Hounacier (Valducan Book 2)

by Seth Skorkowsky

  A trail of sweat-moistened clothes led down the hall to an open door. Moans and bed creaks came from inside.

  Gulmet locked the door behind him and moved toward the sounds, his feet silent on the thick carpeting. He peeked through the door. Quentin's back faced him, the thick muscles rippling with each thrust. Vimiya's slender legs were around him, tightening with the movements, urging him harder. The smell of sex filled the room like a thickening cloud.

  He watched for several long seconds, his mouth watering. Amid her cries, Vimiya's gaze moved past her victim, seeing Gulmet. Her eyes narrowed into a scolding glare, and Gulmet turned away. Swallowing his saliva, he returned to the living room.

  "Baby, you feel so good," she moaned.

  "You're incredible," he grunted. “Amazing.”

  Gulmet stopped at a narrow shelf, perusing the collection of crystals and polished stones. A sharp, up-thrust amethyst cluster stood among them. The moans and grunts grew louder. The bed squeaked as they rolled into a new position.

  "Give it to me!" Vimiya cried. "I want it all!"

  Gulmet's jaw tightened, anger roiling in his gut. Quentin was his enemy. How dare she feed on him first.

  While Gulmet was distracted with his thoughts, Malcolm braved moving a finger. The demon didn't seem to notice. Not allowing himself joy or even thought of his discovery, Malcolm tightened and loosened his fist. He wasn't helpless after all.

  Vimiya cried out in an orgasmic whoop.

  Malcolm released his limited control just as the demon turned him away from the shelf.

  "Almost time." He pulled off his shoes and kicked them aside. The tingle of the upcoming kill returned, mounting faster and faster with bed creaks. Gulmet peeled off clothes and tossed them onto the table.

  Naked, his mouth open in heavy breaths, he walked down the hall and peeked again. Vimiya straddled him. The shimmer of her glamoured, outstretched wings filled the room. She held his wrists to the bed, her hips moving, plunging him deeper. Gulmet hardened at the overpowering lust pulsing from the room.

  Quentin's face scrunched into a pained grimace of ecstasy. "Oh God! Oh God!" he screamed. He bucked and shuddered, and Vimiya threw her head back and straightened. Her skin seemed to glow with the sudden rush of energy.

  Then, with a long groan, Quentin fell still.

  Vimiya breathed deep, her glistening breasts heaving with the movement. She crawled off the now unconscious man and gave Gulmet a smile. Her eyes flickered to his erection. "Dogs always like to watch."

  An uncomfortable pang needled his gut. He'd thought those urges dead with Rajik.

  He started to turn away, but she said, "No. Don't hide it." She touched his chest as she moved around him, her nails sliding across his skin. She pressed herself against his back, her flesh hot and smooth. "He's yours, Gulmet," she whispered. "Do as you wish, but keep it quiet. No one can hear."

  Gulmet looked over her shoulder. "Why not? We'll be gone before—"

  The succubus' claws dug into his shoulder. "Because I say. I have plans."

  He clenched his jaw, refusing her the satisfaction of his pain. "Yes, Mistress."

  "Good." Vimiya drew her claws out and kissed one of the bleeding, half-moon cuts. "Now have your vengeance, Gulmet."

  Blood trickled down his arms. Releasing a breath, he turned to see the succubus strolling back into the living room, her hips swaying with each step. He hated her even more than the unconscious mortal that had trapped him. Gulmet looked back at Quentin, sprawled naked on the damp sheets. "Well," he thought, rage mounting, "maybe not more than."

  He stepped inside the room and stretched his arms out. His skin pimpled, and brown-black fur emerged in a cascading wave. Bones groaned, and ligaments popped. The room seemed to warp as his eye sockets shifted. He flexed his lengthening fingers as dark claws extended from their tips.

  Malcolm watched, horrified at his own transformation, disgusted by the intoxicating surge of power he felt in his own body. The demon had never let him see this before. But it wanted him to see it. Wanted him to taste Quentin's death.

  He stepped closer to the bed and looked down. His prey lay there, unaware of the death above him. Gulmet's lips curled back, a deep growl rumbling from his throat.

  Quentin's head moved. His blue eyes fluttered, passing over Gulmet but not registering him. They closed, and Quentin fell back asleep.

  "She fed too much," he thought. "He has to fear it. I'm no flesh-eating ghoul. I don't care about the meat. I need the terror."

  Interesting, Malcolm thought then cursed himself for it.

  "Silence!" Gulmet crawled into the bed. Hovering just above him, he poised a clawed finger just below Quentin's Adam's apple and pressed.

  Quentin winced sleepily and opened his eyes to see the werewolf just inches above his face.

  Gulmet growled.

  Eyes bulging wide, Quentin opened his mouth to scream, but only a low whine came out. The werewolf opened his jaws, allowing a good look into his mouth. Quentin's chest throbbed with his hammering heart, but he still didn't scream. Gulmet closed his maw and met the mortal's terrified eyes. A string of drool fell from his fangs onto the man's chin. He slid the other claw down the Quentin's stomach.

  "Pl…pl…I…no," the man stammered through quickening breaths. His body tensed, pressing down as if he could somehow will himself thought the bed and on the floor.

  Eyes narrowing, Gulmet slid his claws up behind Quentin's scrotum. His teeth parted into a smile, then he ripped and peeled the skin sack off.

  Quentin screamed, but Gulmet drove his claw into the man's windpipe and twisted. Blood gurgled and whistled from the hole. Gulmet clamped his hand over Quentin's mouth. The man twisted, trying to escape, but Gulmet squeezed until he felt the jaw bone pop.

  Frothy blood sputtered and sucked from the ragged hole. Keeping his hand tight on Quentin's broken mouth, he raked the man's thighs, careful to miss the arteries. Quentin writhed and kicked, slinging blood.

  Gulmet licked the blood from Quentin throat, tonguing the hole. The painful wounds Vimiya had inflicted on his shoulders healed, but the fear was still lacking. "It should be more! I knew she took too much of him!" Angry, he slashed his prey's stomach and slid a finger into the bleeding wound.

  Quentin's eyes rolled. Before he could go unconscious, Gulmet latched onto the man's throat, tasting the sweet terror. He thrust his hand deep into the man's entrails and pulled out a fistful of gray loops. He bit down and ripped out Quentin's throat. Quentin flailed and kicked, his blood pulsing with pure fear. Gulmet lapped it up, savoring every drop until the mortal fell still.

  Drunk on the thrill, Gulmet cracked the still-hot carcass open and ate its heart, tasting the quickly fleeting emotion.

  Somewhere deep inside, Malcolm screamed, his horror mixing with the demon's excitement. He couldn't turn away; he couldn't close his eyes or block it out. All he could do was scream in his own mind as he tore meat from the dead man's bones and ate his fill, savoring it unlike anything he'd ever tasted.

  The blood-soaked mattress squished as he crawled back onto the floor. Rising to his feet, he looked back. Crimson dots splattered the baby-blue walls above the torn and mangled form. Gulmet smiled and returned to Malcolm's form.

  He found Vimiya in the living room. She sat sprawled on the sofa, her now visible wings draped over the arm and Quentin's revolver in her hands.

  "Are you planning to shoot me?" he asked.

  The succubus snorted. "That would be a waste." She rolled it over in her hands like a child with a new and strange toy. "When the body is found and this is here, loaded with silver bullets, what will they think?"

  "Does it matter?"

  "Yes," she hissed, her eyes narrowing. "It does. No one believes anymore, Gulmet. No one remembers the old ways they used to resist us."

  Gulmet snorted. "They know silver."

  "But no one believes it, you idiot. A man with silver bullets is found dead." She nodded to the sticky blood covering Malcolm's body. "Ma
uled. People wonder. They suspect their movies may be true."

  "They won't know what to think," he said.

  "They'll fear, and there's always a market for fear. Someone will start selling silver bullets. Mortals will buy them. Then they'll make bronze, gold, iron, and then what?"

  He shook his head. "You're overreacting."

  Vimiya sprung from her seat and was on him, her claws around his throat. "No, I'm not! People exploit fear, and we can't let them fear us."

  Gulmet swallowed. "My apologies, Mistress. We should take the gun. Dispose of it somewhere else."

  Her hard eyes softened. "Yes." She released her hold and turned. "Now that you've had your revenge, leave us."

  "What? Should I shower first?"

  "Leave the vessel here. Go to your other one."

  He clenched his fists. "You said I could keep it until—"

  Vimiya wheeled. "And I will keep my word. But I want to play with my mate's killer."

  A new terror seized Malcolm. He knew this had been coming but not yet. Then he remembered the amethyst.

  "Go," she ordered. "Go to your other vessel. Hunt. That's what you do. Return to this body by sunrise."

  Memories flashed though Malcolm's mind. He saw himself at Atabei's container ring, walking away from the wolf's pen. But something was wrong, different than he remembered it. He'd sneezed then stood erect. Shocked, he now remembered removing the silver ring and clothes and transformed. He'd returned to the wolf pen. The animal rolled onto its back, offering its submission. Malcolm had opened the pen and bit its neck, breaking the skin and lapping the blood. That done, he transformed back, put on clothes, then sneezed again. You son of a bitch.

  Gulmet smiled inwardly. Yes, yes he'd take his other vessel. The wolf, his truest flesh-form. He'd run and hunt and kill in the bayou, free from this succubus' control.

  Malcolm staggered, feeling like some ancient weight had lifted from his bones. The once sweet aroma of blood and death roiled his aching, overfull stomach.

  Vimiya stood before him, leathery wings stretching out, blocking the door. "Alone at last."

  Malcolm spun. Knocking aside stone and crystals, he grabbed the amethyst cluster. He gripped it like a baseball, the rough base digging into his palm. Before he could turn back, the succubus was on him.

  Hissing, she grappled his shoulder. A sweet, musky smell flooded Malcolm’s senses. Claws sank into his flesh. He grunted in pain then smashed the crystal down onto her hand.

  She cried out and released before he could strike it again. Malcolm twisted toward her, ready to brain her with the crude weapon. Her ruffling wings and swinging claws were a blur in the faint light. She seized his throat with a vise-like grip. Her other hand fumbling for his wrist, she slammed him against the wall. The shelves dug into his back then cracked and broke, their contents spilling onto the carpet. The muskiness grew thicker, sticking to his throat with each gasp.

  Head swimming, Malcolm brought the crystal down onto her cheek, ripping a pair of ragged cuts through her perfect face. She yowled and slammed Malcolm harder against the wall. Sheetrock crunched as his head hit the wall.

  Stunned, he nearly lost hold of the crystal. He tried to smash it against the outstretched arm that held him, but she caught his wrist. She squeezed, earning a squelched cry of pain. The succubus was far stronger than him. Twisting his arm, she yanked it down hard and pinned it against his side.

  Blood ran from her cheek, framing her wicked grin. She leaned closer and kissed the claw wound in his shoulder.

  A soothing wave rolled from where her lips touched him, rippling out through his body. Malcolm’s terror washed away, and straining muscles relaxed. Her choke hold loosened, allowing a gasp. Her sweet scent hit like a drug, and the room shimmered, losing form. His hardening cock throbbed.

  “No!” he coughed, trying to fight her grip, but she tore the crystal from his dulled grasp. It thudded somewhere in the unseen room behind her. Malcolm spat into her violet eyes.

  Vimiya yanked, wrenching him across her body. His arm slammed into the sofa frame as he hit the floor. Malcolm tried to crawl, but his weak limbs wouldn’t respond. Her claw grabbed the side his face and pressed him into the carpet.

  #

  “Malcolm? Are you okay?”

  Groggily, Malcolm opened his eyes. He was on a floor. Why was he on a floor? He rolled his head to see Tasha smiling above him. A new fragrance tinged her citrus perfume, something familiar, but he couldn’t remember where from.

  “I told you you'd had too much to drink,” she giggled.

  “Yeah, I guess…” He pushed himself up onto his elbows, his arm aching at the movement, and looked around. “Where are we?”

  “My apartment,” she said.

  Malcolm nodded, now seeing the cases of cameras and books. “You rearranged your furniture.”

  She shrugged. “I figured it was time.” Tasha helped him up onto the sofa beside him. “So are you all right?”

  Malcolm touched his tender throat. “What happened?”

  Her brows rose with a surprised chuckle. “You slipped off the couch.”

  He shook his head. “No, I mean…how did I get here?”

  “You sure you’re all right?”

  Malcolm sighed. “No, I’m good. Just…where were we?”

  Tasha pressed a finger softly against his chest and leaned closer. “The great Doctor Romero can’t handle his rum.” She laughed.

  Malcolm couldn’t help but laugh with her. He’d never been much of a drinker.

  She leaned closer. Her sweet perfume grew stronger, almost caressing him like a living thing. “We came back from dinner. I asked you to come in.” She nodded to the coffee table. “We had some cake, a couple drinks.”

  Malcolm noticed the two glasses of amber-hued ice on the coffee table beside a plate of half-eaten chocolate cake. His favorite.

  “You said it was getting late,” she continued, her fingers slowly pushing him onto his back.

  Malcolm realized he wasn’t wearing a shirt.

  “I said you owed me a kiss.” She leaned over him, her lips almost touching his. “That’s where we were.”

  Malcolm kissed her. A sudden surge of near-forgotten feelings rushed though him. He loved her. He always had. She returned it passionately, pressing herself on top of him. His hands moved up to touch her, and he realized she was nude. When had she taken her clothes off?

  He was about to ask, but Tasha tugged his lip with hers and pulled his hand to her breast. Her soft, firm skin was perfect. Malcolm squeezed her hardening nipple. He gasped at the sudden, almost painful throb of erection. He pulled her higher up him and sucked and kissed her dark nipples, breathing in the incredible scent.

  Moaning, Tasha slid her hand lower. She found his cock and slid it up between her swollen labia, sliding up and down. The hot wetness tingled, almost electric. Malcolm groaned with pleasure, and then she thrust herself down, burying him inside her, and the sensation was more incredible than anything he’d ever felt.

  She slid up and down, matching his movements. The smooth tingles stretched further though him with each plunge. They wormed down his legs and along his spine, channeling all his nerves, all his energy into her.

  Their speed increasing, Malcolm moaned. The pleasure mounted beyond any threshold he’d ever had. He grabbed her hips, pulling her into each thrust. She was incredible, and her sighs and cries only pushed him further.

  “Baby, you feel so good,” Tasha whimpered.

  “I love you.” He wanted to give her everything.

  “Mmmm,” she cooed. “I want it all.”

  Malcolm ached, the pressure swelling.

  Tasha pulled his hand off her and moved them to the padded armrest above his head. “Not yet, baby.”

  He let out a long, pleading sigh.

  “Shh,” she soothed. “Patience, baby.” She grinned then pushed his hands together and pinned them beneath one of her own.

  Malcolm kissed at her breasts as she reach
ed over to the table beside them.

  She drew a breath as he sucked her nipples. Then Tasha sat up, pulling them just beyond his mouth’s reach. “Here.”

  Malcolm looked at the slice of cake in her hand. It seemed to shimmer in the faint light. “What?”

  “Open wide.”

  “Now?” he asked.

  Tasha pouted her lip. “Please.”

  “Fine.” He licked his lips then opened his mouth.

  “You’re going to love this, sweetie.” She slipped the wedge into his mouth. A salty taste marred the rich chocolate’s flavor. It felt dry against his tongue.

  She never could cook, he mused as Tasha pushed the entire piece into his mouth, coating his lips in icing.

  “There.” She coaxed his mouth shut around the enormous bite then clamped her hand across his lips.

  Malcolm coughed as he tried not choke. The cake’s texture grew drier, and the sweet tastes soured.

  Holding his mouth and hands tight, Tasha continued her thrusting onto him. The air seemed to warble and shift around them. Long wings emerged from the gloom above her, stretching from Tasha’s back.

  Her breaths grew harder, and suddenly, the room was gone. Malcolm was pinned down beneath the succubus, and she worked herself onto his painfully swollen cock. He tried to scream, but the filthy sock in his mouth muffled the cry. Quentin’s sticky blood coated her body where she had rubbed against him, except her nipples where Malcolm had sucked it off. The cuts in Vimiya’s cheek were gone, healed by the essence she had already drained from him.

  Malcolm fought and bucked beneath her but couldn’t escape. The forgotten ache of his overfull stomach had returned. The urge to retch grew worse with each movement. If he puked with the gag in, he could choke on Quentin's remains. She kept riding him, her pelvic bone jarring painfully into him with each drop, and Malcolm felt the energy of his body draining to his crotch.

  “Give it to me,” she sneered. “I want you all.”

  Malcolm’s breaths quickened, growing desperate as she worked him toward climax. The stink of pure lust repulsed and excited him even further. Bile and Quentin's blood burned up his throat.