Neon White Season One: A Tooth, Claw and Horns Chronicle

by Wulf Francu Godgluck

  His face contracted and his lips drew thin. “Don’t tempt your master, pet,” Chetlér rushed out, his breath shallow. Raven didn’t want to question the words your master or pet. Maybe it was some kind of foreplay, some kinky fantasy the demon liked. A cruel, twisted smile reached the demon’s lips, and his gaze wandered downwards. Before Raven’s eyes could join the demon’s gaze, his right hand firmly grabbed Raven’s hard bulge, squeezed, and pulled on it. The motion made Raven lean forward and bury his face in the demon’s neck.

  “What to do with this, my little pet,” Chetlér whispered sharply in Raven’s ear. The applied pressure to Raven’s cock made him gasp and brush his lips against Chetlér’s throat.

  The demon’s left hand curled into his collar and pulled Raven’s head back with force.

  “No tempting, pet. You might not like the consequences.” It wasn’t a warning. It sounded more like a desperate plea.

  “Okay then. No touching the big guy,” Raven said.

  The demon scowled and raised a thick, golden blond brow. He moved his attention around the room, keeping a firm hold on Raven’s cock and collar. Chetlér fixed his gaze on something to the right of them. Chetlér released his hold on Raven and took his hand, guiding Raven to a wingback chair. Raven expected Chetlér to take a seat. The demon appeared to be into power play, but to his shock, Chetlér pulled him by the shirt and pushed him down onto the leather chair.

  The leather was soft, either cared for or new. Chetlér glared at Raven forcing him to swallow. The eyes piercing him were dark red and radiant. The quick movement and sound of popping knuckles as Chetlér curled his fingers made Raven doubt this would lead to anything but him being a bloody punching bag. Maybe this was what Chetlér did. Seduced a man or woman and then brought on the brutality.

  “Relax, pet. I’m not going to hurt you,” Chetlér softened his eyes and whispered, “I will never hurt my pet.” There was the primal voice again. It sounded like Chetlér was reminding himself rather than reassuring Raven.

  There was a nervous tension present in the demon’s body, taking steady breaths as if trying to calm himself. Raven noticed no erection tenting in the robe. It puzzled him. He wanted to reach out and touch the demon, but refrained due to the demon’s earlier words.

  Chetlér slowly went to his knees between Raven’s legs. What Raven knew of dominant and submissive power exchange relationships, the master going down on his knees wasn’t customary. Then again, everything he saw from Chetlér painted a different picture to what followed the demon in the outside world.

  Chetlér reached for Raven’s thighs and gripped them for support. Strong hands traced up his legs and cupped his hardness in the demon’s palms.

  “Close your eyes, pet, and relax.”

  Raven did, but took in a sharp breath when the demon’s face, brushed his crotch, rubbing and sniffing him. Weird, hot, and somewhat arousing, Raven felt his heartbeat increase when Chetlér’s fingers loosened his belt. He held his breath as those fingers trailed down the zipper of his pants. Raven heard the demon lick his lips. He sneaked a peek in time to see a sharp, black nail trace his shaft over the white briefs now snugged tightly around his cock. The sensation made his toes curl. His fingers clenched and dug into the arms of the chair. The nail continued on its path from the base along Raven’s dick. Tracing the center of the outlined curve up to his tip, where the demon rubbed a finger over the wet pre-cum stain. Raven shuddered and released the breath that he held. The demon purred a low strum from his chest causing goose bumps over Raven’s skin.

  Fingers curled into the waistband of his briefs when Chetlér pulled them down and caused Raven’s dick to slap against his shirt. Another shudder shook him. Why was he sensitive all of a sudden? Feeling the demon pull the briefs along with his trousers, he lifted his ass, and Chetlér pulled them to Raven’s ankles. A hand clasped around his shaft, and a thumb grazed over his slit, spreading the oozed pre-cum out, caused from the grip’s tight squeeze. It moistened his crown and the thumb slid in between his foreskin, running along the edge of his cock’s head. Again, he winced, then moaned. God, he never made a sound during sex, always quiet, but the demon’s touch had forced it from him—from the fiber of his being. He sucked a quick breath in when a tongue lapped at his slit. His eyes drew wide at the starved gaze, looking at him with glowing eyes. The demon arched his brows and a smile broke out to the corner of his lips.

  Raven licked his own in response and closed his lids when the demon encircled his lips around his cockhead.

  The heat and warmth of Chetlér’s mouth, now consuming him, had Raven breathless in the chair. The demon sucked him slowly. Two fingers came, pressing against Raven’s lips, and he parted his mouth, sucking them inside. His tongue and cheeks mimicked the demon’s own mouth on his cock. Another moan escaped, muffled by his stuffed entrance as Chetlér bit tenderly around his crown. A strong grip on his hip pulled him forward, allowing his ass to hang over the edge of the seat and he knew his hole was exposed. The fingers, wet and dripping with spit, were pulled from his mouth. The demon rubbed them against Raven’s trembling hole.

  “Mr. Chetlér,” he whispered, but it came out more of a groan. The demon removed his mouth from Raven’s cock and the fingers from his slick entrance.

  “Fuck!” Raven let out, at the quick brush of the demon’s tongue grooming over his hole. Again, it came, more slowly this time, and Raven bit down on his teeth, groaning his pleasure into the room. A finger joined the lapping tongue, gradually easing its way through the tight ring. Raven was surprised how quick the digit gained access—it had been such a long time. The finger once again slipped out and lips closed around his entrance, teeth nipped and grazed the sensitive spot followed with a sucking kiss. It caused an ache in Raven’s balls and desperate need in his cock for release. The demon’s tongue again brushed over his hole and pressed home. Raven grasped the base of his cock so hard that he became scared he’d leave a bruise, but it killed the orgasm—though he wasn’t sure for how long.

  The demon stopped, pulled away, and looked at him. His eyes, still glowing red, had a softness to complement Chetlér’s face.

  “You okay, pet?” Chetlér whispered, the air of his words was cool on Raven’s wet hole, pulling a shudder from him. He couldn’t form words. His jaws ached from clenching them tight. He shook his head and stroked his cock.

  The demon grinned. “Your master knows best, pet. I will always know best.”

  Raven didn’t even think. He nodded in agreement. Chetlér brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked them in, lubed them, then worked his way inside Raven with one, then the second, twisting and turning, opening him for… maybe. Oh fuck, please say it’s for that.

  The fingers worked their way deeper and it became harder to hold onto himself as the tension rose in his body. He jerked and moaned when the longest digit stroked that spot inside him. His hands ached from digging into the arms of the chair. Again the finger brushed his prostate, pulled back a couple of inches and thrust forward. He didn’t question anymore if something thicker, longer, and fuller would push into him. He was so close. He could feel a trail of pre-cum begin to drip onto his balls. Another thrust came and a finger pressed against his prostate and remained there while lips closed around his shaft and swallowed him to his balls. A thumb, belonging to the family of fingers embedded inside him, pressed the area between his balls and stuffed opening.

  His orgasm roared through him. He shook hard, taking in a sharp breath and biting on his own knuckles to muffle his scream. The demon continued to apply pressure to the two hidden spots, milking him dry as Raven flooded Chetlér’s throat with his load. The demon swallowed it all eagerly.

  Panting, the world spun around him. Tears clung to the corners of his eyes, but it wasn’t the intensity of the orgasm or the fact that he had finally found sexual release that brought them. His eyes had always watered during an orgasm. He felt the fingers pulling out, making him shudder and wiped the tears from his eyes.

/>   “Wow, Mr. Chetlér, that was—” He stopped when his gaze fell on the demon. His cock slipped from Chetlér’s lips.

  “I suggest you leave, human,” Chetlér growled low, his lips twitching abnormally. The demon’s veins pulsed on his temple, eyes started to turn dark, and little cracks could be seen forming in his skin, glowing rubicund beneath.

  What changed? First the demon devoured his cock, fingered him to oblivion, and now he demanded Raven leave?

  “Now!” Chetlér roared and stood so fast, Raven’s heart started to drum again. Chetlér took a shaking step back, his hands in fists, black-blue liquid dripping from them from digging his nails into his own palms.

  “Please,” he spoke, but his voice was different, deeper and darker, primeval sounding. His lips retracted to flash sharper, longer dagger-like teeth.

  “Ok. Fine. Fuck, I’m leaving.” Raven stumbled from the chair and bounced to his feet and pulling up his trousers and briefs.

  “I said leave, pet!” The dark roar shook through Raven. Clumsy fingers battled to zip up his pants and fasten his belt. He heard a crack, the sound of a whip snapping through the air. The room grew darker, the candles withered, and the warmth from the fire was replaced by the furnace of heat coming from behind Raven. The charred smell of burning flesh scented the air. Trembling, he saw the shadow falling over him grow in size.

  Horns?

  He hurried to the front lobby, not daring to look behind him. He reached for the door, but it swung open before he could even touch it. The cold air outside cut into the thin fabric of his shirt. He shook with sweat and fear. With caution, he made his way over the frosted driveway, nearly slipping, but he managed to reach his car. He climbed in and blew out a deep breath. His heart raced in his chest. He leaned his forehead against the steering wheel trying to calm himself.

  “What the fuck?” He slammed his hand against the wheel.

  He had never been chased away from a man’s house especially after such an intimate encounter. Was there something wrong with him? Did he do something of which the demon didn’t approve? He closed his eyes, placed the key in the ignition, and started the car.

  He gripped the steering wheel and glanced at the house where he suspected the dining room would be. The lights were out now.

  Raven sighed but froze when he saw a glimpse of silver glowing in the dark woods. Eyes, wolf… no, Lycan eyes, one of them was watching him.

  “Fuck!” he uttered, realizing that he forgot his coat in the mansion. He placed the car in first, made a U-turn, and sped down the driveway. He peeped in the rearview mirror as a massive gray wolf trotted out of the shadows, its fur glimmering in the light of the moon. No, not a wolf, a Lycan. It mimicked the movements of a large, muscular man arching on his hands and knees, but the face was definitely canine-like.

  The further away he drove, the clearer his head became. He needed a fucking drink and not some fucking matured wine. He needed tequila. He needed to erase this whole bloody fucking experience from his mind, but something didn’t sit right with him. When he reached the road leading to the city, a heaviness that he couldn’t place hit his heart. The rejection bothered him more than the reason why.

  INTERLUDE

  Bla’Gar slammed a fist through his bedroom wall. The mansion shuddered as he pulled his hand free. His robe torn, left scattered by the door.

  He wasn’t strong enough to suppress this new hunger. Tasting Raven, swallowing his essences had left the demon starving.

  He raised his black talons, turning his hand to inspect where he had clawed into his palms. Inky-blue blood tinged white from the mansion coating his hand. His bones ached from the strain of balling his fist.

  “You know, you should just take him.” A dark voice sent chills down Bla’Gar’s spine.

  His gaze cut to the corner where a wingback chair stood next to the window, shrouded in darkness. The glass had shattered from Bla’Gar’s violent, reverberating roar. An icy wind now howled through the room.

  “But,” said the voice, “you are not like the rest of us. You have always been different.”

  Bla’Gar extended his talons, irritated at his emotional turmoil and gritted out, “Why are you here and what the fuck do you want, Belail?” His scalp throbbed as the vein beneath pulsed with his anger.

  “Your relationship intrigues me.” The demon stepped out of the shadows.

  Bla’Gar might be considered an old one, but there were those demons—the true born of Lilith and Samael—that even the old legions regarded with caution, even feared. Bla’Gar averted his eyes from the shaded face of Belail. He clearly recalled the broken ram-like horn on the right side of Belail’s head. Old scars that stole the vision of the demon’s right eye ran from Belail’s temple and stretched well over his torso. Bla’Gar had been there when Belail received the scar. The King never did like showing his fucked up face.

  Belail stood before him, part human, part demon—his demonic power too strong to fully suppress his true form. Silver streams adorned his teal-colored hair, combed back from his forehead. Tusks stuck out from his bottom jaw, pushing upwards over his scarred mouth. He was elegantly dressed—he had to be—as one of the partners of Darkes INC, the supposed supernatural legal firm fighting for super and para rights. But with his bronzed tinged skin, Belail was not even attractive by demon standards.

  “You have the power to enforce your own perceptions. Use that against Raven.” Belail’s smile had the small hairs on Bla’Gar’s skin vibrating. Turning his back he released a trifling snarl.

  “More precisely…dream compulsion.” Bla’Gar grimaced, grinding his teeth at sinister echo to Belail’s voice. “Think about it, with Raven constantly dreaming with you, it would make the task a lot less...thorny.”

  Bla’Gar narrowed his eyes. He did not trust Belail. When it came to the Demon King, nothing was without price. “Why? What would you gain?”

  “A friend,” he grunted.

  Bla’Gar turned and glared at Belail. The King did not do friends; collecting souls was his life’s work.

  “No.” Raven’s too important to me.

  “Look around you, fool!” Belail snapped.

  Bla’Gar stared for a fraction in time, the stone dropped: his unexpected appearance, the curiosity about him and Raven. The offer of help. This burst of sentiment from a demon who has no emotions.

  The King of Hell was afraid.

  But of what?

  “Humans will rise against us, Bla’Gar.” His voice rose. “Not to speak of this fucking little Trickster. Destroying the veil placed a major damper on the end of times. We were ready for the war against the angels. The conquest was ours! Now look at us. Walking amongst meats.”

  Bla’Gar sighed.

  “The war was never ours, Belail. It died when we killed the last of The Watchers and The Fallen. It was your ideal as the new King of Hell, it was never the others. They were too afraid to stand up against you.”

  “Some, but not all.” Belail paced back and forth, his tail ruthlessly whipping behind him.

  Bla’Gar had been in the King’s company far too many times to know this was not a common trait.

  “You care for someone.”

  Belail froze mid-step, head slightly tilted, his left eye glaring violet at Bla’Gar. A small growl vibrated over his lips.

  “You love this person...a human?” The space between the two was an empty chasm, the cold air electrified with tension.

  Bla’Gar held his breath.

  He knew what this meant for Belail.

  For demon kind.

  “How far along are you?” Bla’Gar raked his gaze over Belail.

  You bastard. He grinned.

  There was definitely a glow to Belail’s skin.

  “Enough of this!” Wood chips burst into the air as Belail pulverized the dresser with his fist.

  Belail turned, cracking his neck left and right. He reached out with his right hand, as if grasping something. In the cold air a woman appeared. Belail’s big
claw wrapped around her small throat. Belail roughly turned the woman around. She reeked of sulfur. Black hair damp against her back. Perspiration still radiating from her filthy naked body.

  Bla’Gar was not concerned with the woman’s stained cheeks, nor of the shivers raking her body. She brought this upon herself for selling her soul. Her dirty, bloodied hands curled into small fists as she clutched them to her chest, trying to cover her nudity. Bla’Gar knew he was considered an attractive demon. He could feel her stare drifting over his blood red skin. As her gaze travelled along the black river of hair on his chest to his groin, her eyes went wide.

  She screamed, trying to break free from Belail’s grip, clawing at his forearm.

  “Be still!” Belail spat, choking, and shaking her like a ragdoll. “Those are not for you, meat.” His eye flashed toward Bla’Gar. “Will you accept my offer, fledgling?”

  Bla’Gar sneered at being labeled a fledgling. He had not been called that in a very, very long time.

  “No harm will come to my pet, or I will take from you that which you hold most dear, King.”

  Bla’Gar was no fool. He knew his strength was not equal to Belail’s. The King of Hell stood to lose as much, if not more. Bla’Gar felt a small sting of sympathy when Belail laid his free hand protectively over his swollen stomach.

  “Very well.” Bla’Gar said.

  Belail hoisted the woman in front of Bla’Gar. Panting for breath, blood dripping down her chin from where she had bitten into her bottom lip.

  “Remember, this compulsion will become imprinted. Whatever transpires now will haunt Raven’s dreams until he dies.”

  Bla’Gar didn’t flinch when Belail sliced open the woman’s neck, dark blood splattering over him. Her dead body falling limply to the carpet. Belail reached out, nail cutting into Bla’Gar’s forehead, murmuring words to Morpheus.

  Bla’Gar’s mind already hazed, when Belail pulled back his nail. He felt himself hitting the wall behind him, slumping to the floor. Belail’s words nothing but a distant purr.