by Cori Vidae
He nodded.
“It worked,” she repeated.
Her lower lip quivered and he couldn’t be sure if it was because she was cold, or going to cry. “Are you going to cry? You look like you are going to cry.”
“I am not going to cry,” she snapped, and her eyes flashed. Obviously, he’d said the wrong thing. But in his defense, he was new to empathy.
“Okay.” He held his hands out. “Okay. You are not going to cry. Of course you are not. But you are shivering.”
* * *
“Kiss me,” Mary said, her voice barely a whisper.
“Wha—what?” Cairn frowned. He looked at her like she was crazy. A demon. A demon was looking at her like she was crazy. And maybe she was. But still— “Kiss me.”
She stepped inside the circle, tilting her head to meet his gaze and said it a third time, louder, her breath stirring his hair. “Kiss me.”
With a growl, he pulled her against him. His lips crushed hers. The force of his kiss bent her backward like a bow, but he supported her weight. His heat branded her frozen body, marking her where they touched, setting her nerves alight in the most delicious ways.
His fingers tangled in her hair, his chest hard against hers, thigh to thigh. She felt him grow hard, his manhood pressing against her, throbbing between them. She wrapped her fingers, still stiff and clumsy from the cold, around it through his robe, and moaned at the sensations his intake of breath stirred in her. If she were a cat, she would purr.
He deepened their kiss and she felt his fangs press through their lips, reminding her he wasn’t just a man, and the thrill of danger that coursed through her made her ache with want.
Cairn growled again and pulled back on her hair, arching her neck. He trailed sucking, nibbling kisses down her throat to her collarbone, wiping conscious thought from her mind and coaxing a moan from her lips.
She ran one hand up his chest and into his hair. Suddenly, a stabbing pain erupted in her fingertip. She traced the hard shape protruding from his head that was the cause—broken horns?
The thought joined its fellows, swept away in the tornado of desire as Cairn pulled her injured finger to his mouth, into his mouth, and sucked. Surrounded by his warmth, his wetness, the throb between her legs surged each time he sucked on her finger. She would never have imagined that would cause such a reaction in her, but then again, the whole past couple days fell under the ‘never would have imagined’ umbrella…
* * *
Her fingers around his cock enflamed him, and the one in his mouth did little to muffle his groan. His powers were returning fast, just like she was stroking him. Faster and faster…
He cupped her breast; it fit in his hand perfectly, lock and key, and when he brushed his thumb over her nipple she gasped and pressed herself harder into his palm. He grinned and rolled her nipple between his fingers. Her eyes were closed, cheeks flushed, and lips half-parted with desire. He pinched her, watched her bite her lower lip and slowly release it from her teeth.
“You are gorgeous,” he whispered before ducking his head to bite her nipple through her dress just hard enough to make her gasp.
She released his cock, moved both her hands, more carefully this time, to his hair. She tangled them in it, forcing his head down, his mouth harder against her.
* * *
She couldn’t get enough. Couldn’t get close enough. His breath, his mouth, made her quiver and throb with need right to her very core, and his teeth! They sent waves of molten pleasure through her entire body.
He thrust her from him and spun her around, yanking her back against his chest. One hand cupped her breast, teased it, tugged it, while the other pulled at her damp skirts, fumbling its way beneath.
He bunched her skirt at her waist and tugged her panties down her thighs. As his fingers combed through her damp curls to stroke her swollen flesh, she felt as if the ground had vanished from beneath them, and it was only him, only Cairn, keeping her upright.
He bent her over, bracing her hands on the support beam the lantern hung from, pressing her bottom hard against his manhood. It nestled beneath her cheeks and throbbed. Cairn’s fingers stroked and pinched her and she shook with need. Ached to be filled.
* * *
Bent at the waist, damp hair off her face, bathed in the lantern light, skirt bunched up around her waist, Mary looked, Cairn thought with a wicked grin, good enough to eat. He pulled his fingers, slick with her desire, from between her legs and put them in his mouth.
The taste of her burst across his tongue, salty, dark, and a little sweet. His groan deepened when she pressed her ass back against him in response. Her nether hair tickled his balls, dampening them with her want.
He used his feet to spread her legs, felt his cock jump at the sight of her round ass, swollen pussy lips, and modest, white cotton panties stretched tight just above her knees.
“Gorgeous,” he said again, rubbing his cock along her slit. When she moaned and pressed against him, he wrapped an arm around her waist and positioned himself at her entrance.
“If you—” He licked his lips and started again. “I have enough power. If you do not wish this—” The words tasted alien in his mouth and were the hardest he’d ever spoken.
* * *
Mary heard Cairn, but his words felt as if they were coming from a long way off, their import drowned by the waves of desire, need, emanating from every place he touched her. Circles within circles.
“If you do not wish this—” he said, and in answer she thrust backward, taking him, all of him, inside in one stroke.
He was bigger than Pete; thicker, too. He stretched her, filled her, and the pain sharpened the edges of her pleasure before feathering out into an ache that wanted more, more, more.
His fingers found her hips and he ground himself deep inside her.
Again. And again.
The sides of her panties dug into her thighs, restricting her movement and heightening her pleasure, empowering the waves which slammed into her each time Cairn filled her.
Again. And again.
More, more, more.
Soon Mary’s gasps and moans were consumed by guttural animal noises she hadn’t known she was capable of, and Cairn drove himself into her. Again. And again.
He crushed her against him as his body tensed. With a final impaling thrust, he came.
And came.
His groan of pleasure was demonic, dark and other. The sound of it pushed Mary over the edge and she, too, convulsed in ripples of pleasure that went on and on…
* * *
He lowered them both to the floor while the aftershocks rocked her body. She kept her eyes closed, even as her breathing slowed and her heart rate returned to normal. Her back molded against him, their breathing synced.
They had a connection. There could no longer be a question about that. It went beyond Ferenc’s spell. There was something there, between them, which couldn’t be explained by witchcraft.
He dropped a kiss on the top of her head and exhaled. As the breath left his body, the tapestry of magic faded in, slowly solidifying as he edged closer and closer to the line between life and death. He tightened his embrace on Mary and used her as his focus to zero in on her brother. The connection was stronger than any he’d ever seen, and before he’d even begun to feel the effects of his lack of oxygen he was there, in a tent with her brother. Michael. Somehow he knew the man’s name was Michael.
The soldier slept, the remnants of Cairn’s earlier spell hanging off him in tatters like cobwebs. Menace crowded around him, him and his entire division, like roiling thunderheads, casting its shadow as far as the incubus could see. He could not save them all.
He didn’t know where that thought had come from. What did he care if these men, these strangers, perished or not? But whatever its origin, it remained true. He could not save them all. Power buzzed within him now, like bees in a hive, but there were too many to save, the danger they faced too great. Still, he could save one. He could
save Michael.
Mary shifted in his arms, reminding him of his physical body, and he felt the strain on his lungs, the desire to breathe. But not yet. Not yet.
He gathered strands, handful after handful of them: life, luck, protection. He tugged them from the weaves of the men around Michael, reaching further and further afield while his lungs ached and his fingers stretched to hold them all. As darkness feathered the edges of his vision, he wove them together; over, and under, and around, and through. He crafted a shield, a mesh so impenetrable Mary’s brother need not even fear to stub his toe until the next blue moon.
As the mesh settled on his shoulders, fused with him, Michael snorted and shifted in his sleep. When the last twinkle of golden protection disappeared inside him, Cairn inhaled.
“It’s done,” he said, and Mary shifted to look at him, her expression soft and dreamy.
“Hmm?”
“Your brother. He’s safe.”
She smiled, cat-like, and when she stretched it was feline.
* * *
Michael was safe, but now what? Could she really send Cairn back to wherever he’d come from? Could she keep him trapped in a circle in her basement? She didn’t have any answers, but she felt a connection to him, something as real as the phantom scents she experienced in the barn, something as positive as they were negative.
Slowly, deliberately, she pressed her foot against the edge of the salt circle surrounding them. It resisted her for a breath, like a finger against a soap bubble, then it burst and she was through. The salt scattered across the dirt floor and the quality of the air changed, broke like sunshine after a storm.
“Will you be on your way, then?” she asked, unable to hide the wobble in her voice.
Cairn’s heart raced. She could hear it, feel it where her cheek rested on his chest. His arms tightened around her and his breath stirred her hair.
“Not just yet,” he said. “Not just yet.”
* * *
Cori Vidae is an erotica writer, Assistant Editor for Red Moon Romance, and collector of shiny things. Find her at www.corividae.com.
Measures of Greed
Alexa Piper
0. Prologue
[Excerpt from Palmer’s Demonic Index]
Taotien, the; also known as a devourer of human greed. Obscure creature, possibly originating in Asia. The t. is extremely rare, thus its exact traits are unclear, and descriptions differ from source to source. The t. might be chimerical in nature, appearing in most sources with a human head but the body of a sheep or cow, sometimes with goat horns growing from its head. Their teeth and claws are often described as being like those of a tiger.
Apart from the few comparatively reliable sources, there are various folk legends about the t., the reliability of which this author could not ascertain.
* * *
1. There are legends of indecency and debauchery, but the truth is he just likes to go out at night.
The bright cacophony of lights that wafted up from the city looked like faerie spirits if he squinted a bit. Not that he liked the Fair Folk or their games, but a joker knows a thief, in a manner of speaking, so he could appreciate their craft of trickery.
Valerian pulled a pack of cigarettes from his inside pocket, took a smoke between his lips, and lit it. He held the smoke in his lungs for a second or so, and as he blew it out, he decided for the hundredth time that he preferred cigarillos, or even a good Cuban, if it came down to it. The cigarette smoke clouded in front of his eyes as he exhaled, and it made him think of faeries again.
Fuck, he thought and threw the glowing cigarette to the ground where he stomped the little light to death.
The drifting mind is a cry for distraction. If he looked at the city lights straight on, Valerian knew damned well they shouted distraction at him. He ran one hand through his ice blond hair and smiled at the moon. Let’s get distracted.
* * *
“Bourbon, neat,” Valerian shouted at the barkeep over the noise of some 1980s hit gone techno mesh-up. “And one more of whatever he’s having for that guy over there.” He pointed to indicate a speed-texting boy at the other end of the bar. The boy looked a bit too corporate to fit in with the short-skirt-silk-shirt crowd, but he was curious, and curious was Valerian’s favorite flavor.
“Sure thing,” said the barkeep.
Valerian watched her pour him his bourbon, and when she put it down on a white napkin in front of him, he shot her one of his more wicked smiles. “Thanks, sugar.”
By her blush, Valerian knew she wouldn’t have minded going home with him herself, and he could almost imagine the taste of her, her salty skin under his tongue, his lips exploring her body, but not tonight. Tonight, he wanted that boy with the auburn hair and the green eyes, with the skinny limbs and those fucking long lashes that reminded him of a faerie, a long-limbed, nimble, sweet fucking faerie.
* * *
“You know, I’ve never… You’re my first…”
“Sshh, dear. Don’t worry, my sweet. I’ll take good care of you.” Valerian ran his tongue along the side of the boy’s neck, whose heart was pumping, pumping. The boy shivered and dug his long fingers into the fabric of Valerian’s shirt. “Don’t you worry.”
Valerian’s hand drifted down the boy’s chest, unbuttoning the shirt as he went. The boy moaned as Valerian peeled off his clothing, sliding back against the cushions of Valerian’s couch. His eyes—his green-jeweled faerie eyes—flickered between open wide and closed in enjoyment.
Valerian had left more lights on than he would have if this boy really were one of the Fair Folk, just so he could imagine that innate light the fae had, that innate glimmer that broke through all but the deepest dark. How much more fun this would be if you actually were fae, pretty boy.
“I don’t normally do this…” the boy said again.
Valerian didn’t care for fae-boy to talk, so he sucked his nipple and bit down, almost painfully. He slid his hand down further, deeper, and felt the boy’s pants grow smaller and smaller. He unbuckled the boy’s leather belt and undid his pants. Oh, he was gentle. Valerian could be gentle as the summer sun, if he cared to be. He pushed the boy fully onto his back before pulling his pants down all the way. Valerian took the hooded head of the boy’s cock in his mouth, circled the very tip with his tongue, and was delighted to find it already moist with curious eagerness.
While he kept his tongue busy, Valerian snaked one hand over the side of the boy’s neck where he could feel the pulse, the blood swelling so high his heart might explode. With the other, he softly pulled the boy’s scrotum and massaged his balls.
Next, Valerian glided down the boy’s shaft, leaving a trail of exciting cold behind before he took one ball into his mouth, encircled it with his tongue, and tasted him. The other ball was next, and he could feel his curious treat, so very close, almost there. Valerian licked the entire length of the shaft again, circling the tip and dipping into the saltiness of the hole. Then he sheathed the boy’s cock, clasped more than half of it with his mouth. With one hand, he pulled the foreskin back so his tongue had easy access to the tip.
The boy moaned as Valerian worked on him, and it was a matter of seconds before Valerian felt his member pulse and tasted his juicy cum as it exploded into him. The curious, Valerian thought, always lack control.
As the boy’s breath began to slow, Valerian straddled him, making sure he had his hips pinned down.
Oh, he was still gentle. Still, but not for that much longer.
“Now, my sweet, let me show you something.” He unbuttoned his own shirt and pulled it off in one quick, predatorily graceful movement.
“Oh, wow, these look amazing! I’ve always thought about getting some ink myself, but I guess I never really had the courage. Are these all eyes?” the boy said with a self-conscious little giggle.
“Mmh, eyes they are. But these are no tattoos, my dear. Look again.”
The boy started screaming.
* * *
2. They
like water, say the legends; they like bridges. A bridge is a crossroads, and the truth is, he was rather fond of crossroads.
Valerian left the fae-looking boy at a crossroads, as was customary, and walked back to his penthouse with a contented spring in his leisurely step. He had dressed the boy and made sure he had enough money for a cab in his wallet. Mostly, they could still do that: hail a cab, go home, go on with what was left of their lives. If not, then a crossroads was proper enough for them to start some new life, to walk down any of the streets Fate or Luck or Chance offered without caring where it led, without caring about anything. Not that Valerian was concerned about what became of them once he was through; he enjoyed his feast far too much to care. He had devoured what there was in the boy of greed and longing, and of dreaming and wishing. The boy was a shell now, still pretty after a fashion, if you liked cold dolls with marble eyes that would never again burn with any of life’s passions. The curious are the sweetest.
Valerian pulled the pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He lit another, glad the wind kept the smoke from making the world go afloat with memories of fae and other creatures of the Between.
The city was on the verge of waking around him. The night owls went to sleep while the early birds got the coffee started.
Valerian hadn’t taken the boy far from his own penthouse, just a few streets and a little way along the river to one of the crossroads he favored, so the area was a hip, mostly clean downtown. Valerian could not see them, but his acute hearing let him know that vagrants were going through the waste of the rich, hoping to find something really good. Greedy, greedy, greedy people all around him; that was why Valerian loved living in this quarter. Greed and hunger for more bred inside everyone here, even in those who had so little, even in those who had so much.
As he stepped onto the bridge—a favorite detour of his after a satisfying meal—Valerian took another deep drag from his cigarette. He pricked up his ears to a rapid clatter approaching from behind him. Ah, heels; not really made for running, are they?
Valerian never openly admitted that he liked games, but distractions were something else. He slowed his steps and went on feet as soft as tiger paws. If he had been downwind, he would have been able to smell her by now.