip to the Hunter's chin, as if

he was condescending to share his name with his quarry.

"I'm Azarian."
"I don't care what your name is, demon!"
"Well, maybe you'll care about this... the sun is up. Look!

It's daylight, and I'm not a crispy critter. No flames, no ash...
I'm not even overly warm. Guess I was telling you the truth
after all, huh? Gee, I wonder what the punishment is for a
Hunter who kills a human?" Azarian couldn't help rubbing it in
a little.

"You're not a human! I smelled hellfire on you in the bar. I

can still smell it!" Mick growled, finally releasing Azarian and
rolling his weight off. He got to his feet, his face still bearing
its scowl. "Halfbreeds are a myth. Maybe you're not a
demon... maybe you're something else entirely. I think I
should kill you anyway, before you breed."

Azarian fumed, his humor failing him. If he was a full-

blooded demon, like his father, he knew his eyes would be
flaring blood-red. "What gives you the fucking right to decide
who lives and who dies? What makes humans think they
belong at the top of the food chain? I've got human DNA,

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which makes me untouchable to Hunters. Now, get the fuck
away from me!"

* * * *

Mick glared into the green eyes of the demon. Correction,

he thought, as his lip curled in frustration. Half-demon,
although that's sort of like saying something's half-invisible.
It either is, or it isn't, right? He couldn't just let the bastard
go, could he?

Besides, there was something about this demon that

intrigued Mick, made him think of things he'd never before
associated with demons... things like hot, sweaty sex. Made
him wonder what Azarian would taste like, would feel like
writhing beneath him as he thrust deeply into Azarian's body,
buried himself to the hilt in Azarian's willing flesh...

Mick shook himself, willing the bizarre thoughts out of his

head. Since when did he find demons sexy? There was no
denying the way his body was reacting, though. His cock was
hard, his balls swollen, and the impulse to kiss the demon's
full lips was very tempting. You're just tired, and it's been too
long since you got any, he chided himself. Keep your mind on
the game!

The fact of the matter was, if this Azarian was half-human,

as he claimed, then killing him was strictly forbidden by the
Hunter's Code and the oath Mick had sworn to upon
acceptance into the Hunter ranks. First, Do No Harm to
Humans.

How much human DNA was necessary in a subject's

genetic makeup before he could be deemed truly human? Ten

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percent? Fifty-one? Sixty? Ninety? Conversely, how much
demon DNA needed to be present before it completely
polluted the double-helix? Was a half-breed inherently evil
due to its demonic heritage? He didn't know. He'd never come
up against any less-than-fully humans or demons before;
indeed he had never seen proof of their existence beyond a
few whispered rumors. Still, the fact that the sun was up and
Azarian remained in one whole, unburnt piece was testament
to the possibility. Questions rolled through Mick's mind, giving
him a nasty headache.

A thought occurred to Mick. Even if Azarian was only half-

demon, he must be privy to the way a demon's mind worked.
Perhaps Azarian would know if the black stone Mick had found
amid the ashes of his last kill was anything more than a
demonic paperweight. He dug into his pocket and palmed the
stone, wincing at the warm, greasy feel of it. He held his hand
out toward Azarian and slowly uncurled his fingers.

"What is it?" Azarian asked, his green gaze flicking from

Mick's face to the rock and back again."

"That's what I want you to tell me."
"Put the knife away, and I'll tell you."
There was a crafty gleam in Azarian's eyes that Mick didn't

trust. "Tell me, and maybe I'll let you live," he growled.

"Continuing to threaten my life is not the way to my

heart," Azarian retorted. "Put the knife away."

Mick considered his options. Azarian was still under the

power of the leashing spell. He could run, but he wouldn't get
far. Mick really had nothing to lose. "Okay, but don't even
think about running. I've got you leashed, demon."

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Azarian sighed, struggling to his feet. "Half-demon,

remember? Jesus, I think you broke me. I'm going to be a
walking black and blue."

Mick impatiently shoved the stone under Azarian's nose.

"What is this? Tell me now, before I completely lose patience
and decide killing you would be worth whatever trouble I'd
get into with the law."

Azarian huffed, eyeing the black stone. "Well, you hit the

jackpot, pal. It appears to be a rock. Congratulations."

Mick lost it, and pushed Azarian up against the wall of the

alley, pinning him in place with a thick forearm shoved under
his chin. "For the last time, tell me what this is, or I swear I'll
fucking put you down, half-human or not!"

Azarian's eyes grew wide, his voice wheezing from the

pressure Mick exerted on his windpipe. "I... I don't know! It
looks like a rock. I swear I don't know what it is!"

Mick raised his knife to Azarian's eye level. Silver flashed

in the new rays of the sun. "Okay, it's your funeral."

"You can't kill me in cold blood! I'm half-human,

remember?"

"Right now, I don't really give a shit if you're half-fucking-

squirrel. I killed the owner of that stone earlier tonight in a
bar. He didn't put up a fight at all, which was weird enough,
but it was almost as if he was there waiting for me, waiting to
die. Now, you have exactly five seconds to tell me what this
stone is and what it does, or I'm going to filet you like
yesterday's blue plate special at Red Lobster."

"I don't know! I swear it!"

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Mick wanted to believe Azarian was lying, but there was no

denying the honesty flickering in his fear-filled eyes. Azarian
really didn't know what the stone was or what it did. He
pushed away from Azarian, ignoring the coughing and
gasping for air.

Now, what was Mick to do? As much he would've liked to,

he couldn't kill Azarian, not in good conscience, anyway.
Azarian's claim of being half-human had to be true, since he
hadn't fried in the rising sun.

The stone felt heavy in his pocket. It had to be more than

a simple rock, but what? How was he to find out?

He looked at Azarian, and an idea began to form. A crazy

idea, yes, but one that might gain him an edge over the
demons he hunted.

"You're coming with me," he said, grabbing Azarian's arm.

"I've got you leashed, I need to find out what this stone is,
and what it does, and you're going to help me."

Ignoring Azarian's protests, Mick dragged the half-demon

along and headed toward his apartment.

He told himself he had planning to do. Taking Azarian

along had absolutely nothing to do with the hard-on he had
that refused to subside.

* * * *

"Nice place you have here," Azarian said, pouring sarcasm

into every syllable. "So glad you invited me over."

"Sit down and shut up."
Evidently, familiar surroundings had done nothing to better

Mick's mood.

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Azarian watched Mick shrug out of his black leather duster,

revealing a trim body poured into a skin-tight, black T-shirt
and jeans. Nice bod. Too bad he's a homicidal maniac,
Azarian thought, as Mick removed the stone from his pocket
and placed it next to a computer at a desk on the other side
of the living room. Azarian took in his surroundings as Mick
booted up the computer.

Mick's apartment was smallish, but larger than Azarian's

basement rooms. He could see a bedroom branching off from
the living room/dining room combo, a roomy kitchen, and a
bathroom. There was another room, perhaps a second
bedroom, on the other side of the kitchen.

The furniture was contemporary, functional and

comfortable. There was little in the way of homey touches—
no family photographs, no trinkets or souvenirs, but there
were lots of books. They filled a ceiling-to-floor bookshelf on
one wall in the living room and were piled in haphazard stacks
all over the place.

They all seemed to have titles like "Quick and Efficient

Demon Kill Strategies," or "Demon Slaying Made Easy." He
quelled a shudder, wondering whether these books were
research or what Mick read for fun.

Probably both, he thought.
"Do demons use computers?"
Azarian blinked and frowned. "What do you mean?
"Websites, bulletin boards, blogs... do demons utilize the

web?"

"Uh, I guess so. I don't know any full-bloods very well.

They want even less to do with me than humans do, but I do

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know of at least one demon-run site." He stood up as he
rattled off the web address, and walked across the room to
look over Mick's shoulder at the screen. "Yeah, that's it—
Screamin' Demon. You need a password to get in. Mine is
Halfbreed440." He ignored an arch look from Mick at his
choice of passwords. "Okay. Click on the horn icon. It'll bring
you to the bulletin boards."

After Mick brought up the board, they scanned it silently

for a few minutes. "Here, under 'General Discussion,'" he
said, pointing to the screen. "You can post a question asking
about the black rock. Tell them you found it near the bar, and
that it smells of our people, but you don't know what it is or
who lost it."

Mick nodded and did as he suggested, much to Azarian's

surprise. He'd expected an argument, if for no other reason
than Mick's natural surliness.

"Done," Mick said, sitting back in his chair. "Now, we wait."
"Hey, I'm not staying here. I have a life, you know,"

Azarian lied. He didn't, not anymore, not since his family had
been killed, but Mick didn't need to know that. "I helped you.
Now unleash me so I can go home."

"Sorry, no can do. Number one, I'm still not convinced

you're not a threat. Number two, I need you here in case I
get a hit on my question and need help understanding the
demon's answer."

"You can't keep me here!"
Mick looked up at him, eyes boring holes into Azarian's

hide. "Wanna bet?"

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Azarian turned away, swearing in Ancient Sumerian, a

language just as dead as everyone Azarian had ever loved.
"Fine. How about feeding me, then? I haven't eaten since late
yesterday afternoon."

"What do you eat?" Mick's voice dropped ominously, eyes

narrowing, as if he expected Azarian to say "human souls,
hold the mayo, please."

Azarian rolled his eyes. "Cold cuts will work. Bologna?

Ham? No Swiss, though. I hate Swiss cheese."

"In the fridge. Help yourself. Bread is in the cupboard."

Mick turned back to the computer screen as Azarian went in
search of sustenance.

Four slices of rye bread, eight slices of bologna, two of

salami, a dollop of mustard, and a can of Pepsi later, his
hunger pangs quieted. He was putting his plate in the sink
when he sensed Mick come up behind him. Turning, he found
Mick standing only inches away, so close that Azarian could
feel Mick's body heat. "What? What's wrong now?"

"Nothing," Mick answered.
There was hunger in Mick's eyes, and as Azarian watched,

his tongue peeked out from between his lips, wetting them.
Despite the hostility of their meeting, and the fact that Mick
still had him leashed, Azarian's body hardened at the glimpse
of that pink tongue. Azarian's own lips parted, his breath
coming faster. He wanted. No matter that Mick was his captor
and a Hunter, Azarian wanted Mick badly.

They stood stock still, as if locked in a silent battle of wills,

staring into one another's eyes for several long moments.
Then, as if by an unspoken agreement, they moved at the

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same time, coming together in a hard, crushing kiss. Mick
backed away and peeled his shirt off.

Azarian felt his body react to the muscular show Mick was

giving him, his eyes widening, trying to take in the entire
vista all at once. Muscles rolled fluidly under sleek, taut skin
like an undulating, erotic ocean. Azarian's cock asserted itself,
digging uncomfortably into the unforgiving fly of his jeans, his
balls flattened by the tight denim. He quickly stripped out of
his shirt, kicked off his shoes, and shimmied out of his jeans.
He rarely wore underwear and now was reminded of why. His
cock and balls breathed a sigh of relief when freed from his
tight pants.

"Nice," Mick said. Azarian was thinking pretty much the

same thing when Mick stepped out of his black jeans and
underwear. There wasn't a single fucking thing about Mick
that wasn't big. While Azarian had never considered himself a
size queen, he had to admit Mick's cock was one big piece of
fine flesh.

He briefly wondered how he could so easily forget that this

man had chased him down, threatened to kill him, and
chained him with a leash spell. His body was insistent,
though, refusing to listen to reason. He wanted Mick, pure
and simple. His need was all that mattered at the moment.

Azarian let Mick lead him into the bedroom, then flopped

backward onto the mattress of Mick's queen-sized bed. He
tucked his arms up under his head and quirked an eyebrow at
Mick.

Mick didn't seem to need any instructions. He knows the

rules of the game, Azarian thought, as Mick knelt by the side

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of the bed and took Azarian into his mouth without preamble.
This is good. If he keeps it up, I may keep him. "Fuck yeah,"
he moaned, cupping the back of Mick's head with one hand,
pushing, urging Mick to take him in deeper.

When Mick came off his cock in search of his balls,

Azarian's eyes rolled back in his head. There was little he
enjoyed more than having his balls sucked, and he quickly
found that Mick was a teabagging champion. One stone at a
time, back and forth, until Azarian's prick glistened with pre-
come and he had to assert himself. "Gonna come if you keep
that up," he said, shifting his hips to pull away from Mick's
magical mouth.

"Thought that was the whole idea." Mick chuckled, looking

up at him.

"Yeah, but why fill up on the appetizer when dinner is

coming?" Azarian quipped. "I want some ass, and I noticed
you've got a real beauty on you. Got a condom and lube?"

Azarian blinked as the expression on Mick's face shifted

instantly from a smile to a grimace. Suddenly, a hundred and
eighty pounds of muscle were pinning him flat to the bed.
"What makes you think I'm a bottom?" Mick growled. His dark
eyes were flashing, teeth nearly bared, although his cock was
rubbing over Azarian's thigh, leaving a wet trail.

"Hey, it's cool. I'm a switch-hitter, myself. Either way is

good for me," Azarian was quick to say. Shit, if Mick was
uptight about bottoming, then fine. Azarian would take it any
way he could get it. "You want to fuck me?"

"Damn straight. Gonna fuck you 'til you scream." There

was nothing teasing in Mick's tone.

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He means it, and Azarian felt a trill of excitement shoot

through him. The Hunter was back, and Azarian thought he'd
never been as turned on as he was at that moment. Fuck
yeah, he thought. Teach me my place. Of course, he'd never
let those words leave his lips—no way would he let on that,
deep inside, he enjoyed being dominated. Instead, he just
grinned saucily, squirmed out from underneath Mick, and
rolled ass-end up.

Mick's big hands roughly kneaded Azarian's flesh and

separated his ass cheeks, air cooling the hot ring of puckered
skin hidden between them. "Got a sweet hole, Azarian," he
murmured. His breath blew warm over Azarian's ass, his thick
fingers and hot, wet tongue exploring the ridges, working the
hole, making Azarian wriggle and moan.

Azarian concentrated on the sensations rippling through

him. His cock was trapped between his belly and the
mattress; his hips pumped as Mick rimmed him, fucking the
sheets. A sharp slap of Mick's large palm against his ass
pulled a yelp from Azarian's throat and a spurt of pre-come
from his cock. His ass lifted, silently begging Mick for more of
the same.

Mick seemed happy to comply with Azarian's unvoiced

request. His hand connected again and again with Azarian's
rump, each smack sending a bolt of something bordering on
both pleasure and pain ripping through Azarian. "Fuck!"
Azarian gasped, his body trying to wriggle away, even though
his prick cried out for more. His ass burned and throbbed, but
his dick hardened even more. He tried to lift up, thinking to
snake his hand under his belly and jerk off—he was so close

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he figured it would only take a stroke or two to get him
there—but Mick refused to let him move.

"Stay put. Gonna fuck you now." Mick's deep voice

rumbled through Azarian's bones. Then Azarian heard
nothing, felt nothing except the fat head of Mick's cock
pushing inside him, stretching his body to its limits.

He cried out, although whether in pain or pleasure, he

wasn't sure. An elusive thought that it might be both danced
just out of reach, but then it was gone, shoved aside as his
body slowly adjusted to Mick's girth.

Mick, evidently, wasn't much for subtleties. Once he was

seated inside Azarian, Mick set a brutal pace, slamming into
him again and again. The pressure Azarian felt was incredible,
as was the pleasure as Mick's prick hit his sweet spot
repeatedly. His cock couldn't decide whether to go limp from
the discomfort or rock hard from the pleasure, and settled on
a place somewhere in between.

Just when Azarian thought he couldn't take much more,

that he'd reached the end of his endurance, Mick pulled away.
"Come here," Azarian rumbled in his deep, velvet voice.

Mick had sat up, back to the wall. His cock rose like a

stone monolith from between his meaty thighs. Azarian licked
his lips, then crawled over the bed and positioned himself on
Mick's lap. Biting his lower lip against the discomfort of being
filled again, he reached behind him, grabbed Mick's dick, and
slowly impaled himself on it.

Azarian's hand sought out his own cock, until then sadly

neglected, rhythmically jerking as he bounced over Mick's lap.
When Mick's hands cupped his ass and lifted him up, Mick's

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powerful thighs pumping his cock deeply into Azarian's hole,
Azarian felt his orgasm bubble up. He came, spraying Mick's
chest with his semen. Just a few moments later he felt Mick
withdraw. Wet heat splattered against his back as Mick
reached his peak.

"Sweet fuck, that was good," Azarian breathed. He felt

boneless and sleepy, completely drained as he slid off Mick's
lap and stretched out on the bed. Mick grunted something
that might have been agreement before he lay down, his
weight dipping the mattress next to Azarian.

"What the fuck was that?" Mick asked, turning toward

Azarian. "I hate demons. Detest them. I have never been
attracted to them. But you... you're different." There was a
softness in Mick's eyes, a glitter of bewilderment.

"I'm not fully demon. Maybe you're attracted to my human

half."

"Maybe," Mick muttered, but he didn't sound convinced.

His gaze hardened again. "Come on, get up. I want to check
the computer."

That easily, it seemed Azarian's status had dropped back

to prisoner. He frowned as he followed Mick back into the
living room to the computer.

"You got a new comment on your question. Click there," he

said, peering over Mick's shoulder at the computer screen.

The stone is a tracker, enchanted by the Society to find

and destroy Hunters. Get rid of it quick, before they find you.
The Society won't care whether you're a demon or a Hunter—
they'll kill whoever they find with the stone.

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"Uh oh," Azarian said, staring at the blue lettering on the

computer screen. "I've heard rumors about the Society. It's
supposedly an elite group of Class Seven demons-for-hire
who slaughter Hunters. I never met any, but I heard they're
badass motherfuckers."

Azarian could swear he heard Mick gulp. "Class Seven?

There are only supposed to be six classes of demons. What
the fuck have I gotten myself into?"

"Dude, Class Seven demons will level a city just for shits

and giggles. I don't know who you pissed off, but I'd suggest
going to ground good and deep. Even then, I wouldn't put
much faith in your chances." Azarian patted Mick's shoulder.
"Now, if you'll kindly unleash me, I really need to get as far
away from you as possible."

Mick's hand clamped over Azarian's arm. "You're not going

anywhere, not before you tell me what I'm up against."

Azarian tried to pull away, but Mick's grip was as

unbreakable as steel. "I already told you everything I know!
Look, why don't you follow the advice in the comment and
ditch the stone? Maybe they won't be able to track you if you
lose the fucking rock."

"And miss my chance to take out a Class Seven? No way.

Come on," Mick said. He dragged Azarian toward the second
bedroom, despite Azarian's best efforts to go in the opposite
direction.

Azarian wasn't really surprised to find out that the second

bedroom was an arsenal, packed with assorted weapons
spanning the breadth of human existence. From thick,
wooden clubs to Samurai swords, to submachine guns, there

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seemed to be a sampling of every class of weapon known to
man on display. Azarian turned in a circle, mouth hanging
open, taking in the scope of the collection as Mick began
pulling individual pieces off the wall and digging ammunition
out of drawers. The fact that they were both still naked only
seemed to make the situation more absurd.

"You really are crazy," Azarian said. "Why the fuck are you

stockpiling all this shit? Planning on starting your own private
Armageddon?"

Mick turned on him so quickly that Azarian stumbled

backward and nearly fell. "You'd better check the sarcasm,
pal. The weapons are here so that I'll always be prepared, no
matter what comes after me, and they might just save your
ass tonight."

"What happened to make you so paranoid? Most people

don't even know demons are among them, and those that do
rarely think about them. There aren't that many demons
running around, you know. The odds are better that you'll get
struck by lightning than attacked by a demon!"

"I've seen that lightning up close and personal, that's why.

When I was thirteen, demons killed my parents. I swore I'd
never stop until I killed every last one of the bastards."

Azarian frowned, although he felt a stab of sympathy for

Mick. "Yeah, well, they killed my mom, too, but you don't see
me going Rambo on everybody's ass. Besides, going up
against Class Seven demons is suicide, Mick. You need to
ditch that stone and run."

"No. We stand and fight."

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"We? There's no 'we' here. You're a great lay, and I had

fun, but there's only you," Azarian said, shaking his head,
refusing to admit how much like a lie his words sounded to
him. "Unless you think me screaming like a girl will help, you
might as well unleash me, because that's about all you're
going to get out of me—"

Azarian's words were cut off by a loud crashing sound

coming from the living room.

It was too late.
The Society had found them.

* * * *

Class Seven demons were fucking huge.
Mick stared at the two strangers in hooded black robes

standing in his living room amid the splinters of what
remained of his front door. The shorter of them easily topped
six-foot eight. Neither of them looked even vaguely human.
Their features were bulbous, misshapen, and their blood-red
eyes glowed eerily. He supposed they didn't care if they didn't
blend in with the human population. They had no one to fear
given they hunted the Hunters.

Shit, he and Azarian were in real trouble.
He leveled his 12 gauge Mossberg pump action at the

taller demon, but Azarian suddenly stepped between him and
the intruders. "You need to leave this one alone. He's mine.
I've been playing with him, but his death is owed me. I
hunted him; his soul is mine."

Mick blinked in surprise. His knee-jerk reaction was to

deny that Azarian was in control and remind Azarian that Mick

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had him leashed, but he managed to hold his tongue in time.
He realized that Azarian was only trying to talk the demons
out of attacking.

Not that it worked, of course.
"We have been searching for this Hunter. He has killed too

many of our brethren. He is a threat that must be neutralized.
That is why we sent him the stone."

"Neat trick, that stone. How does it work, anyway?"

Azarian asked, obviously still stalling. "Is there a tracking
scent built in?"

The demons' laughter sounded gritty. "No. The stone emits

a powerful pheromone. We wait until the human ruts, then
track the scent of his sex. Sex is much more potent than
normal spoor. We can pick it up over long distances. Thank
you, by the way. You did well, for a half-breed."

"You... you set me up?" Mick yelled at Azarian. "You

bastard!"

Azarian spun around to face him, expression stricken. "N-

no! No, Mick... I didn't know! I swear it—"

Mick snarled at Azarian and backhanded him. Caught off

guard, Azarian fell to one knee, clearing Mick's line of sight to
the demons.

Swinging his shotgun up to his shoulder, Mick fired. The

taller demon took a hit directly in the center of his chest, but
it barely seemed to faze him. His flesh absorbed the shot like
quicksand, the skin knitting to a perfectly smooth finish
instantly, as if it had never been breached. The demon
laughed. "Tickles," he said, baring his teeth at Mick.

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"They don't have hearts!" Azarian cried. "Hit them in the

head, right between the eyes; that's the only way to kill
them!"

Mick swore, took quick aim, and pulled the trigger. The

demon's head exploded in an impressive display of demonic
ash.

He quickly reloaded, and swung the barrel of the shotgun

toward the second, shorter demon, but before he could take
aim, the demon's hands thrust out in his direction. A blue ball
of light, sparking with electricity, flew toward him.

Mick flinched, fully expecting the ball of hellfire to char him

to a cinder. A heartbeat went by, then another, until he
realized it hadn't touched him. Cracking open one eye, he saw
Azarian standing between them again, his own hands held out
in front of him.

"Quick, shoot him!" Azarian cried. "I can't keep this shield

up much longer!"

Mick didn't need to be told twice. He lifted the gun, aimed,

and pulled the trigger.

The second demon took a direct hit to dead center of his

forehead. It, too, exploded into a dusty mess.

Several minutes passed before either Mick or Azarian

spoke.

"That was close," Mick said, lowering the shotgun. "I

thought you didn't have any magick?"

"I said I had some defensive magick, but not much. Luckily

for you, one of the few things I can do is throw up a shield. I
almost let him fry you. That slap hurt!" Azarian sniffed,
rubbing his cheek with one hand.

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"Sorry, but I had to get you out of the way so I could take

a shot."

"Never thought of just saying, 'Hey, Azarian, could you

please take a step to the left?' No, that would be too easy for
the Big Bad Hunter. Gotta smack me down, instead."

"Sorry."
"Why don't you sound sorry?"
"Hey, I just killed two Class Seven demons! How about a

thank you for saving your scrawny, halfbreed ass?"

Azarian, Mick concluded, was cute when he was angry.

"You know, I think I liked you better when you hated me."

"What makes you think I hated you?"
"Oh, I don't know... the fact that you tried to kill me in the

alley earlier tonight?"

"That was when I thought you were like those guys," Mick

said, gesturing toward the twin piles of ash that were
twitching sluggishly on the floor. "Before I knew you were at
least partly human. It was nothing personal."

"I have news for you... there are plenty of humans out

there who I wouldn't mind seeing explode."

Mick smirked. "Yeah, I guess I know a few of those, too."
Azarian walked over to the desk and looked down at the

black stone. "So, the whole thing, what happened between
us... it was all because of this stupid rock?"

"I guess so. I'm not sorry, though. You were amazing... for

a half-demon, of course."

Azarian sniffed. "That was a left-handed compliment, but I

guess I'll take it. It's better than when you were trying to kill
me. So, what do we do now?"

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"Now? Now, I unleash you. I hope you'll stick around,

though, because I'd really like to see what happens between
us when we ditch the rock. Plus, I'm sure the Society is going
to be looking for both of us once they realize their agents got
dusted. I almost hate to admit it, but we make a pretty good
team."

Azarian seemed to consider it, then nodded. "Sounds like a

plan. You need to do something before we go out to get rid of
the stone, though."

"What's that?" Mick asked, curious.
"Put on some clothes. If you go outside naked, people will

ogle your fine ass, and then I'll have to kill them, and then
you'll get pissed off and try to kill me, and we'd be right back
to where we started."

Mick grinned and stared pointedly at the hard-on rising

between Azarian's legs. It matched his own. "You know, I'm
beginning to think that stone isn't such a bad thing. Not if it
keeps you horny all the time."

"Yeah, except that it also draws Class Seven Society

demons to your door."

"Yeah, exactly. I get to kill really bad demons and sleep

with a sexy half-blood one. It's the best of both worlds. Now,
come on, demon," Mick said as he grabbed Azarian's arm and
pulled Azarian toward the bedroom. "I'm going to make you
scream. Again"

[Back to Table of Contents]

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161

A Perfect Target

By Winnie Jerome

* * * *

Trent was tired as hell, and he had been struggling to keep

awake all morning. He couldn't even spare the energy to get
some coffee; he just wanted to close his eyes a little bit while
he was sitting in his cubie...

"Yo, Trent! Wake up!"
That loud sentence jolted Trent out of his haze, and he

almost gave himself whiplash when he snapped to attention
in his chair. It took him a moment to reorient himself, and
that's when he noticed that he wasn't alone.

He glared at the smirking, brunet man standing beside

him. "Damn it, Paul! Don't do that!"

"And here I was thinking that I'd get a 'thank you' for

keeping you from face-planting into your keyboard. Who was
it this time? Adrian or Carl?"

If Paul had asked that question six months ago, Trent

would have blushed and mumbled something incoherent.
However, Adrian's carefree attitude about sex had gone a
long way toward loosening Trent up, and he replied without
hesitation. "Just Adrian. Carl went on a long trip, and he
won't be back until tomorrow."

"I don't get it—how can one skinny little guy exhaust you?

I mean, you're not super buff or anything, but next to you,
Adrian looks like he'd disappear if he turned sideways."

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"You've got to remember that Adrian teaches jazz and hip-

hop dance classes every day of the week. He's got a lot of
endurance." It was a bald-faced lie, but Trent didn't want Paul
asking awkward questions. Fortunately, all he had to do was
get his co-worker's mind into the gutter and the rest would
take care of itself.

"I bet he's super flexible," Paul said.
"You have no idea. He could suck himself off if he wanted

to."

Paul laughed and slapped Trent on the shoulder. "Sounds

like true love to me."

"Not really. We're just housemates and fuckbuddies."
"And how long has it been since you cruised the bars?"
Leave it to Paul to be a pain in the ass. It looked like his

mind wasn't going to stay in the gutter, after all. "Whoa, look
at the time."

Paul took the hint and excused himself. Once he was

alone, Trent realized that he hadn't been out on the scene in
a long time. He didn't mind—Adrian kept him more than
entertained. There was the foursome they had with Carl and
Silas, who was a vampire lord, and the threesome with that
satyr. Trent had to admit—sex with an incubus and a half-
giant beat rolling in the sheets with an ordinary guy any day
of the week.

Part demon, Trent had to remind himself. Adrian had

mentioned that he wasn't a full-blooded incubus when they
first got together, but hadn't said anything since then. Every
time Trent probed Adrian further, his housemate had "to work
on a new choreography" all of a sudden.

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Carl was more straightforward when Trent asked him

about his past. "Stop asking nosy questions or I'll crush your
damn car into a cube and sell it to the junkyard."

All in all, that was a very polite threat for Carl, so Trent

didn't push the issue any further. He was still wondering if it
was ever going to be possible to get answers from either of
them when a message appeared in his inbox.

Happy birthday, Lover Boy. I know it's not until tomorrow,

but it's a tradition in my family to celebrate your special day
early. Adrian agrees with me, and he's determined to give
you a pre-celebration all night tonight.

Don't let him drain you dry, I want to have some left over

when I come home.

Carl
Trent's jaw dropped in disbelief. All night? He needed

coffee now. In fact, if he wanted to have any prayer of
surviving, he should find a way to get a caffeine IV.

* * * *

Trent approached the apartment with a mixture of dread

and eagerness. He wasn't sure which fantasy of his Adrian
would pick to fulfill tonight. He hoped it wasn't the public sex
one, because although the concept appealed to him, he was
still too shy to let go while a bunch of strangers were
watching.

Once Trent shut the door behind him, Adrian stepped into

the living room. He was wearing a floor-length, velvet cloak
that covered every inch of his slender body, and his long,
blond hair spilled out from underneath the hood. He was

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barefoot, but that wasn't going to be an issue because Adrian
could walk on hot coals without blinking an eye. To complete
the costume, he also had a small, leather pouch slung across
his hips.

Trent breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the outfit—he

had never had a fantasy that involved medieval role-playing,
which meant that he was off the hook.

"You look like you're ready for the Renaissance Faire,"

Trent giggled. "I guess you're busy tonight after all?"

The mischievous look in Adrian's golden eyes unsettled

Trent. "Only with you. I'm taking you somewhere special."

Trent's stomach did several flip-flops, and he hoped that

whatever Adrian was planning wasn't going to get him
arrested. "Where's that?"

"Patience." Adrian held out his hand. "Give me the keys to

your car; I'm doing the driving."

Trent's fingers were shaking a little when he complied, but

the soft expression on Adrian's face eased his nerves. "Lead
the way."

"Hold on a minute. I need to get decent." Adrian's form

shimmered, and his pearl white skin darkened to a honeyed
tan, while his golden eyes turned a bright blue. "Now we can
leave."

While they were exiting their apartment building, Trent

said, "It still cracks me up that you just have a motorcycle."

"Why? I can't afford anything else on my pay."
Trent thought Adrian's statement over. Their rent wasn't

exactly cheap, and Adrian had two expensive vices: gourmet

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food and designer clothes. There wasn't much room after that
for a car. "Uh, well... Do you have to eat?"

As soon as those words left his mouth, Trent realized that

he had stepped over the line again. "Forget I said that."

"That's good, you're learning."
They were close to his Prius, and he heard the Bluetooth in

his key fob unlocking the door. Once they slid into the car,
Trent decided to switch gears. "So, how's work?"

A little wrinkle formed between Adrian's eyebrows. That

only happened when his boss, Denise, had an impulsive idea.
"Denise wants to add Zumba to the curriculum."

"What's so bad about it?"
"It's a fad—if she tries to make more than a casual

investment, she'll be left holding the bag when it dries up."

"And what makes you think it's a fad?"
"Any class that emphasizes the calorie burn over technique

is a fad. It's built to hook in people who are looking for the
newest way to shed pounds fast. And then they start getting
bored because they're not doing this because the dancing
touches them, it's so they can look good on the beach. They
give up once they start feeling lazy."

Trent was going to laugh at that cynical analysis, but then

he remembered how passionate Adrian was about dancing.
"Uh, so I guess you can't talk her out of it?"

"I'd have an easier time asking a CEO to turn down his

bonus while his company was going down in flames. I sure as
Hell don't want to be stuck teaching a bunch of fly-by-night
students."

"Is there any way out of it?"

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A smile that was a mixture of delight and maliciousness

touched Adrian's lips. "I told Denise that Brenda was much
more qualified than I was to teach Zumba, and that she'd be
a much bigger draw since this was in her area of expertise."

Brenda taught Latin jazz, and she was a pain in the butt to

work with. She was very territorial, but she hadn't been fired
because she knew how to kiss ass. However, the one thing
Brenda hated more than anything was teaching beginners.
"Fuck, you're evil."

"Tell me something new, I am part demon, after all." They

must have reached their destination, because Adrian signaled
and pulled into a parking lot.

Trent recognized the large building at once. "We're going

to Liquid Velvet? I thought it was closed for remodeling."

"It is, but I can get us in," Adrian said. He produced his

cell phone from the leather pouch and hit one of the speed
dial buttons. "Hi... Jay? Um, it's Adrian."

Trent heard some talking on the other end, but he was

busy observing the immediate change in Adrian's voice and
body language. He was speaking at a higher pitch, and his
normally confident bearing had changed to shy and unsure.

"Yeah, I was around, and I thought I'd, you know, drop

by... uh, okay. Bye." Adrian clicked the phone shut before he
winked at Trent. "Keep the window rolled down and stay in
here while I work my magic."

The door opened, and a guy as broad as he was tall

stepped out. He had a shaved head, several eyebrow
piercings, and the wife-beater T-shirt he was wearing showed
off his impressive inked sleeves. He looked like the type of

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person who would flatten you for squinting the wrong way at
him.

Trent gulped and told himself that any concerns he felt for

Adrian's safety were irrational. After all, Adrian had enough
hidden strength in his wiry body to toss a linebacker across
the room without batting an eyelash.

Adrian slid out of the car with uncharacteristically clumsy

movements, and something about the way he carried his slim
body made him look gawky, as if he was a teenager at the
end of his growth spurt. His androgynous features added to
the youthful facade, as did as the way he kept his eyes
trained on the ground when Jay approached.

Jay didn't seem to care about the shyness; he barreled

into Adrian's personal space and grinned when he heard a
squeak of surprise.

"Oh my God, I just keep forgetting how big you are,"

Adrian said.

"You know exactly how big I am, little boy." Jay wound an

arm around Adrian's waist. "What's with the outfit?"

Adrian giggled and squirmed out of Jay's grasp. "Silly, I'm

here with someone."

Trent resisted the urge to screech like a girl and to run like

Hell, because he was sure that Jay was going to hand his ass
back to him. Then he took a deep breath and realized that if
the walking Man Wall was the jealous type who would turn
him into patei, Adrian wouldn't have dragged him over here.

Sure enough, Jay just pinched Adrian's butt and gave him

a shit-eating grin. "Where are you headed with the lucky
guy?"

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Adrian ran a finger down Jay's hairy chest and looked out

from underneath his eyelashes. "I'd love to show him the fifth
floor."

"You know I'll catch hell if you guys stumble over

something and hurt yourselves."

"We'll be super-careful. I've never asked for anything from

you before. Can't you let us in just this once?"

"Fuck, you know I can't resist when you beg." Jay opened

the door and said, "All right, I was just about to head out, so
you get the place to yourself. But if you get caught, I'll say
you were trespassing."

"You're the best!" Adrian flung both arms around Jay's

neck and gave the man a sloppy kiss. He then ushered Trent
inside after promising to give Jay a call in the future.

Liquid Velvet was a multi-story dance club with a different

theme on each level. Trent could see that the ground floor
was being remodeled into a speakeasy theme, complete with
piano and vintage bottles behind the bar.

The fifth floor looked like it was going for the strip club

look. Two floor-to-ceiling poles were mounted on opposite
ends of a stage at the top of the dance area, and comfortable
vinyl couches were at one end of the floor, facing toward the
stage. Adrian flicked a switch that dimmed the overhead
lights and bathed the stage area in a soft purple glow. He
gestured toward the sofas, and Trent seated himself on the
one that was in the center.

One smooth motion caused the cloak to slide off his lithe

frame, and Trent's prick immediately swelled to the bursting
point. Adrian was wearing nothing but a G-string made out of

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tiny, silver links. The front panel was a net that rested on the
bare skin of his crotch. A thin chain looped around Adrian's
balls and then joined a matching segment running up the
crack of his ass. A band made up of two concentric circlets
was wrapped around the base of his shaft, and another one
was clasped under the head; both fastenings were linked
together by a string of beads dangling along the underside.
There was a small aura that Trent recognized as a spell
surrounding the circlets.

Adrian paused for a moment so he could shift back to his

normal form and unfurl his transparent, angular wings. He
switched on the sound system and produced his iPod from the
leather pouch with a flourish.

"Now, sit back and enjoy," Adrian said, before his finger

touched the 'play' button.

Trent sucked in a deep breath. Now he knew which fantasy

was going to be fulfilled—ever since he had watched Adrian
perform with a student, he had wanted to be the focus of one
of his gorgeous lover's choreographed pieces.

There was a pause before the music came on, and Trent

wished he had a camera to capture this moment. Adrian's
face had softened, and the delight he felt when the first beats
of the music played over the speakers was evident. The
luminescence sparkling in his alabaster skin lit up his flesh
with a cascade of small, multi-colored lights.

The first phrase of a classical piece filled the club. Adrian's

wings flapped, and he rose up several feet in time to the
music. He twirled a few times with the grace of an eagle, and
then he flew toward the stage. Once he entered the pool of

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ultraviolet light, Trent gasped out loud. Bright yellow swirls
had suddenly appeared on Adrian's body; the intricate
designs arced over his arms, legs, and the curve of his hips.

Adrian executed a final spin while the music faded off and

posed with his back to Trent. Seconds later, raunchy lyrics
echoed over the dance floor. Adrian's slender hips pulsed
back and forth before rotating in a lewd fashion, the motion
inviting Trent to nip the swell of those exposed butt cheeks.

The beat shifted, and Adrian grabbed one of the poles and

hooked his leg around it before he swung himself around. His
cock began to swell, and Trent could see the column of flesh
standing up proud, outlined by the magically expanded silver
bands.

Once Adrian stopped, he began twisting his pelvis in a

slow, vertical figure eight. The swirls highlighted the
tantalizing rolling of his ass and brought out every flex and
grind. Each rippling motion was a blatant advertisement of
how he would move once Trent got inside of him.

Trent gurgled and felt like his jeans were strangling his

cock, so he unzipped his fly to relieve the pressure. He almost
came the next moment because Adrian looked back and shot
him a half-lidded gaze that dripped with pure lust.

That one look sent a wave of untamed desire crashing

through Trent's body. He wished that Adrian was closer to the
ground, so that he could bury himself in that perfect ass.
Trent felt like he was going to burst, so he wrapped his hand
around his throbbing erection. He quivered as soon as he
touched himself, and he hoped that Adrian was going to finish
soon.

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The drums were throbbing now in a low, primal rhythm.

Adrian wrapped his legs around the pole and writhed as if he
was in Trent's arms. His hair cascaded over the small of his
back when he arched backward, punctuating the accents in
the music with a decadent hip roll that was probably illegal in
several countries. He was fully hard now, and his erect shaft
brushed against the metal and left a trail of moisture.

Trent thrust into his hand while he watched, desperate for

more contact. He ached to press his overheated skin against
Adrian's cool flesh, but his lover remained out of reach,
tempting him with those sinful undulations. Soon, the music
built to a crescendo, and Adrian swung himself around again,
going faster and faster until he was almost a blur. When the
final downbeat sounded, he spun away and hovered in mid-
air, legs splayed out in a one-hundred and eighty degree side
split.

That last pose stunned Trent so much that he just sat

there like an idiot with his jaw hanging open. Once he was
able to reboot his mind, he applauded as loud as he could.
Adrian landed near the sofa and bowed with his lips curled in
a filthy smile. That expression caused Trent's prick to twitch—
another one of his fantasies was to have Adrian give him a lap
dance. Judging by Adrian's expression, he was about to have
it fulfilled in spades.

The mood was broken by Britney Spears' latest song

playing from Adrian's discarded robe. Trent chuckled out loud
at the interruption, because one of Adrian's pet peeves was
people leaving their cell phones on during performances.

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Trent was about tease Adrian about it, but he decided

seconds later that running for cover was a better option. The
irises of Adrian's eyes had turned a bright red, and the angry
expression on his face was frightening enough to make a
werewolf piss itself. He had no idea what that ringtone
signaled, but he wanted to be as far away as possible before
an explosion happened.

He was still trying to figure an unobtrusive way to sneak

out while Adrian checked the phone. There was no easy exit,
though, so he just had to sit tight and brace for the worst.

To Trent's surprise, Adrian just smiled and said, "Sorry

about that, it's just work."

He didn't quite buy it, but any arguments went out of the

window when Adrian pounced on him and yanked his jeans
and underwear down. Those full lips hovered for a brief
moment over the head of Trent's shaft before a clever tongue
snaked out to catch the droplet of fluid welling out.

"Fuck," Trent moaned.
Adrian winked before he wrapped his mouth around just

the tip. His tongue flickered, and he teased the slit, using a
slow, torturous motion. The ring of his lips felt as hot as a
forge and sent all of Trent's blood rushing south.

Cool air hit Trent's cock when Adrian backed off. He was

about to protest when Adrian swallowed just an inch more,
consuming him in furnace-like heat again. He felt as if he was
being slowly devoured as Adrian's tongue moved over the
sensitive vein.

He was trembling when Adrian changed gears and applied

a huge amount of suction while fondling his balls. Lust

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slammed full force into him, and he grabbed Adrian's hair. He
thrust into that wet, willing mouth at a frantic pace, spurred
on by that wicked tongue dancing over all the right spots.

Trent climaxed far too fast, and while he was in the middle

of his orgasm, Adrian pulled off his cock and sealed their lips
together. Something white-hot flared deep inside Trent, and
then the world seemed to fade off into the distance.

Blackness surrounded Trent and he was still drifting in the

dark when a familiar lithe form appeared next to him. Adrian
smiled before he reached up and brushed his fingers over
Trent's cheek. However, the touch soon became rougher.
Trent was about to bitch when Adrian morphed into a huge
dog and began to shake him.

"Get off!" he shouted as he bolted awake. He was confused

for a brief time, but then he realized that he had been
dreaming. He was sitting up now and was pressed up against
a solid wall of muscle.

It took him a few more heartbeats to realize that he had a

face full of Carl's chest. He turned his head a slight amount,
enough so that he could talk without having his words
muffled. "What are you doing here at Liquid Velvet?"

"What the hell are you talking about? You're in your own

bed."

"WHAT?" Trent pushed himself away and looked around.

Carl wasn't joking—he was back in his apartment. "What...
how?"

"All I know is that I had to take a taxi here because you

didn't pick me up at the airport. Where's Adrian?"

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"Huh? He's not here?" This was seriously weirding Trent

out. Adrian was very careful about draining off a human's
orgasmic energy, because it was too easy for him to
overshoot. When he did go overboard, he always made up for
it. The fact that he hadn't hung out until Trent woke up was
strange as hell.

Carl seemed confused, too. "He must have run out to get

some food. He always gets ravenous after a good fucking."

Trent was about to comment when he spotted an envelope

on his nightstand that had his name typed on it. He had a
hunch as to who had left the note, and his hands shook when
he ripped it open and unfolded the letter inside.

Trent,
I have to leave. Since it's not fair to give you less than

thirty days notice, I left a check for next month's rent and
what I think I owe for utilities. Sorry about dropping this on
you at the last minute. Don't worry about my stuff—I've
destroyed it all, except for one thing. Have Carl take care of
it, he'll know what to do.

Adrian
A razor sharp pain lanced through Trent's stomach after he

finished. Carl was reading over his shoulder, but didn't seem
bothered at all. "I was thinking that Adrian had too good of a
setup."

"What are you talking about?"
"Did someone contact him last night?"
"I think he received a text message; I recognized the

ringtone."

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Carl produced Adrian's phone. "It's probably still on here. I

found it on the kitchen table."

Trent snatched it up and flicked it open. The last thing on

the screen was a Tweet Adrian had received from someone
named hagar. They've started again. U need to leave.

He stared at the message and frowned. "What in hell does

that mean?"

Carl took the device from Trent and glanced at the display.

"It's from one of Adrian's contacts. He can't stay around, and
I'm not telling you why."

"What? Goddamnit, how long have you known him, Carl?"
"Long enough. Look, if you miss having a threesome, I can

introduce you to a friend of mine."

"That's not the point!" He sputtered when Carl tightened

his grip and crushed the phone into a pile of metal bits. "Hey!
What are you doing?"

"Keeping Adrian from being followed. He can be tracked

through anything he's handled extensively."

"Who's... never mind. How am I going to find him now?"
"You won't. Adrian's gone—if he resurfaces in this city

again, it won't be for at least ten years."

"Ten years?" Trent choked out. It suddenly occurred to him

that Adrian's brilliant smile wouldn't be greeting him in the
mornings after he woke up, he wouldn't be rolling his eyes
whenever Adrian turned on the latest reality TV show, and all
of the small things he took for granted would never happen
again...

He was shocked out of his woolgathering when Carl used

one hand to grab him by the shirt and lifted him up. "Listen, I

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know that expression on your face. You get it before you're
going to do something stupid. Let him go, Trent—he's never
been one for permanency."

"Shut up! It's different between us!" Trent punched Carl's

arm as hard as he could, but the blow just glanced off. "Damn
it, Carl, I need some answers!"

Carl didn't budge an inch. "It's not a good idea to get that

involved with a demon, and you know it."

That statement made sense. A relationship with an incubus

wouldn't be at all practical. He would grow old and die, while
Adrian would remain eternally young. "I don't give two shits,
Carl. Cough up those answers, or I swear that I'll do whatever
I can to figure it out myself, even if I have to become Silas'
slave."

Trent didn't like the idea, because he got the sense that

there was something unsavory lurking behind Silas' elegant
demeanor. He figured that he was on the right track, though,
because he saw the note of alarm in Carl's eyes.

"If you think I'm going to listen to empty threats..."
"I'm serious." Trent folded his arms across his chest. "Silas

sent me an e-mail the day after we rolled in bed with him and
said that if I ever wanted to play again, his door was open."

The fight drained out of Carl, and he let out a heavy sigh.

"All right. But Adrian's going to rip my nuts off for telling
you."

* * * *

Trent swallowed when he approached the fleabag hotel. It

was in a dangerous area of town, but Carl had said that it

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provided a convenient place for Adrian to hide until he could
set up a new life.

According to Carl, Adrian had been stripped of much of his

demonic power before he was banished from Hell. Unlike
most incubi, he couldn't shape-shift, but he could make minor
changes to his appearance. After a few mishaps, Adrian had
hooked up with Carl, and the half-giant had sheltered him
while he established an identity on Earth.

They then went their separate ways, but a few months

later a panicky Adrian had burst into Carl's house. He was
being stalked by something that he feared, but he wouldn't
give Carl any details. Carl knew better than to get nosy, so he
smuggled Adrian out to Europe to hide.

After that, Carl hadn't run into Adrian until many years

later, and they fell into bed again. During their time together,
Adrian had mentioned that he had set up a system so that he
would receive an early warning if his hunters were looking for
him.

Adrian left after that; he and Carl would see each other

from time to time and catch up. During another get together
sometime in the 1980's, Adrian found out that his hunters
had stopped chasing him. He was relieved, but he still kept
up-to-date with the latest technology in case they were
reactivated. The Tweet yesterday was a signal that he was a
target again.

Trent glanced at his watch and decided to see if anyone

fitting Adrian's description had checked in. He had barely
taken two steps when someone grabbed him and threw him
into an alleyway. Before Trent could get his bearings, his face

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was slammed into the wall and a gun was pressed into his
side.

His assailant growled, "Give me your wallet, now, asshole!"
"O-okay," Trent replied. His hands shook as he handed his

wallet over and his attacker snatched it away. He hoped that
he was going to be released soon, but then his heart skipped
a beat when he heard the sound of the hammer being cocked
back.

Oh God... he wanted to do something, but he was petrified

with fear. Time slowed down while he tried to convince
himself to move, only to be met with no response from his
body. He tried to scream for help, but he was so scared he
couldn't form a word.

Abruptly, he heard a sickening crunch, and the weight was

removed from his back. He heard the mugger choking off a
scream, and he convinced himself to turn his head to look.

Adrian was holding Trent's assailant at arm's length, with

one slender hand clamped around the robber's neck. The
guy's wrist was bent at an awkward angle, and the gun had
been ripped from his hand. The revolver's trigger was
crumpled, and the bent metal had finger-shaped impressions.

"I'm going to make you pay for that," Adrian hissed.
Trent scrambled to his feet and grabbed Adrian's arm.

"Don't kill him!"

"Fine, I'll just cripple the bastard." Adrian squeezed, and

once the man went limp, he dropped the mugger like a dirty
rag.

"Shit! What did you do?"

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"He'll live. I wanted to scare this shithead before I knocked

him out, which is better than he deserves for hurting you."

Trent breathed a sigh of relief, and now that his heart rate

was approaching something normal, he could take a good
look at his erstwhile housemate. Adrian had changed his
appearance somewhat—his hair was shorter, brown and curly,
while his eyes were a sea green. He was also pissed off.
"What the hell are you doing here? You almost got fucking
killed!"

The anger coming off Adrian made Trent want to crawl into

a deep canyon to hide. He swallowed and mustered up the
last of his courage. "We need to talk, please?"

"Fuck no. Go back to Carl."
"Then you'll have to put me in the hospital, because I'm

not leaving."

Adrian let out a deep snarl that no human throat was

capable of making and hurled insults that were so blistering
they would have caused a building to catch on fire. Trent
weathered the verbal assault and remained in his spot until
Adrian sighed and touched his fingers to Trent's grazed
cheek. He whispered a quick healing spell and once Trent was
good as new, he said, "Follow me."

Trent wrinkled his nose once they entered the hotel.

Garbage was strewn in the hallway, and he wondered if the
rickety stairs would hold his weight. Adrian's room wasn't
much better—the paint was peeling off the wall in sheets, and
the small bed had suspicious looking stains on the blanket.

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He sat in the only chair while Adrian sprawled on the

mattress. An awkward silence followed, but then Adrian broke
it first. "Why in fuck did you try to find me? I told you not to!"

"Because I can't just let you go!"
Trent never thought he'd see the day when he'd confuse a

demon that was at least several hundred years old, but his
statement made Adrian look at him with a completely
dumbfounded expression. Seconds later, a cynical look
appeared on Adrian's face. "You're bullshitting me."

"I know it's the worst idea in the world, but I can't stop

thinking about you." He felt vulnerable for stating this, but he
knew that this conversation was too important for him to hold
anything back.

"Oh, God." Adrian moved off the bed and stood in front of

the chair. He cradled Trent's hands in his own and said in a
gentle voice, "We can't get involved... please go away and
forget me."

"No. I don't care if you throw me out or try to rip me

apart. I can't let you go."

Adrian's grip tightened, and his features hardened into an

icy mask. "It's not me you have to worry about. It's the
Vatican."

"What?"
"I'm part angel—Lucifer thought the perfect soldier against

Heaven's armies would be a demon that's immune to holy
magic. So he tried several experiments which involved
transfusing the blood of a captured angel into his minions. I'm
the only one that took."

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That made sense, except for one thing. "So why were you

kicked out of Hell?"

"Because the transfusion worked too well. I received a set

of morals along with it, and I refused to take any more orders
after that. Lucifer probably would have unmade me if I hadn't
been his favorite."

Trent didn't miss the slump of Adrian's shoulders or the

wistfulness in his voice. No wonder he hadn't wanted to get
involved with anyone after he was banished to Earth. Trent
rose to his feet and pulled Adrian into a hug before he started
talking again. "That doesn't explain why the Vatican is after
you."

"Papal decree. The first Pope decided that all demons must

be eliminated, and he formed a squad of men trained to deal
with the 'unholy threat'. His agents have been hunting
demons ever since."

"How?"
"They have some sort of spell to detect demonic presence,

and once I showed up on Earth in the Twenties, they tracked
me down. I'm not strong enough to fight them off, so I
learned how to hide."

Adrian must have noticed the confused look on Trent's

face, because after a brief pause, he continued his story. "I
was able to settle down once John Paul took office, because
he stopped the hunts. But now, the new Pope decided that
demons couldn't be left alone. It's not safe to be around me—
you might get executed for helping a demon."

Trent cupped Adrian's face in his hands and ran his thumbs

over the delicate cheekbones. The thought of life without

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Adrian was too painful to bear. "I don't care. I can't just let
you go."

Tenderness and despair warred across Adrian's face. "Do

you have any idea what you're involving yourself in? What
about your job and your family?"

The determination that Trent felt deflated. He hadn't

thought about how much of his existence he'd have to uproot.
"But..."

Adrian pressed a kiss to his lips to silence him. "I wish I

could take you with me, I really do."

"At least let me do something for you!"
"What?"
"Let me... let me fulfill your fantasy instead of the other

way around." Adrian looked confused again, but Trent wasn't
going to let this drop. "Please, anything you want."

He felt a twinge of anxiety when Adrian didn't respond.

The nervousness he felt dissolved away when Adrian shifted
back to his normal form. He closed the distance between
them, and his lips ghosted over the shell of Trent's ear. "I'd
love to have you ravish me against the wall."

"Ravish? As in..."
"You heard right. Take me like they do in the bodice

rippers."

Trent's cock hardened at the suggestion, but doubt flared

in him. "Uh, I've never done that before. What if I blow it?"

"You won't. I know you and your sister used to peek at

your Mom's bad romance novels—just follow that formula."

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"How am I going to hold you down? You always have

someone else like Carl doing strong man duty when you don't
want to move."

Adrian replied in a husky voice, "Suck me off. I'll take care

of the rest."

Trent brushed his lips over Adrian's before he descended

to nibble on the slender throat. Adrian arched beneath him
while Trent bit and licked every square inch; once Adrian was
a trembling wreck, Trent slid down and unzipped Adrian's
low-slung jeans.

His cock sprang free, and the slight flush that suffused it

made it look crimson compared to his alabaster skin. Trent
rubbed his cheek against the solid column of flesh before he
looked up and locked his eyes with Adrian's golden ones. His
gaze didn't waver while he swallowed the shaft in one gulp.

A string of curses spilled from Adrian's mouth, and his

veins stood out while he fought to keep still. Trent hollowed
his cheeks and savored the earthy, yet somewhat light taste
under his tongue. It was intoxicating to watch Adrian come
apart, to see that lithe body twist and quake under his
ministrations.

Soon, Adrian trembled, and just as he was approaching

orgasm, Trent heard him chanting in a guttural, inhuman
language. He howled out the last syllable and then slammed
forward before Trent's mouth was flooded with salty liquid.

The spunk was scorching hot, and it almost burned Trent's

tongue. He swallowed it all, and he suddenly felt like molten
fire had been poured into his blood. His skin felt like it was
being tugged in multiple directions—Trent glanced down and

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gasped when he saw that it really was stretching. New
muscles were forming on his chest, arms, and legs; his flesh
rippled, and he watched himself gain the physique of a body
builder.

Adrian looked frailer, and he panted out, "I passed on

some of my strength to you."

Trent was stunned that Adrian would have this much trust

in him. That realization fueled his desire to make this as good
as possible. He wasn't sure where to start, but Adrian broke
the tension by shooting him a mischievous grin before
whispering a quick spell.

"I'm all lubed up and ready to go, big boy. Don't stop

unless I say my safeword." He dropped his gaze down to the
carpet and bit his lower lip.

Taking the cue, Trent pushed Adrian toward the wall. He

was sure that they'd be heard in the next room, but he didn't
care. Mimicking how the bodice rippers had always started,
Trent growled and seized Adrian's wrists in one hand before
pinning them above his head. Blood rushed down to his groin
at the look of vulnerability that shone in Adrian's eyes.

"Don't..." Adrian breathed out.
That word made Trent instinctively hesitate, but then he

saw that Adrian's prick had hardened again and a steady
stream of fluid was dribbling out. Trent smirked and tightened
his grip. "Shut up. I know you want this."

He pressed his body against Adrian's trembling frame,

grinding his denim-clad crotch against Adrian's exposed one.
Adrian struggled and tried to buck Trent off of him. His
smaller muscles bulged, but he couldn't move Trent at all. A

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pulse of lust surged through Trent when he realized that he
was in control and that Adrian was just as aroused as he was
by the prospect.

He grabbed the neckline of Adrian's shirt and yanked hard.

The cotton parted like it was a tissue, and Adrian renewed his
struggles. "No! Stop!"

Trent smashed their lips together. It was not a tender

kiss—instead of gentle strokes with his tongue, he plundered
Adrian's mouth, laying claim to what was his. While he
continued the kiss, he reached down with his free hand,
grabbed Adrian's erection, and gave it a tug.

Adrian tore his mouth from Trent's and moaned another

protest, even though his slender hips were thrusting at a
steady pace, pushing his dick into Trent's fist.

"You're a slut," Trent said. "Look at you, screwing my hand

eagerly, because you can't get enough." He leaned down and
sucked at the column of Adrian's throat. "Give in," he
growled.

"No..." Adrian whispered, even though his pace had grown

more frantic.

Trent let go and chuckled when he heard a cry of

disapproval. He turned a deaf ear to it. Instead, he hooked
his fingers under the waistband of Adrian's opened jeans and
tore them off with one jerk. Before Adrian could react, he
tried to work a thigh between those long legs, but he met
with resistance.

"Let me go you bast... oh, fuck!" Adrian panted out. He

never finished his curse because Trent succeeded in grinding
a thigh against Adrian's leaking prick. Conflicting emotions

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flickered across Adrian's face, but Trent saw that he was
about ready to crack. Trent flexed his quadriceps and grinned
when Adrian rubbed against him.

While Adrian was distracted, he reached around and

brushed his fingers over the slick entrance. The plaintive
whimper that Adrian voiced at the contact shot straight to
Trent's cock. He wanted to tear his clothes off and fuck Adrian
now, but he needed to finish the scene. His voice dropped to
a low rumble. "Tell me what you want."

He stroked the puckered flesh, and Adrian let out a soft

mewl. "Tell me what you want," Trent purred out.

Adrian's head tossed from side to side, fanning out his

blond hair. His entire face was flushed red, and his tongue
licked over swollen, full lips.

"Say it," Trent said.
He pressed the tip of his finger into the already lubed hole

and hissed when he felt how hot it was inside. Adrian arched
back and voiced a broken cry that sent another spike of
desire through Trent. Much as he wanted to bury himself
inside that tightness, he resisted the urge and slid his finger
in up to the second knuckle, making sure to rub against the
small nub of flesh inside.

"Fuck!" Adrian quivered as if he was electrified, and he

began to thrash in Trent's arms. His hips ground down in a
frantic motion, and his eyes were fever-bright with desire as
Trent continued to wring moans and broken whimpers from
his throat.

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"You know what I want to hear," Trent said in a husky

voice. He emphasized his point with another swirl over
Adrian's prostate.

"Jesus!" Adrian's whole body was quivering with raw need,

but his struggles had lost their vigor. It looked like all he
needed was one more nudge to break him.

"Say it." Trent pushed another finger in and pumped them

both, driving Adrian into a frenzy. He made one last feeble
attempt to push Trent off, and then he looked away with a
furious blush staining his cheeks.

"Please... fuck me," Adrian whispered.
That was all the prompting Trent needed. He pulled his

fingers out and placed his free hand under Adrian's butt. With
his newfound strength, he easily hoisted the slim body off the
ground and paused long enough to unzip and position his dick
before he slammed home, burying himself balls deep in one
thrust.

Both of them cried out; Trent almost lost it then and there

as the scorching tightness that gripped his prick made his
eyes roll back into head. Something primal blazed to life
inside of him, and he started thrusting, lips pulled back into a
snarl while he rutted like an animal.

Adrian screeched, and his long legs wrapped around

Trent's waist. He wasn't content to just lie there; his heels
dug into Trent's back frantically. "More! Fuck, I can't get
enough of your big cock!"

Spurred on by Adrian's decadent moans, Trent tightened

his grip and noticed that he was leaving finger-shaped bruises
in Adrian's skin, something that was impossible before. That

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revelation spurred him to snap his pelvis at the apex of each
thrust, pounding in so hard that he was sure Adrian would be
feeling it for days. He heard the plaster cracking, but he
didn't care, all he wanted to do was sink into Adrian's tight
hole, plunging in over and over again.

Adrian undulated against the wall and wailed at the top of

his lungs. Trent was overwhelmed, but he tried to hold his
orgasm back and draw this out as long as possible. Then
Adrian's internal muscles clamped down and he whispered,
"Please... let me feel you come."

Those husky words destroyed the last of Trent's control,

and he slammed in hard, calling out Adrian's name while his
climax hit him full force, causing stars to explode behind his
eyes.

He felt Adrian's mouth sealing over his own, and the stars

flared into an explosion of blazing light. Trent felt like he was
soaring up to the sky, and then reality shattered into a
hundred pieces before he blacked out, hearing Adrian's shout
of pleasure in the background.

When he came to, he was naked and lying on his side on

the cheap bed. Adrian was facing him, and they had both
been cleaned up.

Trent noticed that he felt weaker. A quick scan of their

bodies revealed that his muscles were back to their normal
size and Adrian was radiating his usual healthy glow. His gaze
wandered around the room, and he squeaked when he saw
that a huge chunk of drywall was missing, right where they
had been screwing. "Oh shit."

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Adrian laughed. "Don't worry about it. I'll just wiggle my

ass at the owner's wife and she'll figure out a way to write it
off."

Trent breathed a sigh of relief, but the casual lightness of

the mood changed when he looked at Adrian again. For the
first time, Trent could see the centuries, maybe even
millennia of experiences that those golden eyes had been
hiding, and he felt very young.

"That was perfect, Trent. Everything I could have wished

for." Adrian trailed his fingers over Trent's cheek, and when
he next spoke, his words were filled with regret. "I have to
leave."

Trent clutched Adrian's arm; he wanted to draw this out a

little longer, he just couldn't let Adrian disappear like this. "Do
you have to go?"

Adrian sighed and pressed his lips against Trent's. The kiss

was tender, sweet, and heartachingly perfect. "I'm sorry. I
really am. I... I don't want to walk out. I love you."

As soon as those words left his mouth, Adrian made a

choking noise and every inch of him stiffened. The small glints
in his skin blazed all at once, flaring so bright that his
features were obscured. He convulsed in Trent's arms, and
his wings unfurled. To Trent's amazement, he could see the
translucent membrane shimmering and moving like liquid.
The thin tissue appeared to melt back into the bones and then
slowly dripped out like a million teardrops, forming a carpet of
transparent feathers. The incandescence then dimmed and
faded away.

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Adrian collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut and was

unnaturally still. It took a few seconds for Trent's shock-
numbed mind to restart, but once he recovered, he frantically
checked his lover for signs of injury. He wasn't sure what he
was looking for—could you even give first aid to an incubus?

"Please, don't die. I love you, too."
Adrian's eyes fluttered open, and his irises looked glazed

over. "Wha?"

Relief flooded through Trent; he pulled Adrian close and

held on like their lives depended on it. He wanted to let
Adrian rest, but if the Vatican's goon squad was hot on their
heels, he needed answers now. "What's going on?"

Trent didn't receive an answer at once—Adrian was still

disoriented, and it took a while before he managed to focus.
He began to stare at Trent with his head tilted to the side.
"I... that's odd... you shoplifted a few candy bars when you
were younger?"

It was a brief bit of rebellion during Trent's teenage years.

He stopped after the third time and had never told anyone
about it. "Excuse me? How in Hell did you know that?"

"I don't... It's as if I can 'see' it in my mind's eye." Adrian

stared at himself and said, "This is fucking strange. I can see
light and dark inside of me."

"Huh?"
Adrian suddenly grabbed Trent and shook him. "I need to

send out some e-mails. Now."

Trent scrambled to get his iPhone out of his jeans, and he

handed it to Adrian. After some frantic tapping, Adrian held

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the device tight in his hands. His brow was knitted in
concentration, so Trent didn't dare disturb him.

Many tense minutes went by until Trent heard a soft ping.

Adrian opened the e-mail and scanned it for what seemed like
an eternity before he let out a shaky breath. "Oh God... the
hunt's over."

"What? Where? What?"
"I'm... I can see how much sin everyone has, and I can

also tell how demonic I am. I'm... I think I'm more angel than
incubus now."

Trent was about to jump for joy, but Adrian looked like he

had been told that he could never dance again. "Uh, that's
good, right?"

"In a way... but I've lost some of my powers. I can't... I

can't be the person you want in bed."

Adrian looked so forlorn and lost that Trent wrapped him in

an embrace again and held him tight. "So what? We do the
old-fashioned thing and talk. I'm fine with anything, but
monogamy is a deal-breaker."

The tenseness faded, and it was replaced by a sly grin.

"I'm not that good."

Trent had to laugh at the wicked expression on Adrian's

face. He hadn't anticipated falling in love when they started
sleeping with each other, but he wasn't complaining. This was
a first for him, and it had to be one of the best birthday
presents ever.

[Back to Table of Contents]

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The One Who Comes in the Night

By Kate Roman

* * * *

This one was beautiful. Blaise slipped across the shadows,

following the clear-eyed, nervous blond. He'd spotted the
young man at the late-night hamburger stand, a hunting
ground he only frequented when he was desperate. The place
was always good for a doped-up space cadet—enough to keep
body and soul together, so to speak, but nothing more. Not
enough to light the flame of life within Blaise's chest.

Not enough to give him hope.

* * * *

Drew Miller trudged homeward through the dark and grimy

city streets. All week, he'd put in 12-hour days to complete
his latest project. His eyes ached from squinting at the
computer screen, and his back and neck were on fire.

And it had all been for nothing. He took a bite of greasy

burger, chewing unenthusiastically. Funding cancelled at the
last minute, the city pulling the plug on further
developments—Drew shook his head. It wasn't his fault; no-
one had seen it coming and there was nothing Drew could
have done to change it, but that didn't change the facts.

The project was a failure, and he'd been tarred with the

same brush. Drew shivered, swallowing his food with difficulty
past the lump in his throat. If he lost this job, if his boss,

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Paul, fired him without a reference, he had no idea where
he'd go or what he'd do.

The thought turned Drew's stomach, and he dumped his

supper in the nearest trashcan. He scrabbled in one pocket
for the key to his apartment building.

The door gave way under his touch, and Drew frowned.

The lock was broken again, and the narrow stairway stank of
urine and something worse. He hurried upward toward the
precarious sanctuary of his one-room apartment.

Letting himself in, Drew slammed the heavy, fireproof door

behind him and slid the deadbolt and the security chain
home. The place was as he'd left it, undisturbed, his meager
breakfast dishes stacked on the draining board, thin, gray
curtains drawn across the old-fashioned sash windows.

Drew leaned heavily on the breakfast bar, covering his

face with his hands. He'd been so sure a move to the city and
his entry-level office job were just the start of something big,
something important. What would he do if he was fired? He
had nowhere to go and no one to turn to. His parents had
been dead since he was a child, and his grandfather, who'd
raised him, had died five years ago. Since the old man's
death, Drew had come to truly understand what it meant to
be alone.

It terrified him.

* * * *

Blaise slipped into the prey's space, opening his mind

further, dipping into the well of emotions roiling up inside the

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young blond. Blaise hadn't been mistaken: strongest of all,
bitter and ugly, was the ache of loneliness.

Blaise knew that emotion intimately. He carried it deep

inside him in the space he'd once called his heart, eons ago
when words like that had meant something to him.
Something more than another night's hunting, another
transitory connection that left him emptier than he'd been
when he'd begun.

And this one carried it, too.
That made it hard to think of him as prey. Blaise wavered

for a moment, torn between hunger and sympathy. He
wanted to close his mind, to push the blond away, but
something in their connection, something alive and strong
and vital, kept him there.

* * * *

Drew went to bed early, curled up tight, pulling the thin

comforter around him against the night. He shivered, only
partly from the cold. The rent was due on Friday, and the
utilities, too, and once he'd paid those, he'd have nothing left.

Drew closed his eyes determinedly, willing himself to

sleep. There were no solutions to be found tonight, no magic
answers to his worries lurking in the shadowy corners of his
tiny apartment. But if he was lucky, Drew thought wryly, he
just might find one in his dreams.

Sleep came softly, and with it a feeling of contentment.

The warm feeling washed over him, pushing his worries and
fears aside, and Drew lay quietly, almost afraid to wonder
where it came from.

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Suddenly, he knew. He was no longer alone—someone was

with him, here in the apartment, in the bed. A presence was
close, touching him, feeling what he was feeling. Knowing
him.

Fear and excitement thrilled their way up Drew's spine.

Thoughts of intruders and home invasions niggled at his
brain, but something told him that whoever or whatever lay
so close beside him, he had nothing to fear.

"Am I dreaming?" Drew whispered.
There was no answer he could hear, but instead,

something touched him, deep inside his mind, and his fear
melted away in the face of an overarching warmth and
security, a promise of safety and protection.

The presence came closer, warm and near inside Drew's

thoughts. Tendrils of pleasure started at the base of his spine
and spread through his body, and Drew started to tremble.
Whatever this was, it was arousing him.

The first touch on his skin burned like fire and ice, and

Drew moaned as an electric thrill coursed through his veins.
He kept his eyes shut, afraid that if he opened them the
dream would be gone. Light and perfect, a hand stroked his
chest, parting his sparse body hair and slowly, sensuously,
exploring the skin beneath.

Drew gave himself over to the sensations, the delightful

touch that brought his skin alive, sending pleasure singing
from every nerve-ending. It was stronger than anything he'd
ever felt, a world away from the urgent, gasping release he
sometimes allowed himself in the lonely dark.

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At last, the questing, stroking fingers found his rock-hard,

throbbing cock. Drew nearly cried, arching off the bed and
into the touch. He was ready to explode, but it seemed the
one he was with wasn't ready to let him.

Gasping and panting, Drew collapsed back on the bed,

whining softly as the touch on his cock stayed light, almost
teasing. The connection in his mind thrummed, full and alive,
and Drew begged softly, writhing. "Please. Please..."

"Trust me. Soon." The words weren't spoken, but Drew felt

them all the same, felt the amusement and tenderness there.

Drew shuddered, groaning as his legs were pressed farther

apart and the slow caress extended to the soft skin between
his thighs. His orgasm was building, strong and close, balls
throbbing under the soft, exploring touch, and Drew bucked
his hips urgently.

At last the hand was back on his cock, strong and sure this

time, sliding easily over his shaft, squeezing his crown. Drew
whimpered and bucked, but the stroke didn't falter, driving
him closer and closer.

"Come for me." It was part-instruction, part-plea, and it

went straight from Drew's brain to his cock. With a cry that
was more than half scream, Drew arched up off the bed,
pleasure wracking his body. He shook in the grip of the
intense feelings as wave after wave rushed through him,
taking him to a place he'd never been.

Finally, he was still, exhausted and wrung out, limp against

his pillow. The night air felt cool against his wet skin, and he
shivered.

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The touch on him was gone, and for an instant he was

terribly afraid. "Don't go," he said weakly. "Please. Please
come back?"

This time, Drew felt the bed-springs move. Strong arms

wrapped around him, pulling him into the shelter of a warm
body. Sighing with relief, Drew curled closer, pressing himself
against a strong chest, sliding his leg between muscular
thighs. Safe, he thought thickly, sleep already stealing over
his brain. He felt a hand in his hair, stroking and gentle, and
smiled.

* * * *

He'd been right about this one.
Blaise slid from the bare room, away from his sleeping

prey. Prey were always easy. A brief connection, a briefer
fuck, their seed spilled, and Blaise was gone into the night,
fed if not sated.

But tonight, leaving weighed heavily on his mind. The

blond's sweet juice was warm in his veins, nourishing and
perfect, but the trust the blond had given so freely hurt. The
connection between them had been burning and alive,
thrumming with intensity, and Blaise yearned to keep it
strong. He'd stayed too long. Stayed inside his prey's mind
through both the pleasure and the necessary feeding...
stayed with him afterward, until it was no longer safe, until
the sky was gray with dawn.

All day in his den, Blaise dreamed of the blond.

* * * *

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Numbly, Drew exited Paul's office, closing the heavy door

behind him, careful not to let it make a sound. It had all gone
so much worse than he'd feared.

Paul had called Drew in an hour after he'd arrived at work

and stormed and ranted about his performance until Drew felt
ill. Then, all of a sudden, Paul had switched gears, describing
the next project in a tone that was nearly genial.

Drew had made the mistake of relaxing a little. He'd asked

a couple of questions about the scope, and even taken a few
notes. And then he'd asked when Paul needed him to have
the resourcing report complete. He'd seen the cold, sadistic
glimmer in his manager's eyes too late. "We'll discuss your
role in the morning." Paul sneered. "It'll give me time to mull
over whether we really need your particular... talents, or
whether the agency would be better without you." He turned
away and picked up the phone, signaling an end to the
meeting.

The words echoed in Drew's ears as he crossed the floor

back to his desk. He hadn't achieved anything of significance
in his three years at this job, and the years before that...
Drew shrugged, dropping listlessly into his chair. If asked, the
residents of his hometown would have labeled him just as
useless as Paul had.

Back in high school, his first fumbling kiss with another

boy had led to discovery, and a week's suspension. Everyone
in the small town knew, the gossips had seen to that, and
although his grandfather had never punished him, Drew still
believed he'd let the old man down.

He'd never given in to his desires again.

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Not until last night, anyway, when the masculine presence

had stolen into his mind while he slept, slipped under his
defenses and taken him to heights of pleasure he'd never
even dreamed of.

A blush stole up Drew's cheeks as he thought of the

previous night. For an instant, he felt the light, seeking touch
on his skin, and he came to with a start, looking around
guiltily. Obviously, the dream had been a symptom of his
stress.

Drew's blush deepened as he remembered his own pleas

and the indulgent, sinful comfort of curling up in the shelter of
the strong arms.

He'd awoken in the morning to a cold, empty bed to

remind him of his sin. And, Drew supposed, now he was
paying the price.

* * * *

Blaise emerged from his den, impatient and restless, as

the last rays of sunset died on the horizon. Hunger hummed
beneath his skin, but far stronger and more insistent was the
ache in his heart. For the blond.

The rules were carved in stone and could never be broken.

Prey could be used only once. Blaise had learned that in the
years he still imagined freedom, still dreamed of life and love
and a man who'd walk beside him.

But the blond had asked him to return. That changed

everything.

The street was busy, and Blaise knew there was prey all

around him, but he wasn't hunting now. Hungry though he

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was, he did not stop until he came to the old brick building
where he'd spent the previous night.

The blond was there. The instant Blaise opened his mind

he felt it, the same sweet thrill that had first caught him.

Blaise crept closer and waited.

* * * *

Drew finished doing the dishes from his simple fried

bologna sandwich, carefully drying and putting away his lone
plate and scratched frying pan. There was half a loaf of bread
left, enough to last him until the weekend, and if he went
without lunch for the rest of the week, his groceries would
stretch until payday.

Drew sighed. It wasn't that he regretted coming to the

city—after his grandfather's death, there'd been nothing left
for him in his hometown. He just wished he could find a way
to make even one of his dreams come true.

The dishtowel fell from his suddenly nerveless fingers as

he thought of the dream he'd had the previous night. It was
still clear in his mind, the feelings, the emotions raw and
close. Drew shivered. The whole thing had felt so real—more
real, he realized, more intense than the awful scene at work
and Paul's angry ranting.

He thought longingly of the strong arms that had held him

safe, the warmth and rightness of the body against his own,
and wondered if he'd ever find the courage to experience the
dream for real.

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"I wish it had been real," he said out loud, his voice

echoing a little in the sparsely-furnished room. "I wish you
were real."

Drew listened hard, but there was no response.

* * * *

It broke Blaise not to answer.
He was a silent hunter. He could not speak to prey, and

even if he could have spoken, to reveal himself while the
blond was awake was forbidden.

Blaise waited in the shadows, as close as he dared, far

closer than was safe. His hunger was forgotten, forced aside
by his longing for this man, for the intimacy of their
connection and the sweet thrill that sparked in Blaise's chest
that reminded him what it meant to live.

Silent and yearning, Blaise waited.

* * * *

Drew put down his paperback with a sigh. He wasn't tired

yet, but it was impossible to concentrate on the detective
story he was reading. The memory of the dream would not
leave him, and Drew found himself straining his ears for any
sound, for any sign that somehow, impossibly, his lover would
return.

Realizing that reading any longer was futile, Drew switched

off the lamp and lit the cheap, wax candle that stood on the
nightstand. The flame flickered and then stood tall, setting
the shadows dancing and swaying on the walls, and Drew
pulled the comforter around him.

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He stared into the elongated, orange candle-flame,

watching it sway and flicker, and let himself remember the
strong arms that had held him last night. "I wish you were
real," he whispered to the night. "I wish you'd come back."

Drew drifted with the memory, enjoying the remembered

warmth, marveling at how easy it was to imagine the
muscular body and the strong, sure hands on his skin.

He couldn't pinpoint the moment when he realized he was

no longer alone. Drew felt the presence touching his mind
first, just as it had yesterday, felt the flood of warmth and
contentment.

"You came back," Drew said softly, happily, reaching for

his lover.

He wasn't disappointed. Once again, strong arms enfolded

him, crushing him against a broad, warm chest, and Drew
nuzzled his lover's skin, senses filling with a heady, spicy
scent, thrilling and subtly familiar. It went straight to his
cock.

Moaning with pleasure, Drew arched into the embrace. He

was pushed onto his back, his legs spread, and he felt the
weight and warmth of a body above his own, pressing him
down against the mattress. Drew mewled with desire.

Soft lips caressed his jaw and then his neck, and, gasping

with pleasure, Drew let his head fall back, exposing his throat
to the attentions. Every nerve-ending sang with desire, and
he quivered, helpless as the soft, thrilling caresses traveled
down his body.

Drew sobbed and bucked as a clever tongue teased his

nipples into hard, hypersensitive buds, each touch sending

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jolts of pleasure down his spine. His cock was rock hard,
throbbing with need, and Drew thrust urgently against his
lover's body.

The friction felt so good he thought he would explode.

Drew writhed desperately, tremors running through his body
as sensations stronger than anything he'd ever experienced
threatened to shake him apart. He cried out in urgent,
agonizing want.

The presence in his mind soothed him, reassuring and

gentle, and Drew relaxed, allowing himself to give in to the
feelings rushing through his body. Waves of pleasure shook
him, building and breaking, each one taking him closer to the
edge, and he bucked with more urgency, grinding his hips
into the warm flesh that pinned him down.

"Come for me." The instruction thrilled Drew, echoing deep

inside his mind, and he sobbed as his pleasure built to a
crescendo. He grabbed at his lover's shoulders, crying out,
holding on tight as his body jerked in the throes of orgasm.

Finally, he collapsed, spent and shaking, his lover's arms

lowering him gently to the bed and holding him, safe and
true. Quivering, Drew pressed himself against the warm body,
and this time, as his lover stroked his hair, Drew opened his
eyes.

The dim candlelight cast the figure beside him into

shadow, and Drew hesitantly raised a hand to touch. Drew
traced a strong, lightly stubbled jaw, and then his lover
turned his head, pressing a kiss against Drew's palm.

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Drew caught a glimpse of blazing, intense blue eyes, eyes

that seemed to look inside his soul, and then the candle
flickered and went out. Drew flinched.

"Do not fear." The hands were gentle on his naked back,

softly caressing, and Drew closed his eyes again, burying his
head against the strong shoulder. He wasn't afraid—the
presence in his mind was so gentle with him, so tender, he
knew he had nothing to fear. All he wanted was to lie safe in
the arms of the one who came in the night.

The only thing Drew feared was waking up alone to the

empty cold of his reality.

"Are you real?" Drew asked softly. He doubted a dream

would have eyes blazing with such emotion, with hopes and
dreams that Drew could almost feel.

"I am as real as you believe me to be." The words had a

bitter edge.

"If you are real..." Drew took a deep breath. "Stay. Be

here when I wake up."

There was no answer, but the presence didn't leave,

remaining warm and close inside his mind. Drew drifted into
unconsciousness, held tight in his lover's arms.

* * * *

As real as you believe.
Blaise cradled the blond in his arms, as close and tight as

he dared. His heart thudded in his chest, alive and vital and
real indeed, full of emotions Blaise had thought long dead.

The moment he had looked into his prey's blue eyes,

Blaise had been lost. Extinguishing the candle had been the

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work of a moment, but it was too late—the blond had seen
him, known him.

And he had not looked away.

* * * *

Drew woke before dawn, wondering sleepily why he felt so

warm. An instant later, he became aware of a faint and spicy
scent, tantalizingly close, and he moved slightly. Adrenaline
pounded through his veins as he encountered a body beside
him in the bed. His dream was real.

It seemed that Drew's companion read his thoughts

without difficulty. "Or perhaps I am still a dream." The strong
arms tightened around him, belying the words. "I must go
before the sun comes up, in the way of dreams. I have but
one more hour with you."

Drew shivered, blinking in the dark, searching for the eyes

he'd seen the night before. But all he could make out was a
shadow. He sighed softly. "You'll come back, though, right?
I—I don't mind, if you're a dream. As long as you come
back..." Drew trailed off, wondering if he was going mad,
instructing a dream to return.

"Madness is something entirely different. And much less

pleasurable."

Drew sighed with anticipation as soft lips caressed the

underside of his jaw, tracing their way down. Shyly, he ran a
hand over his lover's chest, through the thick, plentiful body
hair that covered bulging pecs. He cautiously slid his hand
lower until he found the heat of manhood, swollen and thick
against his touch.

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"No." The veto was instant and absolute, and Drew

snatched his hand away, trembling.

"I'm sorry— " he whispered, then strong hands caught his

wrists, pressing them back against the bed.

"Be still." The instruction was amused rather than angry,

and was followed by a soft kiss pressed against each wrist.
Drew took a deep breath, relieved, and a moment later
couldn't think at all.

His wrists were released as the hands clasped his thighs

instead, pressing them up and apart. Drew groaned as he felt
his lover's tongue trace his shaft, teasing. He tried to buck,
but the hands on his thighs held him fast, open and exposed,
at the mercy of his lover's hands and mouth.

Warm breath teased his hungry skin, and Drew

whimpered, his cock throbbing for attention. The tongue
traced him again, delicate and questing, finally probing its
way around beneath his ridge. Drew cried out helplessly as
his crown was engulfed in a warm, wet mouth. The feelings
exploding through his body were almost more than he could
stand, and he thrashed against the strong hands holding him
down.

Every movement of his lover started a new tide of

pleasure, every part of him on fire with sensations he could
barely process. The thrilling jolt every time his crown slid
against the back of his lover's throat, the incredible sensation
of being inside his lover's mouth, the explosions of pleasure
that quick, clever tongue was creating—Drew let go with a
scream, arching off the bed, shaking as pulse after pulse
ripped through him.

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White-hot fire burned inside him, all-consuming. His lover

pulled him close, cradling Drew's body just as the psychic
connection caressed his mind, and Drew whimpered softly,
trembling, weak from the intensity of the orgasm. Warmth
and strength flowed into him from his lover, a dynamic,
thrilling current, and gradually his breathing eased and his
heart stopped its frantic pounding.

"Don't let me go," Drew whispered.
"I will hold you as long as I may." The answer was tinged

with sadness, and Drew sighed softly, remembering. Whether
dream or reality, his lover would be gone before dawn.

"Then please... come back," he murmured softly. "Please

come back."

"Rest now, and know I am near."
Sleep came almost instantly, and Drew dreamed of intense

blue eyes, burning with a pure and irresistible fire.

* * * *

Blaise crept into his den only moments ahead of the

sunrise. He'd stayed far too long with his prey... with Drew.
Drew.

He had never felt this way before.
His heartbeat pounded in his ears. The blond was not prey,

had ceased to be prey the instant Blaise had first felt their
connection. He acknowledged it now, now that it was too late.
Now that there was no going back.

Blaise had spent too long inside Drew's mind, knew him

now too deeply, too intimately, to ever walk away.

Blaise had even learned Drew's name.

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* * * *

Sick anxiety rose in Drew's throat as he read the calendar

notification on his screen. A meeting with Paul, labeled simply
"Performance Return," was scheduled for the following
morning. Suddenly, the shifty glances he'd encountered from
his co-workers all morning made sense. Paul was going to fire
him.

Drew looked around him wildly. He couldn't plead his

case—Paul had been called out to one of the building sites
and wouldn't be returning until the following day. There was
nothing he could do.

The rest of the day, Drew sat numbly at his desk, unable

to concentrate, convinced he would be let go as soon as Paul
returned, cast back out into the cold city, left to make his way
alone.

Alone except for a dream.
"Blaze," Drew muttered under his breath. He didn't know

his nighttime visitor's name, but since he'd awoken this
morning, that was how Drew had found himself thinking of
the one who came in the night His dream lover's words came
back to him, echoing inside his mind. "Know I am near," the
mysterious visitor had said. Drew wished he dared believe it.

Drew went to bed at sundown. Blaze came after dark, and

Drew hoped the earlier he slept, the earlier his lover would
come. He pushed away the terrible fear that Blaze might not
come at all.

Drew dozed fitfully, straining every sense for any sign of

his lover. With every hour that passed, hope waned, and cold

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dread grew in his chest. He dreamed he searched for Blaze
through confused dreamscapes, corridors with many doors
that disappeared beneath his touch, giving way to dark, rock
tunnels that led beneath the earth, until suddenly Drew was
surrounded by a terrible, dark nothingness—a lack of light, of
heat, of sensation.

"Blaze!" Drew cried, terror rising in his throat. He was

entirely alone, trapped in this mysterious and horrifying
space, cut off from any escape. Cut off from Blaze. Drew
whimpered, grasping blindly at the impenetrable gloom.

"Drew!"
Drew's head snapped up at the first touch of his

connection with Blaze. Blaze was distant, faint, but even so
far away, Drew felt his urgency, felt something like terror
from his lover. "Blaze! Blaze, what's wrong?"

"I'm coming, Drew. Hold on, my own. Hold on."
The nothingness surged around him, questing and cold,

and Drew trembled, sensing himself at the edge of a vast,
unseen precipice.

"Drew!"
Drew spun, pushing against the clammy fog enveloping

him, then he felt Blaze's arms, enfolding him, pulling him
away.

"Blaze!" Drew gasped, and dizzy with relief and fear, he

fainted.

* * * *

The horror of it nearly choked Blaise, making it hard to

breathe and harder to think. His love had come searching for

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him, but instead of the safe surface world of dreams, his
Drew had somehow stumbled into the dark layers beneath.

Blaise's heart felt cold as stone. If Drew hadn't called when

he did, if he had taken one more step into the dark, he would
have been lost forever.

Just as Blaise had been.

* * * *

Drew opened his eyes to flickering candlelight, and it took

him a moment to realize he was back in his bed, the terrifying
darkness left far behind. His lover held him close, body curled
around his own, hands writing timeless magic on Drew's skin.

On the nightstand, the candle flame stood tall, proudly

holding the shadows at bay.

Drew sighed with relief. He turned over slowly, nestling his

head onto his lover's arm and looking up into Blaze's face.

It was in shadow, and, once again, all Drew saw were the

deep blue eyes, burning with intensity, burning with
something that kindled an answering fire in Drew's heart.

Trembling, Drew raised a hand to touch his lover's cheek.

"Blaze," he said, the word filled with all his hope, all his fear.
"Blaze."

His lover flinched, and Drew snatched his hand back. He

made to pull away.

Blaze held fast, sliding his hands to Drew's shoulders, and

as he moved, the candlelight fell across his face. Drew stared
in wonder, taking in rugged, handsome features in an exotic,
olive-skinned face. The striking blue eyes were topped with
curved, black brows and a mane of shaggy, blue-black hair.

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"Blaze," Drew said again, his voice trembling. "Please...

who are you? What are you?"

The blue eyes bored into him, intent and serious. "Drew...

where came you by my name?"

Drew caught his breath. For the first time, Blaze had

spoken out loud, his voice deep and lyrical. The sound sang in
Drew's veins; it was the voice he'd longed for all his life.

"Drew?"
Drew blushed. Until now, he hadn't realized he'd been

using the name aloud. "I'm sorry. I didn't ask your name, and
when I thought of you, it was as Blaze. I didn't mean to say it
out loud."

"By the ancient laws, I am bound to the one who speaks

my name. I am Blaise, and I am yours."

Drew looked up at his lover, summoned by the tenderness,

the thrilling currents in the velvet voice. Trembling a little,
Drew pressed closer. "Blaise," he said, his voice little more
than a whisper. "Tell me what it means. Are you... are you an
angel? Or are you a dream?"

"Neither, my Drew." Blaise smiled a little, full lips curved

and alluring. "I was once a mortal just like you: young,
impatient, my whole life before me. I believed I'd found love,
Drew, and I followed blindly." A trace of bitterness crept into
Blaise's voice. "I followed the one I loved into the dark, and
once I discovered my mistake, it was too late. The curse fell
upon me, and from that day to this I have walked this realm
as a hunter, a creature of the night, at the mercy of my
accursed hunger."

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"A hunter?" Drew shivered, struggling to understand. "But

Blaise... you saved me?"

"You are unlike any prey I have met," Blaise said, voice

low, eyes fixed on Drew's. "Since the first time I touched you,
I have ached for you every moment."

Drew was still confused, but one thing he did understand

was the sincerity, the truth in Blaise's eyes. "I have ached for
you, too," he replied. "I couldn't believe you were only a
dream." He reached up and stroked Blaise's cheek, breathing
in the sweet spice scent of his lover. "Blaise, what is this
curse?"

A tremor went through Blaise's body, and he looked away,

blue eyes suddenly hooded and introspective. "I am an
incubus. Each night I must spill the seed of a mortal man or
die."

Drew shivered, chills rushing up his spine. Urgently, he

grabbed hold of Blaise's arms, holding onto their heat and
strength, desperate to believe. Whatever Blaise was,
whatever it meant, Drew could not bear the thought of letting
go. "Blaise..."

"Drew," Blaise said, his voice rough with fear and longing.

"My hunger is for you alone. My heart is yours, my cursed
life, whatever pieces of my soul remain."

Blaise's words struck a chord deep within Drew, true and

sweet, and relief flooded through him. "Blaise, please, say I'm
yours, too." Drew's voice broke on the words. "Say you won't
leave me."

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"Know it, my own." Blaise's voice was a low growl, close to

Drew's ear, thrilling him. Drew whimpered softly as Blaise
continued. "I am with you always."

As Blaise's lips found his, sweet and perfect, Drew felt the

now-familiar rush of desire building deep inside. He stared
longingly into Blaise's eyes.

* * * *

Drew was his destiny.
Blaise knew it now, understood the magnetism that was

keeping him with his blond when everything he'd learned,
every hunter's instinct had warned him to flee. He'd walked
alone so many years that his eyes had played him false, but
deep inside, his shattered soul had known its mate.

And Drew's soul had known, too. Drew had found his

name.

* * * *

Finally, Drew lay sated on Blaise's chest, the heady rush of

their connection flowing over and through him, filling him,
washing him clean.

Drew had never felt so alive.
Blaise's hand was moving on his back, tracing patterns,

writing himself on Drew's skin. Drew arched into the touch,
skin tingling where Blaise's fingers moved. An ache he barely
understood started deep within him, a fire kindling deep in his
loins.

"Blaise," Drew whispered, his need, his urgency, raw in his

voice. He belonged with Blaise, every fiber of his being sang

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with the certain knowledge, and every move Blaise made,
every touch, underlined the fact.

He pressed his body against Blaise's, his legs parting,

desperate for Blaise to understand his need. He burned for his
lover, deep inside, in the grip of a primal urge stronger than
anything he'd ever imagined.

"Blaise," he said again, hoarse and desperate. "Blaise, take

me. Make me yours."

"Drew..." Blaise hesitated, stroking Drew's cheek. "Once

we are bound, it is forever. Not a year, or a decade. Not even
a lifetime. If I do as you ask, we will be joined eternally."

Drew trembled, seeing the fear lingering in Blaise's eyes.

"I thought... you said you were bound to me?" he asked.

"I am bound to you." Blaise cupped Drew's cheek, his gaze

never wavering. "I am bound to you until time itself runs out.
But Drew, you are still free to choose. It is not too late to
walk away."

"If I did... what would happen to you?" Drew asked, his

heart in his throat.

"I would return to the dark," Blaise said, his voice steady,

his blue eyes hooded and unreadable. "In the dark layers
there is no prey and no one feeds. There is no light and no
way out. And one day time would end, and on that day I still
would think of you. Such is my curse."

Drew opened his mouth to speak, but Blaise forestalled

him, laying a finger gently over his lips. "My Drew, wait. If
you are bound to me, you will share my fate."

The candle guttered and shadows skidded over Blaise's

face, plunging him back into the darkness, once again a

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dream, the one who came by night. Drew caught his breath
as the icy, clammy darkness of his dream returned. He had
no doubt that he had seen the dark layers. And there was
nothing he wouldn't sacrifice to keep Blaise safe, out of that
evil place, out of the dark. There was nothing that would ever
make him walk away.

"Blaise," he said, eyes fixed on his lover's. "My soul is

yours. Take me, Blaise, I gladly share your fate. Make us
one."

"I cannot ask that of you." Drew heard the strain in

Blaise's voice, felt their connection waver. "Drew, you do not
understand—"

"No, you don't understand, Blaise. Before you came... I

can't go back to that." Drew took a deep breath. "Whatever it
means, whatever it takes, I want to be with you, Blaise. I
love you."

The candle flame flickered and stood tall, burning brightly,

and its light fell softly on Blaise's face, burnishing his skin.
Blaise leaned forward, eyes shining, and Drew felt their
connection come alive, joy and relief flowing between them.

* * * *

It had never been like this.
His hunger for Drew was so much more than the hunger

that drove him to hunt. That was merely physical, a simple
necessity, while this, the soul-deep ache that only Drew
assuaged—this was a spiritual hunger, an essential craving,
something he could not deny.

Blaise looked into Drew's eyes and knew he felt it, too.

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* * * *

Drew held on tight, body and mind on fire. Blaise was

everywhere, touching him, holding him, open and intimate,
giving him everything.

Drew was hard in an instant, his cock hot and throbbing;

then Blaise was touching him, cradling his swollen flesh,
exploring, teasing, and finally stroking him in earnest.

Moaning and inarticulate, Drew writhed urgently, arching

off the bed. He wanted to touch, wanted Blaise under his
hand, wanted to give the same pleasure he was receiving.
Shyly, Drew slid a hand between their bodies, and Blaise cried
out, a sob of wordless, timeless need. The sound jolted
through Drew, electric and overwhelming, and Blaise pulsed
under his hand, slick and hot.

Hesitantly, Drew ran his hand up his lover's shaft. With

every movement, he felt their connection leap and grow, a
glorious inferno raging inside him. It burned as strong in
Blaise, Drew knew; he felt it as clearly as his own desire.

Blaise pressed against him, full, swollen cock tantalizing

and exciting against Drew's skin, and Drew groaned. "Oh,
Drew, yes," Blaise whispered, pushing Drew onto his back,
hands sliding between Drew's thighs, spreading him open.

Drew gasped as Blaise slid down his body, clever tongue

pleasing his skin, finally flicking softly over his sensitive
crown. Drew mewled with satisfaction and then cried out in
surprised excitement as Blaise lapped lightly at his balls.

"Blaise!" he gasped, as Blaise pressed his thighs up and

back, raising his hips. The ache inside him crystallized under

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Blaise's touch, so strong and overpowering that Drew cried
out aloud. And then Blaise's tongue probed between his
cheeks, caressing the sensitive skin of his opening, teasing
and more perfect than Drew could have ever imagined.

Drew groaned helplessly, the ache inside him swelling and

growing until it was all he knew. Blaise's tongue turned his
desire white-hot, every thought a blur. Drew writhed beneath
his lover, sobbing out his need, the sensations almost more
than he could stand.

Time lost all meaning, and Drew had no idea how long had

elapsed before the thrilling, lazy movements of Blaise's
tongue ceased. He found his breath to whine his protest, but
before he could, a questing finger circled on his pucker,
exploring.

Drew's protest died in a sobbed moan, and he bucked,

pressing himself against Blaise's touch.

As Blaise's finger slid inside him, Drew moaned his

acceptance, moaned his desire. The probing touch made him
yearn for more, ache for Blaise inside him, filling him up.
Urgently, Drew bucked, forcing Blaise deeper inside.

"Blaise, please," he whimpered, rolling his hips back.

"Please."

Blaise pulled back a little, looking down at Drew, blue eyes

shining. "Drew, yes," he growled, and his fingers slid out.

Drew was already starting to protest when Blaise moved

above him, hips aligning with Drew's, and moments later he
felt Blaise's thick, heavy cock, pressing hot against his spit-
slick entrance.

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Slowly but surely, Blaise pushed forward, the pressure

building until at last Drew felt himself opening, stretching to
accommodate his lover's cock. Drew cried out as the fat head
slid into him, pushing through his ring, opening him.

Drew struggled to breathe, in the grip of an exquisite

agony so perfect, so pure, he could hardly bear it. As Blaise
pushed in farther, slow and true, Drew panted shallowly,
tensing his hips to meet Blaise's steady pressure, a vital,
glassy pain inside him exploding into hot, unbearable
pleasure.

"Blaise!" Drew thrashed beneath his lover, reaching for

Blaise, bucking urgently, desperately, the need inside him
overpowering and insistent. "Blaise!"

Blaise started stroking, his body over Drew's, their skin

together, slick with sweat. As Blaise moved, he held his lover,
driving Drew higher with every stroke.

Drew groaned and writhed, holding on with everything he

had as the fiery tendrils unfurled in his groin, growing hotter
and stronger.

"Come for me." Drew heard Blaise's whisper in his ear, but

more than that, he felt the words, deep inside his soul,
carried by their unique connection. He felt Blaise's orgasm
building, a white hot tide that lifted him, filled him, more than
sensation, more than anything he'd ever dreamed of. Drew
cried out as the flames burned out of control.

Awareness returned slowly. The first thing he knew was

Blaise's scent, warm sweet spice as Drew breathed in deeply,
reassuring and familiar. Blaise was still inside him, body

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covering Drew's, bearing him down against the bed, and Drew
felt safe, protected. Complete.

Drew opened his eyes to find Blaise's intense blue gaze

fixed on him, filled with wonder. "I love you, Drew," Blaise
growled low and deep against his skin, and the words
resonated through Drew, deep down inside his soul. "I love
you."

* * * *

Blaise was weak, wrung out by the passions of the night,

but his heart overflowed. Love was something he'd forgotten
long ago, love and joy and passion put aside in the face of his
overwhelming hunger, his need to hunt.

And then there was Drew.
His Drew who had given himself, a willing sacrifice, to keep

Blaise safe. His Drew who had braved the dark to find him.

His Drew who had writhed beneath him as their bodies

became one, the fire inside Drew burning stronger, brighter,
until it ignited an answering spark, deep inside the cold,
forgotten places in Blaise's heart.

The spark became a red-hot tower of flame, and as Drew's

orgasm flooded their connection, Blaise had lost his own
control. For the first time since the curse, Blaise had come.

At last he was complete.

* * * *

Drew woke to the morning sunlight on his face and the

cold realization that he was alone in the bed. He sat up
slowly, sliding his arms around his chest.

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"You said forever," he whispered, looking around the

apartment. As far as he could see, the only thing that had
changed since the previous night was the curtains. He'd
closed them tight when he went to bed and now they were
pushed open wide. Warm, gold sunshine streamed into the
small room.

Blaise couldn't have been a dream. Drew shivered. A few

short days ago he'd known nothing of Blaise, and even less of
love. The thought of going back to that, of living without
Blaise, was unbearable.

Drew swallowed hard.
The scent of Blaise, lingering and alluring, came to him,

and Drew breathed it in, closing his eyes against the bright
sunlight, thankful for the small reminder of his lover. The
scent and the lingering ache in his limbs were all he had of
Blaise, and he clung to them, his only evidence that Blaise
was real.

Running water and the click of the bathroom door made

Drew turn, breathless, hope and fear warring in his chest.

Blaise emerged, naked, stretching. He smiled when he saw

Drew, and Drew gazed at him in silent wonder. In the
daylight, Blaise was magnificent. His olive skin gleamed in the
sun's light, warm and burnished. Broad shoulders tapered to
narrow hips, and his heavy cock hung, full and thick, against
his muscular thigh. Drew licked his lips.

"Good morning," Blaise said, his voice low and throaty.
Drew gulped. "Blaise..." he managed. "Blaise, you're still

here!"

"Yes, Drew. I need not leave you now."

The Care and Feeding of Demons

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221

Drew sucked in a huge breath of relief as Blaise rejoined

him in bed. He pressed against his lover's body, taking hold.
"Blaise... the curse. I thought... what does it mean?
Everything seems the same."

"No, Drew." Blaise smiled. "No, nothing is the same

anymore." He leaned in close, claiming Drew's mouth, strong
and gentle, and Drew clung to Blaise as the world spun out of
control.

"The curse is lifted," Blaise said when he could speak, his

voice sending thrills racing up Drew's backbone. "Because of
your sacrifice, when we were joined the curse was undone.
Drew, you have set me free."

Drew looked up into Blaise's face, into the eyes that

quelled his every fear, that sent magic racing through his
veins. "Free?" he breathed.

"Yes," Blaise replied simply. "I am once more a man, just

like you, Drew. My hunger is quelled, I hunt no more by
night." He breathed in deep, smiling, his gaze moving to the
window. "And I can see the sun again."

Hardly daring to believe, Drew raised a hand to Blaise's

cheek. Under his fingers, Blaise's skin was warm and real, the
soft scratch of his morning stubble reassuringly corporeal.
"Are we still bound?" he asked unsteadily.

Blaise pressed a kiss against Drew's palm. "By love alone,"

he said, and Drew felt the thrum of their connection, faint but
true, living deep inside his soul.

"Oh, Blaise... yes." Drew struggled to find words to

express the tumultuous, gargantuan feelings that had him in

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their grip, his eyes locked on his lover's face. "I love you,
Blaise." He hungrily claimed another kiss.

* * * *

It was a different sort of hunger.
Blaise had woken slowly to the warm sunlight bathing his

naked body and the deeper, fulfilling warmth of Drew's skin
against his own.

As he had contemplated his sleeping lover, Blaise had felt

the unfamiliar sensation of physical hunger. The other, that
bone-deep hunger that had driven him to hunt the darkened
streets, was gone, barely a memory, sated once and for all by
the blond lying so easy in his arms. But this... Blaise's
stomach growled, and he'd smiled, sliding sinuously out of
bed.

Now, as Blaise watched pleased comprehension chase the

fear from Drew's face, he nuzzled the peach-soft skin. Drew
purred, nuzzling him back, then Blaise's stomach growled
again, more insistent this time. Blaise kissed the back of
Drew's neck. "Are you hungry?"

Alarm lit Drew's features, and he stiffened in Blaise's arms.

"I guess so?"

Blaise smiled, reading Drew's mind with ease. Drew's

thoughts had gone to the tiny, bare pantry, worrying about
how to feed them both, while thinking wistfully of buttermilk
pancakes and maple syrup, delights he longed to share with
Blaise.

Blaise grinned. Although the foods were unfamiliar to him,

he set about preparing them with a few whispered breaths. In

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223

the time before the curse, he had been a master of the white
arts, and the simple spells for food-preparation came easy to
his tongue.

Blaise inhaled the warm scent of the pancakes with

satisfaction. Drew was right: this was a food worth dreaming
about. "Ready to eat?" he asked softly, threading his fingers
through his lover's beautiful, blond hair.

Drew spun in his arms. "But how... I don't..."
Blaise kissed the alarm from his lover's lips. "Even as a

man, my Drew, I have many talents. You will never want for
anything again, my own."

A shy smile stole over Drew's face. "I have everything I'll

ever need, right here."

Blaise laughed. "And pancakes, too." He stole another kiss

before Drew could protest.

[Back to Table of Contents]

The Care and Feeding of Demons

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224

Payday

By Sean Michael

* * * *

"It's the new moon." Mark stood at the doorway of the

studio, looking in at his lover, staring at the pale skin, the
long, dark hair. Alan was beautiful, but it was his passion that
really drew Mark in, was what had attracted him in the first
place.

"I'm busy." He knew that stubborn set of lips, that pout. It

didn't matter. Alan could paint and paint, but when the sun
set, it was over for three entire days. This wasn't optional,
and there was no putting it off.

They'd made their deal with a devil, and he was coming to

collect.

Mark sighed. It had been worth it, it had. Look at where

they were: a huge old house in the hills, more money and
success than either of them could hope for. It was perfect. It
was even better than they'd imagined when they'd made their
bargain, signed their names in a huge old book.

There'd been a card on their table in the breakfast nook

this morning, the sun shining on it, turning it into a beacon. A
simple white card with bold words written in dark red ink. He
didn't like to think too hard on how the ink looked like blood
because then he might have to entertain the idea that it was
actually blood.

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225

"Be ready at sundown. In the big bedroom. No disruptions

allowed. R."

The staff had been released from their duties; the house

was locked up. The phones were set straight to voice mail.
They were unreachable as far as the outside world was
concerned.

He was ready.
Nervous and ready.
"I don't want to," Alan told him.
Mark shrugged. "You don't have a choice."
Besides, Alan loved it, more than anyone. At the end,

they'd both be exhausted, sated, worn down. They'd be
bruised and well-used and absolutely wrung out. Mark knew
that Alan hated how Riskin made them feel.

The large windows in the studio made it impossible to miss

as the sun slipped beyond the horizon, its last rays painting
the sky and clouds blood red.

Riskin hadn't included 'don't be late' in his note, but it had

been clear nonetheless.

"Alan."
"Just go, Mark."
"He'll punish you."
Those dark-dark eyes stared through him. "You'll get to

watch."

Mark swallowed, turned, and ran, heading for the huge,

windowless bedroom in the center of the house. The room
was dominated by the bed in the center of it, the sheets
changed just this morning, but there were other pieces of

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226

furniture scattered around; Riskin liked to mix things up, and
a bed was not always what was needed.

Mark had barely crossed the threshold when Riskin arrived

in a plume of smoke. He reclined on the bed, quite naked.
Mark couldn't remember a time they'd seen Riskin clothed,
not since they'd made their bargain five years ago. Riskin's
skin was a dark mahogany, his eyes stood out in his face, red
with yellow pupils. There were, however, no horns, no tail;
there was no maw of sharp, pointy teeth.

The demon was lovely—Mark was man enough to admit it.

Perfectly, deliciously lovely. "Good evening."

"Mark. I thought it was going to be a good evening, but

something's missing."

"He's working. You know how he is."
Alan was...
Alan.
Riskin laughed, the sound low and husky, intoxicating. "I

know he likes his punishments. It would be so much easier if
he just asked, though, mmm?"

Mark nodded, drawn closer by the laughter. "Yes, sir."
"Let's get started without him—we'll see just how hard he

wants to be punished." One long finger crooked, motioned
him onto the bed. Riskin's eyes were wicked to begin with, at
the moment that was intensified by whatever was on Riskin's
mind. Mark didn't ask; he'd know soon enough.

He came closer, kneeling between Riskin's legs, his clothes

disappearing with one of Riskin's thoughts. Riskin cupped his
cheek, hand so hot, nails gently scraping along his whiskers.
Their lips met, Riskin tasting just a little bit smoky. More than

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that, though, Riskin tasted of passion and fever, of heat and
eternity.

Mark moaned, shivered, opened for his demon. Five years

they had come together. Every time it had left him shaken.
Now was no exception. Tongue invading his mouth, Riskin
took the kiss he wanted and filled Mark with heat and need.
He moaned, arched, body aching for Riskin's warmth; nothing
compared to that heat.

The demon's husky chuckle filled his mouth, slid inside

him. Mark loved this, even as he was embarrassed. He lusted
after Riskin, after the adoration, the pleasure. This was never
an unwelcome duty, hard yes, but never unwanted.

Riskin flipped him suddenly, putting him beneath the hot,

muscular body. He arched again, tensing, rubbing all along
his demon's heat. Low growling noises filled the air as Riskin's
hand slid along his body. It was electric, and he cried out,
heels digging into the mattress.

"Yes." Riskin's sliding fingers turned, the nails catching

now on his skin. They scratched and scraped, sparking sharp
sensation up his spine.

"I... I've been good. I haven't masturbated. I haven't

fucked Alan except during the full moon..." Which possibly
explained the serious growling.

"My sweet little suck up."
"Am not." He could growl, too.
"No?" Riskin bit at his earlobe before whispering, "Then

why are you in here like you were told while Alan is earning
himself a nice, hard spanking? Why is it always you who
makes sure my demands are obeyed, my needs seen to?"

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228

"Because I keep my end of bargains." Asshole.
"In other words, you're a suck up." Riskin's strange eyes

stared down at him and a wicked smile curved his lips. The
wandering hand kept moving on him, kept him warm.

He wasn't too distracted, though. "Then you are, too."
Riskin drew back, his eyes burning into Mark, the cessation

of movement against his skin sudden. "I beg your pardon?"

"If I'm a suck up for keeping our bargain, you are, too. It's

logical."

"I'll show you sucking." Riskin growled and shimmied down

his body. He didn't have time to brace himself or to worry
whether what was coming was going to be very good or very
bad. That hot, hot mouth swallowed down his cock, the
suction almost painful.

He cried out, pulling away, jerking from that intense touch.

Riskin's hands wrapped around his hips and tugged him close,
fingers digging into his ass like claws. Mark groaned, felt his
skin split around Riskin's nails.

Hot tongue slapping at his flesh, Riskin didn't let up on his

cock for a second. Mark hadn't come in two weeks. Two
fucking weeks. Even while Alan had come over and over. He
didn't know if he could hold back, didn't know if he was
supposed to.

The hard slap to the side of his ass was Riskin's signal—he

could come.

He shot hard, hands buried in Riskin's curls, hips bucking

and jerking as the pleasure was torn from him. Riskin
continued to suck and suck, pulling out every last drop of his
climax. He could feel the hot mouth all around him, the warm

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229

tightness of Riskin's lips, the delicious threat of the demon's
teeth.

The pleasure began to become too much and he

whimpered softly. With a last tongue-slap at the tip of his
cock, Riskin pulled away.

Mark blinked over, lips parted, heart racing, body limp.

"Th...thank you, sir."

Riskin made a noise that was more purr than growl and

then slapped his hip again. "Go get your lover."

He nodded. "I will."
He hoped.
They had an obligation.

* * * *

Alam was lost in the slap of paint on canvas, the rhythm of

painting that was like sex.

Better than sex.
Mark could play. He was busy.
Working.
The rhythm, the sounds of it, the color of it, the smell of it.

Yes, busy. Consumed. Consumed by his work.

The scent of smoke suddenly filled his studio, not the

smoke of cigarettes or of burning buildings, not the smoke of
food burning or logs on a fire. No, this was a very unique
scent, and when he looked up, there was Riskin, standing in
the doorway of his studio, glowering in a way that only a
demon could.

"You weren't in the bedroom at sunset and then you

refused my summons a second time when I sent Mark for

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you." The timber of Riskin's voice was like a really thick
chocolate brown.

"You have Mark. I'm working."
In the single blink of an eye, Riskin stood towering over

him. "I have you both."

"I'm working!" He wasn't going to cower. He wasn't going

to drop everything just to join Mark and Riskin. His work was
flowing, the rhythm demanding his attention.

Riskin flung an arm out, sending his easel and canvas

crashing across the room. "I don't care!"

"Spoiled fucking brat!" He picked up a tube of ochre paint,

flung it over at the big asshole demon.

It never reached the target; Riskin knocked it away with

those lightning quick reflexes and advanced on him again, but
slowly this time, every step deliberate. "You try my patience,
human. Remember who you made a deal with."

"Fuck you." He wasn't scared. He wasn't.
"Oh, no, Alan—it'll be fuck you."
With another of those preternaturally quick moves, Riskin

grabbed him up into strong arms and everything went black
for a second. Nothing. There was nothing, the rhythm and
color and painting were gone. When color came back, it did so
with a rush like air filling a vacuum, and he was in the
bedroom with Mark and Riskin and his clothing was gone, the
paint no longer staining his fingers.

He gasped, head swimming, his heart slamming in his

chest. Almost before he could take a breath Riskin's fingers
pushed into his hair, tugging him in for a hard, punishing kiss.

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231

Alan didn't even respond; he was still lost, at least for a
moment.

Riskin's eyes were shades of fire and they burned into him

as the kiss ended. "Time for your spanking. Lie over Mark's
lap."

"I hate you." He wasn't going to do this. Not this time.
"That doesn't bother me, Alan. You made a deal—I fulfilled

my end and now it's time for you to have your end filled."

"You have Mark!" Everyone liked Mark better.
Mark eased him over the muscled thighs, hands gentle on

his skin. Mark petted him and crooned.

"I have you both, Alan." Riskin's fingers slid on his skin, so

warm and gentle. For now.

He shook his head; he looked up at Mark. "I hate you,

too."

Mark touched his lips. "You hate everything when you're

painting."

"You love this, though." Riskin's hand landed on his ass,

hard enough that he could feel the outline of Riskin's hand
and every single finger.

He shook his head, hands scrabbling on the sheets.
"It's the reason you push." Another swat hit, his right butt

cheek this time. The warmth began to move up along his
spine.

"I was working." He'd been inspired.
"An excuse." Riskin's words were like little smacks against

his skin.

"Art."
Asshole.

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232

Riskin's fingernails scraped along his ass.
"Stop it..." He kicked, moaning under his breath. He

couldn't escape the sensations. Or his need for them.

Two more swats landed on his ass, the second one hard

enough to send him pushing forward, his cock rubbing against
Mark's leg.

"Fuck. Fuck, don't..." It felt so good. He didn't want it to.

The need coiled in his belly like a snake.

"I could do this instead." Teeth sank into his ass.
He screamed, scrambling up over Mark's legs.
"Look at that, Mark. My mark on his skin. Stunning." Riskin

leaned over him to murmur into his ear. "You are stunning,
Alan. Beautiful in your disobedience."

He shook his head, panting, as his nipples went tight. He

could feel the heat of Riskin's fat, hard cock against his ass. It
took all his will not to thrust back and beg.

"He's beautiful." Mark's voice cracked.
"He is." The demon's voice made him moan again, pant.
Riskin slid off his back and the demon's burning tongue

pushed into him. Long and strong, it entered into him without
warning. Alan grunted, pushing up onto hands and knees, his
world spinning. Hard fingers spread his butt cheeks apart and
Riskin pushed in deeper, tongue impossibly long.

"I. I don't... Fuck. No... Mark."
Mark's hand slid down his back, petting him. His lover was

right there, soothing him.

The tongue-fucking never stopped, Riskin preparing him

for what was coming.

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233

"I don't want to..." The lie fell between them all and they

all knew it for what it was.

Riskin pulled out of him. "You don't want to?" The demon

laughed and God, he could feel it deep inside him, though
God had nothing to do with it, not at all. "I don't believe you."

"I don't care." He was going to fight it, every second. He

didn't give way like Mark did. He couldn't.

"Neither do I, human." Riskin grabbed his hips and pulled

him back, piercing him on the thick prick. It spread him open,
stretched him wide.

"Liars."
Mark's whisper was almost inaudible and his scream of

pure need drowned it out.

That cock pushed in deep, hitting his gland. The pleasure

was almost unbearable. He couldn't deny it for a second, even
as he tried.

"I don't want you!" He pressed back, his body hungry. He

demanded more without uttering a single word.

Riskin didn't answer, not with words. Long, slow thrusts

into his body staked Riskin's claim. He could feel every inch,
burning into him, claiming him, marking him. Fingers like
brands wrapped around his hips and began pulling him back
into the coupling.

"You smell so good..." Mark was moaning, hips moving up

against him. He couldn't decide which of them was hotter—
Mark or Riskin.

"Lust. It's good." Riskin's growls were barely voiced, but

he heard them all the way to his toes.

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234

"Yes. Yes. Lust. Need." Mark bucked. "I want him to suck

me." The need never painted Mark's voice as brightly as it did
when they were with Riskin.

"You haven't earned it yet. Neither of you have."
Riskin's thrusts grew stronger, moving him every time the

thick cock pushed into him.

"I was good!" Mark's protest begged for favor.
"Suck up," Alan growled.
Riskin's throaty laugh sounded, and a hard slap landed on

his ass. The demon's heavy balls slapped against his own,
over and over.

"Fucker." His head jerked back, his throat worked.
"You can do better than that." Riskin bit his exposed neck,

teeth latching on. He could feel the skin bruising, the blood
rushing to pool and leave a mark.

"Asshole. Bastard. Motherfucker. Donkey." He was

sobbing, slamming back against Riskin and flying.

"Yes! Alan!" The praise was clear in Riskin's words, the

thick cock seeming to get even larger as it hit against his
gland again. Over and over, Riskin pounded into him. He was
soaring, locked in a place where only Mark and Riskin existed
with him.

"Riskin!"
The demon jerked him up against the impossibly broad

chest, that fat prick pushing deeper.

"You're mine, Alan. For three days. Show me your

pleasure, your need. Give it all to me." Fingernails scraped
across his nipples.

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235

"Yours..." He groaned and come pulsed from him, poured

from him.

Riskin's roar filled the room as the demon's seed pushed

deep inside him.

Cold.
His demon lover's come was cold.
Riskin pushed him against Mark, all of them tumbling onto

the mattress together. A low growl pressed against the fresh
bite mark on his neck. The vibrations seemed to make the
blood heat and rush through his veins like a speeding train.

He squeezed the heavy cock inside him, bearing down

hard. "Bastard."

Riskin's chuckle and moan and growl were all on and the

same. "That's why you need me."

And, he thought, why Riskin needed them.

* * * *

Riskin floated slightly above the bed, watching Mark and

Alan sleep.

They were exhausted, their bodies covered in bruises and

scratches. Their muscles were well-used, their openings sore
for all the best reasons.

Out of all the men he held deals with, Mark and Alan were

the most special.

Mark, pretty and blond, muscular, so eager to please. Alan

had his sharp, dark, brooding good looks and his deep-
seated, hidden need for punishment.

Riskin could feel the dawn coming for him. Even in this

room without windows, hidden within the center of the big

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236

house, he could feel the suns fingers reaching for him, ready
to tug him away from his favorite playthings.

He drifted back to the bed and began to fondle Mark and

Alan's asses. His fingers drifted to the cracks and teased hot,
swollen holes. Even in their sleep they yielded to his touch.
Such wonderful, needy men.

"Wake up, my lovelies," he growled.
The sun was nearly here, but he had some moments still

before their time was over.

Mark moaned, whispering "master" in his sleep. Alan

however, opened to him, stared at him.

He smiled down. "You look debauched." It was a very good

look.

"You look smug." Alan actually smiled back.
"I feel smug." He licked at Alan's lips.
Mark moaned, pushed into the kiss before it ever truly

started. Greedy boy.

He flicked his tongue between them, teasing dark and then

light.

They fascinated him, his boys.
His men.
His own.
One night at a time.
Until the end of time.

* * * *

[Back to Table of Contents]

The Care and Feeding of Demons

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237

Contributors' Bios

* * * *

Winnie Jerome
Winnie Jerome lives in Northern California, where she can

avoid that strange substance called "snow". She loves hot
demons in urban settings, hot demons in urban fantasy
settings, hot demons tied up, and just plain hot demons.

Winnie's stories have been published in several

anthologies, such as: Toy Box: Fisting, Flipped Fables, and
Iridescence: Sensuous Shades of Lesbian Erotica.

Kiernan Kelly
Kiernan Kelly lives in the wilds of the alligator-infested U.S.

Southeast, slathered in SPF 45, drinking colorful tropical, hi-
octane concoctions served by thong-clad cabana boys.

All right, the truth is that she spends her time locked in the

dark recesses of her office, writing gay erotica while chained
to a temperamental Macintosh, drinking coffee, and dreaming
of thong-clad cabana boys.

Sigh.
Kiernan's webpage is: www.kiernan-kelly.com/
Taylor Lochland
Taylor has been writing for fun for years. She started with

fanfiction, but soon realized that creating her own characters
was more fun. In 2009, she decided to try for publication. She
has had short stories selected for various anthologies, and
hopes to eventually try to write something longer. When she's

The Care and Feeding of Demons

by M. Rode

238

not reading or writing, she can be found playing with her cats,
sewing, looking at the night sky, watching baseball or hockey,
or going to anime conventions. Look her up on LiveJournal at:
taylor-lochland.livejournal.com/

JL Merrow
JL Merrow is a very English mother of two who finds

writing the only way to stay sane, except of course when a
plot is driving her crazy. Having grown up on an island, she
can't remember a time before she could swim and prefers to
remain close to water at all times. Luckily, the weather in her
native land being as it generally is, this is not difficult.

She enjoys reading and martial arts, and surprising people

who judge a book

by its cover.
JL Merrow's blog: jl-merrow.livejournal.com
Sean Michael
Often referred to as "Space Cowboy" and "Gangsta of

Love" while still striving for the moniker of "Maurice," Sean
Michael spends his days surfing, smutting, organizing his
immense gourd collection and fantasizing about one day
retiring on a small secluded island peopled entirely by
horseshoe crabs. While collecting vast amounts of vintage gay
pulp novels and mood rings, Sean whiles away the hours
between dropping the f-bomb and pursuing the kama sutra
by channeling the long lost spirit of John Wayne and singing
along with the soundtrack to "Chicago." Check out Sean's
webpage at www.seanmichaelwrites.com/

Kate Roman

The Care and Feeding of Demons

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239

Kate Roman sleeps with one eye open, and always checks

under the bed—never know what you might find under there.
Currently supporting IT in a small town in Northern California,
she's ably assisted by one cat and four dogs, and entirely
hindered by the rabbits. We're not gonna talk about the patch
of weeds out there masquerading as a garden. Kate can be
reached at romankate@gmail.com or www.kateroman.com.

Meredith Shayne
A scientist in a past life, these days Meredith Shayne

mainly uses her scientific training to poke holes in television
pseudoscience. Originally from Australia, she moved to New
Zealand to start a new life a few years ago and hasn't
regretted it for one minute, even if she frequently wishes that
the New Zealand weather was a little better. Meredith travels
a lot, so much so that she has developed a shameful love of
airplane food and knows her passport number off by heart.
When she is at home she enjoys baking, horrible music from
the 1980s, and reality television.

Glyn Soitioo
Glyn Soitino has been writing fiction for her own personal

gratification ever since she learned to hold a pencil, a long,
long time ago. Writing for an audience, though, is still fairly
new. A translator by profession, Glyn has lived and worked in
several European countries over the years, and currently
resides in Switzerland. Her favorite food is 'proper' fish and
chips (in batter, not breadcrumbs), and she makes sure she
gets some whenever she goes home to England. Glyn loves
dogs and cats in equal measure and enjoys taking pictures of
the countryside.

The Care and Feeding of Demons

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240

Julia Talbot
Julia Talbot resides in the Texas and has quit her day job.

She has a penchant for blank books, gay porn, and big, ugly
hats. She can most often be found in coffee shops and
restaurants, scribbling in her notebook and entertaining other
diners with her mutterings.

Julia cut her reading and writing teeth on purple-prosed

romance novels, and as a result decided that boys were much
more interesting with boys. Intense study of her subject and
as much firsthand research as possible figure heavily in her
writing adventures. Historical and fantasy settings are Julia's
favorites. Her novels include Manners and Means, Jumping
Into Things, and Mysterious Ways.

Wyszukiwarka

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