Demon's Delight

by MaryJanice Davidson

  “Let’s do it,” he said. “Let’s have sex.”

  “Harry, we can’t. You’re tired, and it will drain you. Even if it wouldn’t, we really shouldn’t stop.”

  “Who said anything about stopping?”

  She shuddered in his hold, her temperature abruptly torrid. This was enough of an answer for him.

  “Take off one leg of your trousers,” he ordered. “If you open mine at the front, we should be able to get me inside.”

  “Harry…”

  “Khira.” He squeezed her squirming bottom and beat his wings harder. “Remember the last time I had a climax? That was the first time I lifted off. Maybe this is what I need to perk me up. I know you can feel how willing I am.”

  She moaned again, loudly, as he rolled the bulge of his erection against her mound. The treatment fattened him even more, leaving him breathless in a different way. Khira cursed, but he didn’t care. She had unhitched one leg from his waist and was quickly wrenching off that side of her trousers.

  “You have to believe me,” she panted. “I wouldn’t be risking this unless I were completely desperate.”

  He loved that she was desperate, loved that she slung her leg back around him, grabbed his prick, and shoved it greedily inside her quim—which had to be a hundred times as hot as the surrounding air. Harry’s wings momentarily lost their coordination. He swerved sharply left before his overloaded senses recovered.

  “It’s fine,” he assured her as he straightened their path again. “I can fly. You—God—you pull up me, and I’ll push in.”

  As it turned out, his wings did this for him. Every downbeat drove him deep into her body’s clasp, until he’d have sworn the pleasure had him stretching inches longer than usual. She had to do that shifting trick with her sheath to let his full length in. She began coming in minutes, not once but repeatedly, crying out at each climax and begging him to go on. She was not a Yama then, but just a woman, and Harry reveled in her need. His cock was soaked with her juices, slick as butter and hard as steel. He hardly knew where he was flying, only that no power on earth could make him want to stop.

  This felt better than any experience, of any sort, that he had ever had. She was fire in his arms, in his soul. When she came again, spasming hard around him, he wasn’t completely sure the pleasure wasn’t his.

  His body knew differently. His hips began to snap faster, doubling the speed of his wings. He realized his balls had rucked up against his body, preparing—rather imminently—to eject their stored burden.

  “I have to,” he warned her, gripping her bottom to sling her to his root. “I have to come now.”

  Her head arched back with her groan, but it wasn’t a groan of protest. She was tightening yet again, hard enough to make him see stars that weren’t hanging in the sky. Half a heartbeat was all it took. His seed burst from him like holy fire. He felt them soar upward dizzyingly fast. Rosy lights shimmered around them, flaring, blending, until they formed one shared blanket of energy. It was an orgasm sweet enough to nearly kill a man.

  Happily, it didn’t. Harry came back to his proper mind when they drifted, entirely without exertion on his part, through a wispy cloud. Tiny ice crystals tinkled against their skin.

  “Oh, Harry.” Khira’s nose nuzzled his neck. “That was nice.”

  He laughed and took control of their flight, angling them down to warmer air currents. Evidently, they’d been making love for some time. The horizon was growing lighter, and, wonder of wonders, he thought he saw the ring of seven grassy hills Khira had told him to watch for. A miniature castle sat within their shallow bowl, looking very much like something from the human Dark Ages. The oddity that crouched behind it he had seen only once in an illustration. If memory served, it was called a geodesic dome.

  Harry experienced a shiver of excitement no amount of uncertainty about his future could quell. Whatever else came of this adventure, he was going to see secrets few humans had.

  “I think we’re here,” he said.

  “Good,” Khira responded sleepily. “I need a nap.”

  Chapter 7

  THEY did not go directly to her parents’ estate. After all these years away, Khira needed time to gather her defenses. Instead, they napped in a sheltered hollow near Forette lands, with Harry on his back and Khira wrapped in his wings, lulled into relaxation by the humming bees. Thanks to her father’s genius, this area had its own microclimate. The springlike temperatures saved them from shivering.

  Khira woke when Harry stirred beneath her. She wanted to purr at the way his hand immediately smoothed her hair down her spine. Embarrassing though it was to admit, she could get used to human tenderness.

  “Khira,” he said, his voice still thick with sleep. “There’s something I need to know. How can I be strong enough to do what I did last night? Just how much did you change me?”

  Khira knew he meant the flying and not the sex, but still had to fight the blood rushing to her cheeks. The few extra adjustments she’d made to him had not been part of her assignment.

  “As long as I was working on you,” she said, “I corrected some…inefficiencies. In your muscles. And your cardiovascular system. You mustn’t have been taking good enough care of yourself. Your heart had some problems. I wanted you to have a good, long life, and if we happened to be separated in the future, I wanted to be sure you could defend yourself.”

  “Then I’m as strong as a Yama now?”

  “You do appear to be, though—clearly—you’ve manifested a few more changes than I expected.”

  He sat up with her in his arms, the better to think about this, or perhaps just to shake the circulation back into his wings. She thought he might comment on her taking liberties with his insides, however well meaning, but when he returned his burning gaze to hers, he had other matters on his mind.

  “Khira, no one ever said they loved me before.”

  “I thought humans said that all the time.”

  “Not the ones who knew me. My mother died the day I was born. I never knew who my father was. Strangers took care of me until I ran off. The people I’ve met since have kept their distance. I suppose I’m not the warmest person they know.”

  Khira knew warmth was culturally relative, but this took her aback. Hadn’t Harry let down his guard with anyone but her? She petted his naked shoulder and then the soft cream-colored down beneath the feathers of his right wing. His eyes closed briefly with pleasure. She sensed emotion in him, deeper than any that had sounded in his voice or shone in his eyes, deeper perhaps than any Yama would have strength to face. He had been lonely, achingly so, among people who did not regard isolation as their common lot. Aching for him herself, Khira tried to say the right thing.

  “It hurt that no one said they loved you.”

  Harry shrugged. “Sometimes it did.”

  More than sometimes, she thought. “I’ll tell you again,” she promised rashly. “If you want me to.”

  “I don’t want you to lie. Not anymore.”

  “I didn’t lie the last time. If this feeling inside me isn’t love, no Yama knows what love is. I risked everything I valued to ensure your safety.”

  “Including your life.”

  “Well, I wasn’t certain the guards would kill me. I only thought they might.”

  Something about the way she said this caused him to laugh. She realized she didn’t mind. The sound seemed natural, even pleasant, coming from him. His eyes were shining now, as they hadn’t when he admitted to being hurt. Harry allowed tears to rise from pleasure or amusement, but not for pity of himself.

  “I hope you’ll tell me you love me again,” he said, “any time you’d like.”

  Khira nodded, hoping this response was acceptable. A Yama would have been insulted to receive far subtler professions of fondness more than once a week. She wondered if, as a human, Harry would find once a day too much. She suspected she wasn’t going to wish to say it any less.

  “There’s something I need to warn you abo
ut,” she said, done with putting it off. “Before we reach my old home.” She pulled in a breath and let her confession out in a rush. “My parents belong to a sect called the Laughing Yama, which was formed not long after humans encountered us. They believe laughter strengthens their minds and bodies. When I was a child, every day, for half an hour, my parents would send me to my room to laugh.”

  Harry’s brows were raised with suppressed humor. “They sent you to your room to laugh?”

  “I expect that doesn’t sound bad to you, but it branded me as different, and among the Yama, being different isn’t tolerated well. If my parents hadn’t been members of the aristocracy, and certified geniuses, the emperor would have banished them. As it is, certain doors will never open to me because of them.”

  Harry looked at her kindly. “I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry for anything that hurts you.”

  Khira waved his sympathy away, though in truth it felt nice. “The past doesn’t matter. You won’t dislike them. They’re decent people, and they’re virtually guaranteed to like you—which is fortunate since we may have to stay with them for a while.”

  “Virtually guaranteed?” He puffed his chest. “I like the sound of that.”

  She didn’t explain that they were going to like him because all Laughing Yama liked humans—or thought they should. Most had never met one in the flesh. More important to her was that Harry didn’t appear put off by the prospect of being stuck with her. This suggested that the love he’d expressed was not a passing state. The tension that had been gripping Khira’s throat eased just enough to let her heart rise into it.

  Khira hadn’t mentioned her family was rich. Then again, conceivably, among her people, living in castles was commonplace. The knocker Harry had taken hold of dropped to the thick wood door with a hollow boom. He felt, quite distinctly, that he was stepping from his proper place. For Khira’s sake he hid his insecurity. Yama or not, she looked nervous enough for both of them.

  After two long minutes, during which he fought not to fidget, the giant door swung silently open. A tall, slender woman stood behind it in a flowing, red silk gown—also Medieval in style. Apart from her silver hair, she looked very much like Khira. With widened eyes, she took in the tableau before her: the rough-faced, winged human standing shoulder to shoulder with her rumpled and estranged daughter. To Harry’s surprise, she did not enfold Khira in her arms, but spoke as if they’d seen each other the day before.

  “Good heavens!” she exclaimed, her inflection nearly human. “What have you done to this man?”

  Khira bristled in a highly muted Yamish way. “Why do you assume it was me?”

  “Because I know you, daughter. You feel compelled to do the impossible just to prove you can. But, please, both of you come in. I am Brinmythra Forette—Dr. Forette, if you like. Welcome to our home.” She bowed, the palms of her hands pressed together before her breasts. Then she added, rather oddly, “Hahahahaha.”

  The laugh was less convincing than her good heavens, but Harry assumed it related to her philosophical persuasion. He bowed back as smoothly as he was able to, what with the extra weight on his back. “Pleased to meet you, Dr. Forette. I’m Harry Wirth.”

  As he stepped into the great hall behind Khira’s mother, two silver-faced servants in old-fashioned human livery bowed to them.

  “Don’t mind the androids,” Khira’s mother said. “They’re just prototypes.”

  Harry jerked his brows at Khira for an explanation. She mouthed later silently, but her mother turned in time to catch the exchange.

  She had stopped beneath a suit of armor that hung suspended from the vaulted ceiling. It seemed to be serving in place of a chandelier. An electric light had been installed inside it, and golden rays shot out from the chinks. Evidently, not all the decorating choices here were human.

  “Do you know,” Khira’s mother said, her head tilted thoughtfully to the side. “You two have complementary auras, truly a perfect match. I never knew that could happen between the races. Considering Harry has all that lovely etheric force, the two of you must have an interesting time in bed.”

  “Mother,” Khira said.

  Her mother looked innocent. “Is there some reason I shouldn’t mention this? Your father and I were the same, though naturally we’re both Yamish. I doubt she’ll be able to drain you,” she added to Harry in an aside. “Mates with matching auras tend to form energy circuits.”

  “Mother is an expert in auric systems,” Khira explained through slightly gritted teeth. “And robotics. And please don’t take her seriously when she calls us ‘mates.’”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Harry said, though he knew his grin was telling Khira differently. She was far too flustered not to have thought of them being mates herself, a term he suspected meant spouses rather than friends. That concept appealed to him a good deal more than he might have guessed.

  Khira was wondering if this reunion could get any more awkward, when her father burst into the great hall from a back chamber. Per usual, his hair was standing out in great white tufts. He was half a foot taller than Harry and spindly as a stork, the trait for height occasionally being exaggerated in the upper ranks.

  “Hahahahaha,” he said, the formal laugh of greeting coming out a pant. “Good Lord, Khira, I told the minister you weren’t here!”

  “What minister?” asked Khira’s mother as Khira—in spite of a lifetime schooling herself out of bad childhood habits—squeezed Harry’s hand in alarm. More shameful, she wasn’t one bit sorry when he returned the grip reassuringly.

  Khira’s father straightened his tunic. “It’s the emperor’s minister of science. He set his transport down in my tomatoes! He didn’t say so, but I got the impression Khira was in trouble. Maybe she and this, er, winged human ought to hide in the dungeon. Hello, by the way,” he added to Harry. “I’m Dr. Forette. Always pleased to meet a member of the race who was born knowing how to laugh. Hahahahaha!”

  “Er, the honor’s mine,” Harry said before turning his confused face to Khira. “Should we hide?”

  Khira put her hands on his ribs and let his energy flow into her. Her mother had always excelled at reading auras. Khira wasn’t surprised that she’d seen her and Harry’s complementary patterns when Khira had not. Now, knowing she couldn’t weaken him—his etheric force would simply flow back to him again—she enjoyed the warmth and steadiness the contact lent.

  “The minister has already guessed we’re here,” Khira said. “He’s compiled a file on me. I suppose he knew better than I did who I’d turn to. It might be best just to speak with him.”

  “No, no, no!” her father broke in, waving his long, thin hands. “Those inner circle bastards trick everyone.”

  Khira knew why he was upset. Her parents, who had little head for contracts, had gotten the short end of more than one deal with the royals.

  “You taught me I couldn’t run from my problems,” she reminded him. “You said they’d only run after me. At least I know he’s not here to kill me. He’d have hired someone else for that. Maybe we can work out an amnesty.”

  “An amnesty for what?” demanded Khira’s mother, but Khira had no time to explain.

  “Wait with my parents,” she said to Harry, pressing both his hands to her heart. “If the minister sees you, he’ll only be reminded of what I’ve done.”

  “I’ll send the androids,” her mother offered before Harry could object to being left behind. “If the minister tries to intimidate you, they’ll wrestle him to the ground.”

  “I thought they were prototypes.”

  “They’re good prototypes,” she emphasized.

  Rather than laugh, because the robots were probably a hair’s-breadth from perfect, Khira gave her mother the sort of hug neither had gotten into the habit of exchanging.

  “Oh, my,” her mother said, unsurely patting her daughter’s shoulder, thus giving Khira the singular satisfaction of having been, for once, more eccentric than her parents.

 
The emperor’s minister of science wasn’t one to beat around the bush. He waited on the marble path beside her father’s pansy beds, glittering in his gold-edged blue robes. Her father’s geodesic weather dome rose behind him, lightning flickering in its upper reaches as some experiment played out.

  The minister raised his brows at the two bewigged silver androids tramping behind her, but must have decided they weren’t a threat. His own guards stood in the distance beside his aircar. As soon as Khira reached him, he spoke.

  “Congratulations, Dr. Forette. You passed the test. The emperor didn’t think you would, but I was certain.”

  Khira was convinced he’d intended to steal her breath, but she’d had too many shocks of late to lose it easily. “How can I have passed?” she asked, with nearly royal aplomb. “I ran away with my subject.”

  The minister almost smiled. “True, but the experiment itself succeeded brilliantly—despite the unfortunate side effect. And my apologies for the guards trying to shoot you. They hadn’t been apprised of all the…subtleties of the situation. Whether you realize it or not, Dr. Forette, you have proven yourself the premiere geneticist working today. Not since ancient times has a true chimera been created. The emperor would like to finance a lab for you. Here, if you like. Your parents’ land seems suitably isolated.”

  Khira suspected this wasn’t a suggestion, but chose to treat it as if it were. “What, exactly, would I be doing in my lab?”

  “Seeing if you can undo the damage that was done to Yamish royals during earlier genetic trials.”

  “How much earlier?” she asked, immediately wondering if there were secret records to which she could obtain access.

  The minister gazed placidly at her face, no doubt able to read her rising interest. “If I said three thousand years, would it frighten you? No, I didn’t think so. It’s true. The myths of our bygone history do not lie. The so-called ancient Yama were every bit as advanced as we are today. Now, after millennia of inbreeding among themselves, the royals are paying the price for those earlier scientists’ genius.”