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

by Wulf Francu Godgluck

  “The sacrifice has been paid; you have passage to the dream realm. Make it count fledgling. Our pets are our very hearts.”

  IN DREAMS WE SLEEP

  Raven crept into the police building. After reaching the city, he’d stopped at the closest bar, coaxed the bartender out of a bottle of their cheapest tequila, to the tune of seventy bucks and went home. It was a short affair, and the after effects were murderous. His eyes burned dry, his eyelids sandpaper rough, and the fucking pain herbs hadn’t kicked in yet. Images of the previous night kept alternating in his mind; those warm lips, that wet tongue. That fuck up dream! His dick obviously didn’t get the memo that his brain was having a stab of PMS from the tequila.

  He hated drinking.

  “Never again,” he said, still tasting the foul combination of minty toothpaste and alcoholic breath.

  “Coffee?” she asked. Raven raised his stare high enough to see the captain’s breasts.

  “God, Abby. No! You actually want to kill me?” Raven rested back in his chair, closing his eyes.

  Why had he eaten the venison? He hated meat; he’d been a fucking vegetarian from the age of seventeen. Now the primal protein was wreaking havoc on a stomach that had only known members of the plant kingdom for the past fifteen years.

  “I don’t know how you do it, this vegan thing sounds like a religion on its own.” She placed a cup of black tar in front of him. Raven’s stomach did cartwheels.

  “I’m not vegan, I still eat honey and, oh lord—” He cringed as a tremor contracted his stomach muscles

  Raven clasped his gut like the very delicate bundle of intestines it was and launched himself toward the restroom.

  “I think I gave birth to a dead baby whale,” he said entering the police captain’s office again and fell down in the chair. He reached for the coffee.

  “Sounds about right. How was he?” She paused, and Raven met Abby’s gaze this time. “I mean Mr. Chetlér, did you… Oh, fuck it.” She narrowed her eyes, running her tongue over her upper lip as she grinned. “Did you guys like bang or some shit?”

  “Straight women and gay sex!” Raven glared, huffing loudly. “What’s wrong with your kind?”

  He had no desire to discuss this with his best friend, Abigail Côté. She’d become an iconic figure in Canadian history five years ago when she got the position, not only because she was a woman, but black as well. Man, the combination did not go down well with the politicians, but the feminist movement lauded her success. Of course there were attempts to get her to resign, but backing down wasn’t Abby’s thing. Raven knew there’d be no hope; she wasn’t backing down this time either.

  He sighed, dropping his voice a couple of decibels.

  “He fingered me and made me moan like a porn-bitch having multiple analasms.”

  “What?”

  “Anal orgasms, sweetheart. It’s why we take it up the ass, well mostly.” Raven grinned, his cock stiffening as he thought about the demon and immediately was reminded why there was a heavy metal party going on in his head.

  Reflecting on the previous night, Raven was working a case, and his actions had been out of line. Holy hell, he sat up straight, everything about last night was well…plain, fucked up. He’d stepped over the line separating work from pleasure, ate meat and drank, resulting in almost blurting out his sad, soppy story to a complete and total—fucking hot— stranger. Demon—let’s not forget the demon part.

  “And Niko Faler’von?” Abby asked, her face completely neutral. No doubt she’d be googling ‘anal orgasms’ when he left her office and sending him a detailed questionnaire about the male prostate. Like the time she looked up anal douching.

  “He wasn’t there. I’m to return later today and speak with him.” Total lie, he knew he wouldn’t go back, not after Chetlér had practically banned him from the premises. He was avoiding that part of his experience as if it was some contagious disease, the feeling of rejection still gnawed inside him.

  Rejected…for what?

  He’d had relationships in the past. Hell, Raven was pretty sure at least one guy had been a super, but never had he been rejected. He’d never been chased away like a fucking dog.

  Raven was pissed off at the demon. Used, he felt fucking used. No, that wasn’t right. He’d been given pleasure and the demon had received none. Chetlér wasn’t an incubus; he was a Hydra. He knew the word didn’t explain or state the obvious in demonology. It implied something completely different to what would normally be associated with the word or, in this case, the mythical beast Lernaean Hydra. He would take it up with Professor Bloodimir.

  Abby adjusted the waist of her pants. She wasn’t even close to butch, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t punch your face out your ass. The woman had some killer judo skills.

  Raven stood while placing the empty cup down on her desk.

  “I should get to work,” he said and walked to the door.

  “Now, just a second, Detective White.” Her boss tone filled the room.

  Raven sighed and turned. “Yes, Captain?”

  “The Winter Ball.”

  Raven flinched. Another thing he hated…dancing, dressing up, and oh, yes, the highly unsociable uber rich motherfucking class.

  “You are to attend. It’s mandatory, Detective. You are being presented with an award for—”

  “Wait!” Raven cried. Holy fuck, hold this shit up.

  Abby anchored her hands on the ends of her desk, chocolate brown curls dangling wildly around her face. “Yes?”

  “What for? You and I both know I’m not half worth any award, so cut the crap.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him, her nose wrinkling as it always did when she got wound up. “Four years, Raven, the world has had enforcers, and fifty-seven of them died during their service. You’re the only one that has lasted this long. Most only go a month.”

  “A fucking token for staying alive without danger pay! You’ve got to be pissing me. Who comes up with this crap?”

  Enforcers weren’t paid very well, nor did they receive any of the other benefits police officers were entitled to. The high cost of educating and training them meant that their numbers were low, two max per police precinct. It was simply too much of a risk for the governments to waste money on them or, more specifically, on keeping the supers and paras safe. However, they had to keep them in line somehow.

  There were a few private investigators, and some scholars, who thought they knew enough about the supers and paras to make a living out of it. Most got killed. The ones that did survive and were still open for business, were either really fucking good at what they did or had some hand in dealing the crime.

  Raven just considered himself extremely lucky.

  “There are officers and detectives who’ve done more for the safety of this city than I have backbone. Hell, we both know I don’t have any. I pissed my knickers the first time someone shot at me, and let’s both be reminded it was a teenager who fired the shot.”

  She sighed, “Raven, you have a way with the supers and paras. You see them as individuals, not just as things. They respect you and value your work, they…they trust you.”

  “Yeah, to keep their eggs warm and stop someone from selling them on the black market.”

  “And some of them see that as a valuable job to have, especially in a society that is struggling to accept them!”

  Raven bit his lips. Abby and her husband had adopted a youngling ten years ago. Neither knew the kid would turn out to be fay.

  She came over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. He couldn’t meet her gaze.

  “Raven, you do a good job. It might not be looked upon as honorable, and you might not always get the credit you deserve, or the paycheck for that matter, but for some of us it’s important. You keep the tabs on boogeymen and the human snitcher out of the shadows. Which brings us to the next thing.”

  Shit, there’s more shit. Raven raised an eyebrow.

  “You got the okay for a partner.”

/>   Well this day just keeps getting better, don’t it?

  Abby stepped away, picking up a file from her desk. Raven leaned against the wall, arms folded over his chest. The leather jacket was old and small and tight; he needed to get his coat back.

  “She’s from New York.” Abby shoved a file in front of his face.

  “Ooh, hey! An American. Bloody fucking great!” He practically crippled the file as he took it from her. “I don’t want the stupid award. I don’t want a partner. I just want to do my job, go home, and stink up my condo.”

  “Raven!” Abby snapped, “What the hell is up with you?”

  Yeah, Raven, you’re self-misery wrapped in Christmas paper.

  Which was sort of true considering the red dress-shirt he currently wore would put Saint Nick to shame.

  Raven ran his fingers through his cropped hair. It was dirty and left his hand greasy.

  “Rave, you okay in there?” she asked, bringing him back out of his clouded mind.

  “I’m cool, just got some shit to deal with.” He stopped her before she could send him to the psych. “I’ll deal with it, Abby. It’s not the end of the world.”

  Only it did fucking feel like it, and he knew it was because of the way Chetlér had treated him.

  He made his way to his windowless office, the door stood open, and the lights off. He knew where everything was to move around without colliding with furniture. He didn’t even bother to switch on the lights. Raven slapped the file down on his desk and sunk into his chair with his hands in his hair.

  “Detective?” The voice rumbled from across his desk.

  Raven sat up, his heart beating double time, jumping into his throat.

  “Mr. Chetlér?” He stood, pushing the chair behind him.

  “I am sorry about my…reaction last night. I hope this has not affected our amity negatively. I still hope you can find the time to come over this afternoon.” Chetlér paused, a soft displeasing rumble coming from his chest. “Even if it’s only to speak to Niko.” The words played off the demon’s lips with bitter ease. The light shining from the lobby shadowed the right side of the demon’s face. He looked tired, a sadness in his expression that Raven had seen on the faces of his fellow officers when friends had passed in the line of duty.

  “Is everything all right, Mr. Chetlér?” Raven’s own mouth and words betrayed him as he made his way over to the demon.

  “I’m fine,” Chetlér said.

  Instinctively, Raven reached out and touched the demon’s face. The smooth, warm flesh velvet under his clammy fingers. The demon leaned into Raven’s touch, a cracking sound came from his hands. Like last night when Chetlér tried to calm himself.

  “Sorry.” Raven pulled his fingers away. The demon doesn’t like to be touched. “I shouldn’t have, last night…”

  “You were beautiful, pet,” the demon growled.

  The room flooded with bright light, and Raven found himself staring at the demon’s intense green eyes.

  “Raven White, I’m…” The female voice fell silent.

  Raven noticed the indentation of Chetlér’s cheek as the demon clenched his jaw at the interruption.

  Raven turned his back to him, spying a tall, skinny redhead with freckles and big, round Velma style glasses glued to her face.

  She smiled, with braces.

  Jinkies!

  “Excuse us,” Raven said and reached behind him, gripping Chetlér by the dress shirt and pulled the heavy bulk of a giant past the ‘Velma thing’ into the lobby.

  He spun and released his grip, but Chetlér’s momentum brought him right up in Raven’s face. Raven froze. Their lips inches from each other. The demon’s eyes were slowly devoured by crimson.

  Now what? What the hell do you say to a man who rejected you, literally chased you from his home and then shows up in your office brandishing an apology?

  “I will consider your offer, Mr. Chetlér.” Fucking dumb ass! Why’d you say that?

  The demon’s eyes intensified with red as he licked his lips. Raven wet his own. His dick had already gone to granite. They stood for what seemed an eternity to Raven. Something needed to be said or done. Yes, definitely done.

  Come on dammit, kiss me, you owe me at least that.

  “Your coat, Detective.” Chetlér stepped back and pressed the ox skin against Raven’s chest.

  Raven caught it before it fell to the floor. Lost, confused, he trailed his gaze over the demon. Chetlér swallowed, his Adam’s apple moved slick and slow under the smooth skin.

  Chetlér held out a hand, a white envelope clasped between two fingers. His tone cold as he spoke. “For you.”

  Raven never allowed his eyes to wander from the demon. He took the envelope, feeling the firm paper inside. A card? Maybe an invitation? Their fingers touched—those same fingers that were stuffed up his butt mere hours ago.

  “You have a pleasant day, Detective.” Chetlér stepped past him and kept going.

  Raven turned. “It’s Raven,” he meant to shout, but it only came out in a pathetic hiss. Chetlér disappeared around the corner.

  Bad move, Raven, bad fucking move. Ok, fine, but what the hell was he supposed to say? Would you like a blowjob for your apology, Mr. Chetlér?

  Cursing himself for being stupid and cursing the demon for being even more so—and giving him fucking blue balls—he stomped back to his office.

  He had barely reached the door frame when a growl stopped him, spinning him on the spot. Strong hands cupped his face, lips crashed against his and a fat tongue thrust into his mouth. The demon’s kiss was painfully hard and demanding, it had him vibrating on the spot.

  “Be good, my pet,” Chetlér rumbled against Raven’s lips and took them a second time with much more brute than the first.

  His mind was reeling, gyrating, and blue balls wasn’t even the start of it.

  Dazed, Raven watched the colossal beast in a black overcoat disappear down the hallway.

  Raven shook his head grinning and entered his office again.

  “Hi.” The girl waved, baring the steel contraption upon her teeth. She squinted, showing badly drawn eyeliner. She looked like the ginger freckled version of Katy Perry in her TGIF video.

  How the hell she’d even got a badge baffled Raven. Abby could at least have given him the heads up his new partner would be arriving this morning. He still wanted to go through her file.

  Raven placed his coat on the desk; it smelled…clean. Had Chetlér had it cleaned for him? Dismissing the thought, he leaned against the edge, arms folded over his chest, forcing a smile.

  “How old are you?” Damn, what he meant to say was, “Hi, I’m Raven. What’s your name?” but this wasn’t kindergarten. He wasn’t playing in the sandbox.

  “Twenty-three, Detective,” she said and smiled again.

  Raven rolled his eyes. “First, don’t call me Detective, my name’s Raven. Second, don’t smile so much. Tell me, have you ever had to wash Gransher shit from your hair?”

  “Gransher?” Her long neck stretched out from the mustard-yellow turtleneck dress, the color making her freckles appear a maroon red.

  “Gransher is a bat-like beast with slimy skin. They excrete feces at their attackers.”

  Raven sighed when she shook her head; her thick deep-red hair following the movement like silk.

  “This isn’t going to be a clean job, so don’t think you’re some shit like Constantine in an epic movie scene. This is real life, missy.” Raven internally cringed at the purple wool leggings covering slender thighs as he checked out the rest of her. “The monsters are real, their claws and teeth are real, they’ll tear you apart or eat you whole, some even shit on you.”

  At least she wasn’t wearing high heels, but her yellow boots were a monstrosity all on their own. She was—he hated to admit it—pretty, but her clothes—cruel horror.

  She nodded at each of his statements.

  “And don’t expect us to walk around with some holy weapon blessed by a pries
t.” Shit, Raven sounded like a hard-ass. He should know better, but he didn’t ask for a child as a partner, nor some first time rookie.

  “My name’s Jessy, in case you were wondering,” she said and smiled. Again.

  Damn! Struck a blow, feel the burn, Raven. He brought his hand to his face and chuckled.

  “Sorry. Rough day, shitty night, my bad.”

  “Understandable. Your husband seemed pretty upset about something.”

  “H-h-husband?” Raven gawked. Fuck the boyfriend phase and go straight to marriage.

  “He’s not my husband, he…” Raven fell short; he didn’t know what to call Chetlér. He walked around his desk, pulled his chair under him and sat.

  “Okay, if you say so.”

  Raven suppressed a growl “I’m sure there’s some paper—”

  “Yo! Rave, dude! You got a 419,” Landon shouted, entering Raven’s office. “Some kid’s been killed in Mont-Marie Crematory.”

  “Fuckin’ canine balls!” Raven flew out of his seat. Instead of drinking last night, instead of doing the big nasty with the demon, he should have been out searching for the hound.

  “C’mon, Yellow, we got shit to do!” he snapped at Jesse and eagerly she followed him.

  Bla’Gar stood outside the police building, nails once again finding their way into the flesh of his palms.

  For the love of the devil! How had this innocent, beautifully broken man cast such a strong spell over him?

  He hated himself for last night’s display, but he was protecting Raven, and his own heart. It was one thing to see a lower level demon in their true form but completely different to allow a human to see a Master of second Hell.

  “Past Master,” he gritted under his breath.

  The Pyro witch in Raven’s office this morning had been a shock. The little thing oozed power, but one nick to her skin and she would be spilling out her liquefied intestines. She wasn’t a threat—to Bla’Gar at least—but one appearing here in Québec was rare. He’d been certain the pyros died out during the Salem witch trials. Bla’Gar chuckled, recalling that he was the one that sparked the humans to judge them, but somehow some of them must have survived. If she was hell bent on a vendetta she had another thing coming. As long as she stayed clear of his pet.