For what seemed like years, that was the only thing that happened.
Then they were no longer alone in the circle, but even Paul’s witch-sight couldn’t focus at first on what had joined them.
A tall, black woman with lush curves and a short cap of tight curls. A dark young man, a boy, really, who looked like a cross between a college kid and a Caravaggio angel. An elfin blonde woman with silky, straight, waist-length hair and a dancer’s deceptively delicate build. A hard-edged, muscular, middle-aged man who could play the kind of action hero who took his shirt off a lot. They morphed from one to another, all beautiful, all reeking of sexiness. And yet in the moment of transition, he caught glimpses of another form, greenish-skinned, horned, oddly proportioned.
“Freeze!” Paul proclaimed, brandishing his cock dramatically at the being. He had a feeling he and Tag would laugh about that moment later, assuming they both survived this craziness. “Take your natural form, demon, for your artifices have no power over us.”
The protean shape settled down. It had breasts and a cock, and possibly female genitals as well, though that was harder to determine at this angle. It was out of focus, almost translucent, as though it was only half there.
“I name you Force Stealer, the Thief of Hearts,” Paul proclaimed, “and I bind you here in this circle until we are done with you.”
The being blinked. “You gave me a name,” it said, its voice shivering between typically male and female intonations. “You have named me. You have made me whole. I thank you. And now you will thank me. Humans always thank me. But I keep breaking them. I try to choose ones with strong spirits and bodies, but I keep breaking them.” Its strange, layered voice sounded both sad and bewildered, as if it didn’t fully understand what it had done. “You look more powerful than most, though. Maybe I won’t break you.”
Abruptly, it became more solid, though still a hermaphrodite. It had a broad, muscular chest, subtly curved hips, long muscular legs, and an impressive cock hanging between what looked like labia. Its skin was greenish-gray, and greenish hair fell straight and seal-sleek to its shoulders. Small antlers like a young buck’s sprouted from its head, and its eyes were solid purple, without pupils or whites. The effect was curiously seductive.
Oh shit, Paul thought. What had they done? Nothing he’d ever read talked about demons that didn’t have a name in the first place.
The being stepped closer, reached out a hand.
Which Tag took.
Paul fought down panic and prepared a spell in case Tag was caught in the creature’s power and not doing whatever it was foxes did to bluff their way out of trouble.
“So,” Tag said, his voice honeyed and heavy with Tennessee, “how did a pretty thing like you end up without a name? Seems sad.”
“It is sad. I am an orphan, born of dreams that died before fruition. Those who dreamed me could not name me, because they had no name for what they longed for, no name for desire beyond this world’s limited notions of gender. And when I came into being, none of the elders of my kind claimed and named me. So I have been alone, and empty, and hungry. So hungry. Would you feed me, pretty mortal?”
“Seems to me that might irk my friend here,” Tag said nonchalantly, “which would be discourteous, considering he just named you. It’s never a good idea to be rude to witches, you know. They lose their temper, and you never know what might happen.”
Understanding dawned in the demon’s purple, pupil-less eyes. It turned to Paul and said gravely, almost as though it were issuing an invitation to go out for drinks, “Would you feed me, then, witch, instead of your friend? Your energy looks delicious, as does your organ of pleasure.”
Paul reached out, took Tag’s hand. “Oh no. We’re a couple. We do everything together.”
He squeezed Tag’s hand, hoping he’d understand, hoping he’d remember.
The creature should know better than to be so blatant with a witch, but if it had been nameless until just now, it was in many ways not fully formed, still a demon child. Powerful, though, the force of its hunger and emptiness making it deadly instead of just annoying, as its kind usually were. Probably it hadn’t meant to kill, but its hunger had made it lose control. Despite the deaths, he pitied Force Stealer.
But not enough to let it stay.
“Come here, you big green galoot,” Tag encouraged. Paul went one step further, pulling it in.
Then, as the creature nestled against them, Paul kissed Tag, letting their bodies press together, letting their cocks play, letting his own shields down so Force Stealer could see the strength of their bond. The silver cord between Paul and Tag, though thin and new, pulsed with energy.
Pulsed with love.
If they hadn’t been busy dealing with a demon, Paul might have fallen to his knees, not to suck Tag’s cock, but to praise the Powers for the gift he’d been given when he bumped into this man.
And then he’d suck Tag’s cock, which would also be a way of saying thank you.
But they were dealing with a demon, so Paul put all the emotion, all that desire, onto his skin and let the demon taste it.
The demon jumped back, hissing. “Poison. You would feed me poison!”
“Just making a point,” Paul said quietly. “Not only did I give you a name, not only do I have magic stronger than most you’ll encounter in this world, but we are in love. We have power here. And by the power of love and the power of your name, Force Stealer, Thief of Hearts, we send you back to where you belong.”
Strictly speaking, he, not he and Tag, were doing the sending—but he wouldn’t have the power, or the defense of love, without Tag, so we seemed appropriate.
The creature faltered. Its outline blurred. “I shall starve!” it wailed.
“No, you won’t,” Tag said, and his voice was rich with unexpected compassion. “You have a name now, right? A strong, tough name. So you won’t be hollow and empty anymore. You’ll be able to control your hunger now.”
Paul got where Tag was going with the thought. “You’ll be able to pop into dreams and feed that way, like you ought to, without leaving the comfort of your own plane or putting on a fleshsuit that doesn’t fit you properly, and without doing any harm other than leaving someone tired, with memories of sexy, happy dreams.”
“I never wanted to kill,” Force Stealer conceded. “It’s not our way. But it took me so long to figure out how to get to this world. I couldn’t dreamwalk or be summoned without a name. I had to find another way to project myself. By the time I got here, I…couldn’t help myself. Just so hungry.”
“Now you can,” Paul said confidently, hoping he was right. “And when you’re not trying to wear a fleshsuit, you won’t need so much energy. But we have spoken enough here. Force Stealer, Thief of Hearts, you are banished from this plane, able to return only as a dream-feeder. Moreover, I who have named you, bind you to feed with care and to spread your feeding widely, so no one suffers more than a night of poor sleep in succession for your sake. I banish and bind you by your name, and by my own name, and by the love I bear this man. Go!”
It shouldn’t have been that easy. Perhaps without Tag it wouldn’t have been that easy. But Force Stealer’s eyes filled with what might have been tears, save that they were red as blood.
And then it vanished.
Chapter Thirteen
Paul managed to hold himself upright until he dismissed the protections he’d set up. Then he collapsed on the leather couch. A bloody uncomfortable leather couch, he might add. The magic had all gone smoothly, more smoothly than he’d expected, yet magically speaking, it hadn’t been easy. He was trembling with exertion and fatigue.
“That wasn’t as violent as I imagined,” Tag said, “but in some ways it was worse. That thing was pathetic. Dangerous, yet pathetic. I’m not sure Uncle Randolph would consider what we did justice for all the deaths, but I couldn’t have hurt it. It hadn’t meant to do harm. It was just starving.”
Paul sighed. “Welcome to my life, Tag. As
witches, we’re bound by a web of rules—but I keep finding the real world isn’t as simple as the rules want to make it. If it wasn’t for you, though, and your quick thinking, I couldn’t have found a way to solve the problem within the rules without either leaving the incubus likely to do harm elsewhere or destroying it outright. Killing it might have restored the balance between our worlds but would have broken me, maybe forever. I have the raw power for violent justice, but not the knowledge to do it without backlash.”
Tag settled on the couch and snuggled close. “That’s okay, pretty boy. You handle the magic. I’ll handle the violence and the cunning. Between the two of us, there won’t be much we can’t handle.” He wrapped himself around Paul with arms and legs and hugged with all his might.
All the energies in the building, all the energies in Las Vegas, converged in Paul’s body. He was still drained, exhausted, but red magic swirled and surged inside him, demanding release. Tag had probably meant only to be affectionate and supportive by cuddling up, but they were both naked. “All this talk of handling… How about I handle you?” He shifted in Tag’s embrace and snaked his hand down to Tag’s cock.
Half-hard in record time, Tag sucked in a hissing breath and pressed his hips forward, fucking himself against Paul’s hand.
Paul’s vision shifted to scarlet, and nothing mattered except need. “I need to fuck you,” he whispered urgently. “Will you let me inside you, Tag? Please. I need. Need to ground.”
“Here?” Tag sounded more amused than scandalized. “Would Mr. Aisling freak?”
“He knew my grandmother—intimately, I suspect. He might not like it, but he’ll understand red magic and needing to ground.” As he talked, Paul fumbled in his clothes for the sample-size lube he knew he’d stashed in a pocket in case of red magic emergencies or unanticipated opportunities. “Where is it?”
“Don’t know where yours ended up,” Tag said coyly, dangling what he’d been looking for in front of him, “but mine was in my shirt pocket. When hanging out with a hot witch, I figured it’s better to have the lube without the opportunity than the opportunity without the lube.”
“Once again,” Paul said, snatching them out of Tag’s hand, “you’re a genius.”
“A horny genius.” Tag positioned himself over the arm of the leather couch, glorious ass in the air. “That red magic must be contagious, because I want you inside me now. No, ten minutes ago.”
Those words, said in that smoky voice, removed the last tiny bit of civilized restraint Paul had left. “You’re too beautiful,” Paul said, fumbling with lube and condom. “I can’t wait, Tag. I should make this last. Should kiss and lick every inch of your body…”
“Later,” Tag breathed.
“Later,” Paul echoed. He held back just long enough to make sure Tag was slick and open, then fed his cock into Tag’s ass as Tag pushed back, eager for more. Paul’s exhaustion eased. Colors brightened and swirled. Paul’s witch-sight kicked into overdrive, and everything except Tag’s body and his own became solid blurs amid the mad spirals of energy. “So good,” Paul crooned. “So tight. I’m in you, Tag, and it’s like I was always supposed to be here.”
“You were. Just didn’t know it.” Tag’s voice was strained and hoarse already, as if speech didn’t come naturally. “Fuck me, love. Fuck me hard.”
Paul tightened his grip on Tag’s hips and pumped harder. “Yes. I’ve always belonged here. Been looking for you all my life. Just didn’t know it.” Magic danced on Paul’s skin. Their auras blended, weaving together into a whole that should have clashed but didn’t. A fine silver cord connected them, heart to heart. Paul thrilled to see it. That tiny strand would grow thicker and stronger if they married—make that when they married—joining them so even death couldn’t part them. But it was there already.
They were bound, meant for each other. The magic and the Powers knew it. Even if it made no sense.
Even buried deep in Tag’s hot ass, Tag moaning and shouting and pushing against him, Tag’s slick cock in his hand, Paul almost let himself give in to fear. But Tag bucked at that moment and clamped down with his inner muscles. Pleasure bubbled up inside Paul and exploded violently, Tag following seconds later.
They were together now, deliciously, deliriously together. The rest, they’d work out.
Chapter Fourteen
The details of getting back to the room were more than a little vague. Paul was pretty sure he’d fallen asleep while getting his pants on. He’d managed to talk halfway coherently with Mr. Aisling, who’d been relieved to hear the incubus was banished and eager to figure out what he could do to compensate the families of the victims. The conversation was a blur, but Paul thought he recalled talk of a gift to help support the call girl’s young son and a scholarship to the dead student’s college, which were great ideas, and a “better husband” for the lawyer’s widow, a notion he hoped he’d managed to squelch.
He’d dozed off again in the elevator, slumped against Tag’s shoulder. Tag had gotten him back, obviously, because he woke up in a rumpled bed, naked and alone. The curtains were flung open, letting in bright light, and the clock read nine AM; he’d slept through the rest of the day and on to morning, but he still felt drained. Tag was up and dressed, a cup of coffee close at hand, typing something into his phone. Paul slipped out of bed and went to him.
“Hi, sleepyhead,” Tag said. “I grabbed some coffee for you.”
“Kiss first.”
Tag gestured with the phone, sent the text he’d been working on and reached up for a kiss.
His breath tasted of coffee and sadness. His usually vibrant aura, Paul saw, was subdued. “You okay? Yesterday catching up with you?”
Tag smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That, and I just sent a text to Charmaine and Joe telling them I’ve met someone special and… Well, I didn’t break up with them by text because that’s tacky, but when I get home, I’ll be doing it in person. On one hand, it’s bittersweet. On the other hand, I can’t imagine doing anything else.”
He turned his face up for another kiss. “I was going to suggest breakfast, but maybe we should go back to bed.” Even with his arms out for an embrace, Tag sighed again. “You know, when you had that vision of death…it was our old lives. We’ve changed, or at least I have. I don’t know about you, but the person I was before we met is dead and gone, and I say good riddance to him and hello to the new and improved Tag of Tag and Paul.”
Paul froze.
He wanted this man so badly, wanted him for himself alone. Yesterday, magic dancing on his skin and his cock inside Tag, it had all seemed so simple and clear. He could still see the silver cord connecting them, thin and frail in morning light. But was desire making him selfish? “Are you sure, Tag? I know you want me, even love me, but you’re talking about making a change that goes against the person you thought you were in order to be with me. Can you really live the way witches do, forsaking all others?” Paul hadn’t meant to have this conversation now, but exhaustion had destroyed his filters. “Can I really ask that of you?”
Tag blinked. Slowly, he pulled his body away from Paul’s. “I just faced down a demon with you. You doubt I can handle monogamy with you? I’m a pretty tough guy.”
“I don’t doubt you’re tough. And I don’t doubt that right now you figure you can handle anything it takes for us to be together. But right now, I’m even thinking that I could learn to deal with you keeping Charmaine and Joe as lovers, not just friends, just so I don’t have to see you looking gloomy. Which means both of our brains are scrambled by all the red magic that’s been flying around and we’re thinking with the little head. You’re a fox. I shouldn’t expect you to deny your nature.” Paul shook his head and pulled himself to his feet. “You need to be who you are, not who I need my husband to be.”
It was possibly the hardest thing he’d ever done, including banishing a demon. But it was the right thing to do. Donovans did the right thing, especially if there was any question in their
minds that their sex magic might be influencing a person against their better judgment.
Tag sprang up. His fur bristled inside his wordy skin. Words came and went in his mind, drowned by the roar of loss—loss of something he had just started to believe he’d found. Had he just been used as a fuel for red magic and then dumped? Trickster’s tit, he wouldn’t have minded being used as a magical battery by a hot witch if he’d known that was all it was. There was a lot to be said for conquering a demon and getting amazing sex in the process. But the guy had led him to believe there was more going on. Led him to believe in the possibility of love, a future.
He wanted to rage, wanted to create a scene, act like some broken-hearted twink and let all his emotions out in a cathartic burst of drama. But his foxside urged calm and cleverness rather than a direct assault. Paul, the foxside pointed out, smelled like love and desire and sorrow and confusion, not like deception.
Through the foxside, Tag saw a quail pretending to have a broken wing, leading a fox away from her nest. Self-sacrifice. Paul thought he was doing what was best for Tag, even though his own heart was breaking.
“Stupid, stiff-necked witches anyway,” Tag muttered. “My wordside thinks maybe you have a point, if only that things happened fast under really weird circumstances and we’re both crunchy as Grandma’s fried chicken and can’t think straight—not that thinking straight exactly applies in our case. My foxside thinks you’re full of shit.”
Paul sighed again. “So does my magic.” He placed one hand on Tag’s chest, over his heart. “The truth is probably somewhere in the middle, but neither of us can see it.”
This time, even Tag could see energy dancing on Paul’s skin—a pale echo of what Paul experienced, probably, but enough to get the point.
“We’re from different worlds—different species, even.” Tag felt the fox chuffing as he talked, approving of what he was doing. “We’re both smart enough to know what we feel is real, for some definition of real that makes sense to people like us. But I can see why you’re worried this might be some kind of crazy reaction to the magic. Leaving aside the whole monogamy issue, I’m a Tennessee hillbilly with a tail and a college education. Your uncle was an advisor to presidents, and your great-great something or other was probably Merlin. You’re a vegetarian. I’m a carnivore, and by carnivore I mean ‘need animal protein to survive.’ We do have a few things to work out.” He paused and took a deep breath. “I’ll give you to Yule to come to your senses and admit none of this matters except you and me.”
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