
Dante's World 4: Crimson NightsWilla Okati
All rights reserved.Copyright ©2006 Willa OkatiNo part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file copying or sharing, and email, without prior written permission from Changeling Press LLC. Willful violation of this policy will result in suspension of account privileges and will lead to prosecution.WARNING: Illegal files may contain virusesISBN (10) 1-59596-506-8ISBN (13) 978-1-59596-506-6Formats Available:HTML, Adobe PDF,MobiPocket, Microsoft ReaderPublisher:Changeling Press LLCPO Box 1046Martinsburg, WV 25402-1046www.ChangelingPress.comEditor: Crystal EsauCover Artist: Fabiano Fabris
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Memory
"Are you sure this is the way out?"
"Of course it's the way out. Don't you trust me?"
"About as far as I can throw you." Silvan nudged his lover, Malaki, in the ribs. "Not that I'd have to work hard. Bird-bones."
Malaki rounded on Silvan. "Bird-bones, am I?" He bared his fangs, long and curved... slightly blunt on the tips. "Well, I should be, shouldn't I? I'm an old man and I haven't had a decent hunt in days."
"Old! You'll be old when the hills crumble. Not before then."
Malaki shook his head. "No jokes about hills crumbling, now. This is pretty rugged terrain. I wouldn't be out here, crawling around the mountains, if I had half a reason not to. I'd be down in the tavern, watching the men laugh and dance. Why aren't I, again? Oh, right. It'd be because I hooked up with you, one of this pesky new brood of demons, who have no common sense whatsoever, and don't know any better than to bait the Lord's daughter into a vampire's lair at sundown. Idiot."
"I didn't know she was --"
"Oh, save it." Malaki rubbed the flat of his hand against his forehead. His dark brown hair, never to be laced with any thread of silver no matter how old he got, tangled in his fingers. "I give in. We are lost."
Watching him, Silvan felt a pang of regret. After all, Malaki had been good to him. He'd taken him in when he was new to this world, watched his back, taught him how to love a good hot reaming up the ass... he owed the older vampire something for that, especially. He bit at his own lip with ordinary teeth and tasted copper on his tongue. "I'm sorry," he tried. "I really am sorry. I know times are hard, and getting even harder day by day."
"The rogues." Malaki spat on the ground. "They've ruined civilized life for us all. Them and their violent ways, refusing to take from the willing or those who like the chase, stealing from those they stalk unaware. Their love for destruction -- pfah! Makes me sick."
"Love makes you sick?" Silvan tried a gentle nudge, tickling up Malaki's ribs. "I thought love made you happy. Made you want to throw me up against the wall and sink in. Teeth and cock. Blood and come."
Malaki was staring at him. He licked his lips as if they'd suddenly gone dry. "Do you want me to take you right here, right now?" he asked. "I could. There's a nice stone just begging for me to toss you over it and eat your ass out before I hammer home a lesson about respect."
"Is that a threat, or is that a promise?" Silvan felt his inner fire start to burn. Sunlight and flames were deadly to his kind, but he was always hot for his lover, and Malaki could turn him into an inferno.
Malaki crept closer, easing his way across loose scree. He kept his eyes fixed on Silvan, a gaze that would have mesmerized any human. Silvan was more or less immune to vampire magics, but not to the pure lust radiating off his lover. He grinned, egging Malaki on. "Come on," he said. "Make up your mind, old man."
Malaki stopped almost close enough to touch, not-breathing into Silvan's face. "Which do you want it to be?" he asked softly. "What do you say we have at it? Right here, right now? Your bare ass under the moonlight, on the hillside. My cock splitting you in two. Do you want this? Want me?"
"Always."
Malaki stood back, spreading his arms wide. "Enough to come and take me?"
Silvan grinned. He knew better than to play the vampire's games. Instead of pouncing, he glanced quickly around for a less-rocky flat space, and lay down upon it, spreading his thighs wide apart and tucking his hands behind his head. "That's not how we do it," he purred. "You're the one who takes me. Always have, and always will. You're my Dom."
Malaki's face hardened as he prowled closer. "You think to taunt me? Me, who could kill you without half trying?"
Silvan knew his part in the game. "You could, if you wanted, try," he said, bringing one knee up, opening himself further. "But why slaughter me for my thin blood when you could slake your other hungers in my tight young body?" He ran a hand up his thigh, encased in tight black leather worn until it was soft and molded to him like a second skin. From cock to knee he traced a line, watching Malaki's eyes follow. "You know you want this," he said softly.
Malaki went to one knee. He reached out to press a palm down on the growing bulge in Silvan's laced-up pants, kneading roughly, not using all of his strength, but reminding the demon of what he had. "And if I did choose to take you? What would you do then?"
Silvan let his eyes fall half-closed and showed his teeth in a lazy grin. "I suppose I'd have to let you."
"Not good enough." Malaki growled.
"I'd enjoy your taking me."
"Would you now?"
"I crave it. Crave you." Silvan drew his other leg up and bowed both of them wide, as if he were naked and inviting Malaki in. "Come and take me, if you want me."
Malaki snarled and fell upon Silvan, just as Silvan had hoped, fumbling with the long laces that ran the length of both legs, and those over his swollen cock. Silvan tried to help and got his hand slapped for his pains, so he laid back and laughed, watching Malaki work himself into a frenzy over the complicated fastenings.
"What's so funny?" Malaki demanded.
"Only thinking about you," Silvan replied, demure as a girl. "Enjoying the thoughts of what you'll do to me once I'm naked and oh, so helpless. You like them fresh and supple, don't you?"
Malaki stared at Silvan, then darted up to press a ferocious kiss to his mouth. Silvan tasted blood again before Malaki was through, drinking the precious drops as if they would be his last. Who knew they wouldn't be? They were wasting precious time here on the mountainside, having a fuck when they should be finding shelter, but ah, what was life without a little risk?
He licked thirstily at the drops he'd gotten out of Malaki, loving the taste of the vampire's blood. There was a richness and bouquet you just didn't get with the younger breed. When there was time to sit around and tell stories, Malaki pretended to complain about the taste of Silvan's own youthful blood, but he still bit when they fucked and didn't say anything while he was drinking up pure sex.
Malaki parted from Silvan, who looked up to see the vampire's eyes blazing with lust. He shimmied beneath his Master, pressing up with his swollen groin, feeling a matching hardness bump into his own erection. "Do you want me now? Do you give in?"
"I never give in. I always win." Malaki gave Silvan's flank a hard slap, forceful enough for a powerful sting. "Roll over," he ordered. "I want you on your stomach."
"I thought you liked to see my face."
"I want you rough and dirty and fast this time," Malaki insisted, pushing at Silvan with a strength much greater than Silvan's own. "Move it. We don't have much time, and I want to make the most of what we've got left."
Silvan rolled over gladly, the cool air caressing his naked ass as he wriggled among the stones, trying to find a position where he wasn't kneeling directly on a rock. Harder than he thought, but from the small growls and curses that came from Malaki, he imagined his partner was enjoying the show of a bared bottom undulating for his pleasure. When he finally found a place, he writhed one more time, then purred, "I'm ready for you."
"Oh, no, you're not." Malaki smacked Silvan's ass hard enough to leave a bruise, if he were human. A cooler caress followed, with no blood heat in the hand, tracing a fingerprint-shaped design on one cheek. "I'd mark you if I could," Malaki said, sounding wistful. "I can bite and I could beat you, but you'd heal."
"You'll never make me a slave, anyway." Silvan shifted impatiently. "Are you going to fuck me, or what?"
"Impatient, impatient."
"You were the one who said we didn't have much time."
"And we don't. But there's always time to take a little pleasure." Silvan sensed Malaki moving, and then felt the sting of twin punctures in the soft flesh of his ass. Fangs, the bastard had used his fangs! He felt the suction of being drunk from, the tingling sensation shooting straight to his cock. Silvan writhed and cried out, unable to find words for what he was feeling.
"I knew this would shut you up," Malaki muttered, laving the small wounds with his tongue -- to close them, Silvan guessed. His tongue didn't stop there, though, but continued on, tracing patterns and circles, squiggles and sigils, all around both cheeks. "You like this, don't you?" he asked, not seeming to expect an answer. "You like having your ass licked, you whore of a demon."
"I'm only --" Silvan struggled to say, "-- a whore for you."
"As you should be." Though Malaki needed no oxygen, he sounded short of breath, just as if they were human lovers. "My whore. My pet. My student. Mine."
"Yours," Silvan managed, before Malaki parted his ass cheeks with both hands and dove into the crevice, using that clever tongue to rim circles and circles around his puckered hole.
"Do you like this?" Malaki said against Silvan's skin. "My beautiful slut, do you enjoy my mouth on you?"
"You know I do," Silvan gasped.
"Here? Do you like it here?" The pointed tip of Malaki's tongue poked into Silvan's hole, long enough to reach the spongy lump that gave him so much pleasure -- only a brush, but enough to make him writhe and yell.
"Yes! Fuck, yes, I like you there!" he shouted. "More, please, more. Hells, Malaki, please, more."
"Mmm." Malaki hummed against Silvan's ass. He withdrew his tongue and slid one finger into Silvan's hole, rubbing the gland he'd found before. Silvan all but screamed as that talented finger massaged him from the inside, twisting and rubbing and driving him out of his mind. The fit was snug, but deliciously so. Still close to a virgin, Silvan was tight every time, he knew, and a prize because of it. And oh, gods, but how he loved it when Malaki ate him out -- fingered him -- did anything to him! The vampire must have bent his head again, for Silvan felt the tickle of his dark hair and then the sting of sharp teeth on sensitive inner skin. The sensation made him yell and see stars. He heard Malaki chuckle, sounding far too pleased with himself.
Malaki withdrew, and momentarily Silvan heard the vampire wrestling with his own pants. Also leather, they were simpler, without the lacing to run up both sides. He could undo the groin fastening and skin them off down his hips with some frustration at the slowness of peeling leather, but at greater speed. Silvan listened, cock throbbing for some sort of touch, aching for release, to the sounds of Malaki preparing himself.
They'd carried nothing to ease the way, but Silvan knew Malaki would take care of him. He liked his sex raw and rough, anyway. The vampire's impatient fingers, wet with saliva, stretched him wide and his own body relaxed well enough to open up and welcome in any intruder. By the time Silvan felt Malaki's cock pressing at his entrance, he was all but ready to beg for the sex. No one could fuck him like Malaki could, and he'd never want anyone to, either. Vampires did not bond easily, especially with demons, but they were in this strange life together, for good and for always. Not just because of the sex, even though that was fan-fucking-tastic, but because there was genuine affection between them.
Right then, though, Silvan was concentrating on the sex. And what sex!
Malaki thrust in, hard, making Silvan yell out in bliss. He never understood why more men weren't gay, when fucking up the ass felt this damned good. It'd been his idea to teach some of the vampire women how to anally pleasure their mates, and he might have made a good bit of coin with his lessons, if they hadn't had to run first. Perhaps when they reached their new home...
But to hell with lessons! He'd think about them later. At the moment, all that mattered was Malaki's cock slamming in and out of his ass, tight and cool, the path soon made slicker by the other vampire's stream of pre-come. Malaki had his talents; Silvan cried out when Malaki managed to shove a hand beneath him and began to squeeze his own cock in a rhythm that matched the beating his ass was taking.
When Silvan couldn't hold off any longer, he cried out in warning. Malaki's fingers raked down his back, making furrows even through his shirt, and he made a loud, strangled sound as he lost control himself. Silvan felt his jets of come from the inside and spasmed again, spurting still more seed onto the rocks.
They hung together, shaking hard, for a long minute, and then Malaki let out a deep, unneeded breath. He drew out of Silvan's ass with a wet sound, then flopped onto his side next to Silvan, reaching out a lazy hand to caress him. Silvan made a small, contented sound and curled into the touch, savoring this brief moment of afterglow. He knew it wouldn't last long.
"You," Malaki murmured, "are amazing. You take and take, always so freshly tight, and you let me bend you like a rubber toy without complaint. I've lived a long time, Silvan, but no one's ever taken care of me like you do."
Silvan sighed in contentment. "I live for you," he said. "Or rather, I exist for you, and you alone."
"Mmm."
"I wish we could stay here forever."
"We'd be caught," Malaki warned. "We don't dare."
Neither moved. Not for a long moment. Silvan cherished every second that they lay together, certain each moment would be the last.
Finally, although he seemed to regret not staying longer, Malaki stood up with a grunt and a groan of a man who'd been resting on rocks poking him in rough places, offering Silvan a hand. As for Silvan, he had to stand naked and begin the long process of re-lacing his pants, all while Malaki grinned and watched him with a hungry gleam in his eye.
"When we get to our new home," Malaki promised, "you and I will fuck all night long."
"I'll hold you to that," Silvan said, slipping the last lace into place and tying a square knot. "But for now, we hurry?"
"We hurry," Malaki said, taking Silvan's hand and beginning to step forward. In doing so, he tripped against a large stone, his vampire strength sending it off-balance and down the hill. Both men froze as they heard a large, vicious rumbling begin when the small boulder hit bottom.
They had no gods to take their names in vain, not really, but Malaki cursed in the old vampire language before reaching out to grab Silvan. "Hide!" he roared. "Find shelter!"
His warning did no good. "Oh, shit!" was all Silvan had time to say before the avalanche hit, and all they both knew was darkness.
\*
Malaki dreamed of stillness, and woke to find he had lost all sense of reality.
The world had gone away. Darkness and silence were all he could feel, but it shouldn't be... there ought to be sounds -- the rushing of words against his ears, the stomp and click of heavy-shod feet marching down busy streets, the heaviness of humans, meat on legs, breathing. Even the echoes. Where had the echoes gone?
He couldn't open his eyes, but it was so black behind the lids he figured there must not have been any light to see. He knew -- he remembered -- that light existed once. Lying there in the dark, he knew it felt strange for some reason, but he realized he missed it. Everything from reflected moonlight to the rush lights in a dirty pub.
He thought he should speak... say something... make words... even if just to see if he was deaf, but they wouldn't come. His tongue lay thick and still and dry in his mouth, refusing to move at his command.
He wanted to protest by flailing out his fists, but his arms and legs only flinched a little, twitching with muscle spasms. His stomach, already empty and upset, roiled in protest. It was all too much, much too much, but he didn't know why.
His mouth shook and opened soundlessly. His teeth were sharp, the movement hurt, and it put him in mind of newborn kittens. Cats, fuck! He hated cats. That much he knew. Sneaking, creeping creatures. Always looking at a man sideways as if they knew much more than he did. Women loved them. He loved men.
So. He was remembering some things after all. That brought him a measure of comfort.
Without any warning, something warm and damp touched his face, dabbing gently. He startled, straining to open his eyelids. A cat! No... no... not rough enough. Who? What? How?
He didn't know. But all the same, it felt strangely good. When it went on for a few minutes, and his skin began to feel better, less stiff and scratchy, he relaxed into the cleansing.
Someone was taking care of him.
Though he didn't know it, he drifted off into sleep with the faintest of smiles on his battered lips.
\*
When the heavy pressure eased once again and Malaki woke up a second time, he lay still. Figuring out his next move. His eyes refused to open. He tried and found himself utterly unable to manage the feat. He hurt, and he didn't want to play the game where he found out just how much he could take, and how much he couldn't.
Besides, something distracted him. He could hear again. Not much, but enough. The slight swishing of something. Cloth? Yes, cloth against a harder thing, something raspy and brittle. Scratch-scratch-scratch. It was a funny sound. He'd have laughed if his ribs weren't white-hot with pain. Was someone washing themselves?
Malaki felt a moment of utter relief. Wherever he was, whatever had happened, he wasn't alone.
If there weren't colors, then at least there was another person. A woman, round and soft? No... he'd rather think it was a man. Some male, dry-washing a hand through the stubble on his cheeks. Scratching fingers through the sprinkle of hair on his chest and the short-cropped locks of his head. If color still existed, what shade would that hair be?
A word came to his mind. Red.
The word almost turned him inside out. Images he couldn't understand barraged him, and his throat grew scalding-hot with dryness, then seared with the heat of imagined liquid pouring down it. His shuttered eyes burned with nightmare scenes of that strange bright shade splattered against walls, over snow, coursing down bodies. More, his nose twitched at the remembered smell of whatever that red was.
His mouth moved again, but he did not realize he was the one making the strange whimpering sounds he heard until his center of gravity shifted, altered by a weight pressing down beside him. He couldn't tell what it was he lay on, but he felt sharply the weight of the presence beside him.
Warm wetness returned, patting down his face. "Shh, shh." There came a noise he couldn't understand. "Quiet, then."
The words made no sense, and he couldn't figure out their tone. So sound was back, but it was meaningless.
"Are you hungry?"
Hungry. Yes. He knew that word. His stomach was so sore, though, that it whined instead of growled. The heavy weight pulled back a little. "Maybe not yet? We'll try again next time you wake up."
Pat, pat with the damp warmth. A cloth? There was a smell to the thing -- a hand -- that held the cloth. Smoke? He whimpered, trying to move away. Smoke meant hot, more red -- fire!
"Stop that." He felt a hand press hard on his aching shoulder, steadying him. "Whatever's troubling you, lover, take another rest from it. I'll stay here and keep watch while you sleep."
And so he did, willing or not. The dreamless state pounced from behind and swallowed him whole in one gulp.
He dreamed then, his mind filling with pictures and sounds. A small, dark woman, no, a woman and a man, no, two men, all shining hair and wide eyes, but they were monsters, killers. They'd stolen his heart to leave an empty space behind his ribs. But his heart didn't beat. How? How could it be dead when he was alive?
He awoke, gasping for air in shock, then choking on it for some reason he couldn't comprehend. His lungs didn't want to work. After a moment, he let them lie dormant. He didn't seem to need them. Besides, the air tasted wrong. Sour. Bitter. Gritty.
"Easy, easy there!" He heard the man coming, his footsteps loud and echoing on the floor. A loud echo that went on forever. The place must be big. He fought to open his eyes, to see -- to know -- to understand. He still couldn't.
"Stop that," his companion scolded. "Two of the finest black eyes I've ever seen, and you want to go looking about like a gawking out-of-towner. Stop now, I said stop. No need to know where we are just yet. We're safe. That's what matters."
Malaki relaxed, because he understood 'safe,' and he trusted the man taking care of him even if he smelled of wildfires and worry.
He wanted the soothing touch on his face again, and shifted a little in the hopes he'd be understood. Heard a long exhalation of breath. "Damned good thing neither of us has to drink this," the man muttered.
The words were just sounds in the air to Malaki, but there were other noises right away, ones he realized he knew. A thin trickling, a slosh, and then dripping. Dipping a dry cloth into a bowl of warmed water. So that was it. And oh, yes, then there it was again: pat, pat, pat, soothing him into a stupor.
"I swear you're more trouble than you're worth. I'll wait until you're yourself again and you can understand me. Nuisance," the man grumbled. "Are you hungry yet?"
Malaki considered the question. Yes. His stomach was rumbling. But more, he was sleepy. And so, he drifted away under the wonderfully soothing touch...
He awoke to darkness yet again, but this time something was new. There was a hard, cold thing pressed to his lower lip. It hurt. He made a low noise, trying to turn his head away.
"Enough of that!" His man's voice was rough when he spoke, hard and broken as the rubble Malaki thought he was lying on. Gravel? Broken stones?
The cold thing came back. "You've been three days without food, old man. You'll drink this down to the last drop if it's the last thing I do, understand?"
He didn't understand.
Something hot and wet filled his mouth. Startled, he choked, coughing on the stuff, and it splattered out. Away. It tasted of the red that he feared.
The man swore at him, slapping at the stuff where it had landed on his blackness. "What the hell's got into you, spitting good blood everywhere?" he demanded. "You know what trouble I went to getting this? I drained rat after rat in the rubble. Now you drink it, or you drown in it. Get me?"
Malaki licked his lips, struggling for comprehension. Drink?
"Here." The thing touched his lip a third time. "We'll go slower this time."
He felt the thinnest of trickles slip into his mouth, over his tongue, pooling at the back of his throat. A hand stroked his neck, up and down, coaxing the swallow that wanted to happen. Finally, things clicked into place and the liquid rushed down into his stomach.
Malaki moaned as the food hit his belly. He understood now. And he was hungry -- so hungry! He wanted to make a grab for the bowl, to gush the heat and light of it down his sore throat and into him, where it needed to be, but he was held back.
"Slow, I said," the man growled, trickling a bit more. "I've had one bath already. I don't care for another."
The ambrosia had to be sipped, then, a bit at a time. Malaki could feel the warmth of it tingling through his limbs, down his frozen arms and legs. So good. He wriggled a little, to see if he could, and gloried in the twitch of movement.
"Yeah, happy as a lark, I'll bet," the man said glumly. "There's a bit more of this left, then back to sleep with you. Maybe now you'll start to heal."
Healing sounded good.
More food sounded better.
\*
When Malaki awoke again, he could speak. He was full of the certainty before he even opened his cracked lips and pushed the words out hard.
They emerged as a ragged whisper. "Where am I?"
He heard a flurry of startled movement. His companion had been relaxing, too, while he slept. "I'll be damned a second time," he said, sounding amused. "He lives. Or un-lives, as the case may be."
That was confusing. Malaki shook his head the little bit that he could. "Where am I?"
"That question's just a bit trite, if you don't mind my saying so." Cool hands touched his forehead, pulling down a little on Malaki's eyelids, still swollen shut. "Better luck next time."
Malaki considered that, and then he tried again. "What happened?"
"Ah." The hands stilled. "You got hurt, didn't you?"
Yes. The pains, the flares in his bones and joints, that made sense. But... "How bad?" he croaked.
"Bad enough." The man didn't want to say anything else, Malaki could tell. Not about how damaged he must have been.
Malaki decided he could wait for answers. Trying to look properly hopeful and grateful, he asked, "Food?"
"Now that's a bit more like it, lover." A waiting cool surface brushed his mouth. "Lift your head a bit now, and do this yourself. Drink. Swallow."
It tasted of the red, and the red was good. What he needed.
He drank and was content. Tingly-warm through every muscle. For the moment.
\*
An uncounted stretch of time passed and Malaki was awakened again, this time to a shock. His eyes slid open automatically, and he could see. Just a bit, flashes of blurriness here and there. Something red-gold-colored moved and bobbed in his vision. He turned his neck, far easier now, to track it.
Was that his helper? He'd hunkered down over something painfully bright and... warm. Malaki would have liked to be closer to that. Now that feeling was returning to him, he realized he was desperately cold.
"Give it a minute." Red-gold poked at bright-and-hot. "Took me a while to find enough stray burnables. Can't make it too big, or we'll run out of fuel straightaway. But I expect you want this more than I do, so --"
Arms slid under his shoulders, startling him badly, until it sunk in that he was being moved ever so gently, a few precious feet closer to the warmth.
He closed his eyes in gratefulness. "Thank you."
The hand stroked over his face, infinitely tender. "Just for you, lover. Enjoy it all you like. I'll keep it burning all the night."
\*
Malaki was beginning to find comfort and ease from pain. His limbs moved a little more smoothly, though he was still weak as the kitten he'd first compared himself to. Cats, faugh!
He stayed mostly awake this time, only occasionally drifting into fever dreams.
When he emerged once, from the vision of the man who changed from monster to fighter to demon to man, he looked up and saw Red-gold's face more clearly. It looked... what was the word? Worried? Concerned.
"What?" he rasped.
"Nothing." Red-gold poked the fire with the end of a long stick. Sparks flew up in a beautiful, beautiful cloud, dissolving in the air. "Only just..." Jab. "Time's writ nothing across your face, do you realize? Them, me, none of it's left a mark the eye can see. It's all one to you, forever young and beautiful. Are you changed inside, at all? And me. Where're the scars I ought to bear across my heart? Or yours?"
"What?"
The man frowned. He wouldn't look at Malaki. "You talk in your sleep, you know."
Why was that wrong? "What... what did I say?"
"Couple of names. People I thought you'd long gotten over. A couple of old lovers." Jab, jab went the stick. "That's all."
Malaki tried to put out a hand and catch Red-gold's sleeve. "They're all right?"
"Mmm." His companion put down the stick. He looked away and wouldn't meet Malaki's eyes. "I expect that wherever they are, it's better than here."
That wasn't an answer. Malaki wasn't sure if he wanted to know, but the pressure of lying so still weighed on him.
He could remember more things now -- bits and pieces. Hands on him. Stroking, petting, caressing. Undoing his shirt and kissing down the line of revealed skin. Hands on his hips, rocking them to and fro. He couldn't tell if they were freckled or long and slim. Maybe both.
He remembered... love. Intense. Enough to stop his breath, except now he remembered that he didn't breathe, either. Enough to make him want to breathe, to pant in longing. He squinted, wishing he could see Red-gold's hands, let them be held in his own. "Are you..." he started hesitatingly. "Are you someone I love?"
"Gods, you can ask that?" The man cast down the stick and stalked away, sharp and angry. "I thought so, but they were the only ones you called for. But they're not here, are they? Just me. So put up with me, Malaki. I'm all you've got."
All Malaki could think to say was, oh.
So he didn't.
\*
Sleeping, he dreamed of being mobile again, of moving through the air gracefully as fish in water. Of bare skin and warm or cool bodies pressed together, open-mouthed kisses that sought to drain he and his lover dry, of white-hot stickiness spurting to land on his belly.
He awoke with his head in Red-gold's lap. The man was petting his hair, soft as a child's touch. Malaki's eyes could open almost all the way by then, and his sight was nearly clear.
It didn't help. He didn't recognize the place that he lay in. Cavernous, full of stone, stone, nothing but stone and thick, heavy dust. "Where --"
"Don't ask me where we are, now," his companion warned, still stroking. "I don't know. We had to run for it, didn't we? All the same, we're safe enough here. I've checked and checked while you slept."
It was enough. Malaki trusted the man. Turning his head a little, he nuzzled against the thigh his cheek was pillowed on. There was something like a purr welling up inside.
Loving the feel of flesh on -- yes, cotton was the word, they were loose trousers that Red-gold was wearing -- he burrowed his face deeper into the leg.
A rippling ran down into his gut. Felt so good. Burning, like the fire. But it didn't hurt. Red-gold made a sudden, pleased noise.
"Now there's a fine sight," he said approvingly. One of the hands on Malaki's face drifted down, trailing over his chest and down to the waist. It toyed with what was left of the ragged belt cinching his own pants around his waist.
The rippling tingle increased, centering in his swelling groin, from the touch that felt so good. Shameless, he arched toward the hand. He remembered this, from his dreams. Not exactly what or why, but how it felt, and he craved it more than the red food.
"Go on, then," said his companion, and he was purring in time with his teasing strokes that just wouldn't go low enough, teasing Malaki into a hardness that burned. "Part of you recognizes this. How about the rest?"
The rest?
"Say my name," Red-gold encouraged. "Tell me who it is touching you. Remember me."
Malaki struggled for words. He was hungry, so hungry, and not for the red food. He wanted... he didn't know what he wanted. But more of it, much more.
"My Master?" he ventured.
The hand working such magic on him jerked back and away. "No." He felt the comforting lap pull away, levering his head back down to sharp ground.
"Don't..." he protested. "Don't go."
Red-gold barked a laugh. "Me? I'm not going anywhere, am I? That's the problem. Not going for help, not going outside, not doing anything. Just staying here to help your sorry ass. Even when you haven't got a fucking clue who I am. That's what."
He whirled around and kicked at a pile of stones. They flew into the distance, striking sparks against some far wall, while Red-gold screamed. "Damn it!"
A slow tear leaked down Malaki's cheek. He'd hurt the man, his only friend. He knew somehow that if he could, he would do anything to make it right.
He just didn't know how.
\*
The roaring burn woke him again. Cool, hot, warm, cold. Malaki's eyes fluttered open and saw that his shirt had been undone and hung at his sides, revealing horrific, livid patterns of healing bruises. His pants were opened, and pushed down to his knees.
Red-gold's hands were running over his thighs, taking too long and going too languidly to be checking for damage, but not nearly long enough to be a caress. Malaki realized he'd become erect again, his cock hard enough to hurt and lying nearly flat against his belly.
On his hands and knees between Malaki's spread legs, bent knees, his companion looked up. His eyes were a startling bright shade. "I'll make you remember me," he growled softly. "Starting with this..."
Red-gold's soft mouth dipped down and brushed a kiss across the leaking tip of Malaki's cock. Malaki gasped, his torn nails scrabbling in the debris on the floor for a grip on something, anything.
"You'll remember," his companion whispered, words buzzing against so-sensitive flesh. "You'll know my name again..."
That mouth set to work, lapping down the underside of his erection and back up the other side; the wet cavern took him in wholly and sucked hard, tongue beating a savage rhythm on the veins. Malaki couldn't think, couldn't move. He wanted to breathe but found it to be impossible. His small world had narrowed to the wet brand coolly burning between his thighs.
"Say it," the man murmured around him. "Come on, you know me, lover. Say it."
Malaki groaned in frustration. He wanted to -- so much! Other words came pouring out, like "more, more" and "harder" and pleas to a god he didn't recognize, but not the one name that was wanted most.
He did know this man, he was sure of it. He knew this feeling, this position of vulnerability and power. It was more familiar to him than what he'd fed from.
But the name wouldn't come to him!
That viciously talented mouth went on and on, punishing and pleading, until Malaki was ready to weep from it. He moaned his apologies, and tried to warn the man -- but with a short, sharp bite he was driven over the edge and he was falling, falling, reaching out in vain for Red-gold.
Red-gold withdrew. "If you won't remember me that way, then how about this?" he asked, raising himself up. Malaki had a moment to admire the sight of the man, naked and hard, before Red-gold was maneuvering himself over Malaki's hips, taking his erection in hand and sinking down on the shaft, tight and dry, squeezing him in a way that made his mouth fall open and his lungs begin to work painfully, harshly panting in and out.
"Remember me," Red-gold began to chant. "Remember me, remember me, remember me..."
Malaki recalled one thing, and that was how to fuck. He seized hold of Red-gold's hips with both hands, easing the man up and down his own shaft, groaning with pleasure as the pressure intensified on each stroke. Red-gold's eyes were half-rolled back into his head, and as Malaki stared at him, transfixed, spume after spume of white, sticky stuff spurted from Red-gold's organ, splattering across his chest. A drop flew up to his own mouth and he licked at the fluid, amazed at how good it tasted. It was even better than the food.
The strangest of sensations came over him then. He felt his mind slipping away as pleasure he'd never dreamed of overtook him, felt his own cock pumping out pulses of liquid, filling up Red-gold from the inside... and then, the darkness overtook him again, and he knew no more.
\*
Malaki dreamed of making love, and awoke to discover that his world had returned to him.
He blinked. He was on the cold floor of what looked like a cave, a dirty shirt tossed over him like a blanket. His arms were wrapped around the a nude body, attached to him devotedly as a limpet to the shell. Wiry frame, red-gold colored hair, and the scent of wood smoke.
Silvan.
The relief that flooded him was a great tidal wave, making him dizzy. "Silvan," he whispered for the pleasure of it, shaking the smaller man a little. "Silvan?"
Sleepy eyes blinked open at him. "Malaki?"
All he could do was grin. "I remembered."
Malaki struggled to sit up, but Silvan pinned him fast. "Do you?" the demon demanded. "Tell me who I am. Who you are. What do you want, Malaki? Tell me."
"You. I want you." Malaki bent his head to Silvan and pressed their lips together for a kiss, deep and searching and apologizing for everything. "My head's been... I don't know."
Silvan's expression had softened, though he was clearly still fighting for his anger. "You damned near lost your head," he accused. "You know how close to dead you've been? Really dead, I mean?"
Malaki did, and it was enough to make him shudder. How many days had he been mad, hovering on the border between unlife and final death? How long had Silvan cared for him as if he were an infant, the Master in his own stead?
"Close enough --" Silvan began.
"-- as almost makes no difference," Malaki finished. "You brought me back. Fed me your own blood." He nipped at the healing knife marks on Silvan's neck. "As if I couldn't tell the difference between rat and demon. You gave me part of your own flesh and blood, just to keep me alive."
"It was all I could do, lover." Silvan's eyes were wide open, honest, and wary of his answer but blurting it out all the same. "Besides the foul rats, taking care of you was all I had to give."
There was only a little pain as Malaki pulled Silvan to him. "I know," he murmured against the soft lips. "Because you love me."
He pulled the gold-haired demon atop him, running lustful, greedy hands over a slim chest. "You're mine, aren't you?"
Silvan grinned at him. He took both hands, one in each of his own, and ground down. The touch of flesh on flesh set them both afire. "Yours," he agreed "And you're mine."
"Mine," Malaki gasped, gripping onto the tough, delicate fingers. "Yours, mine, yours..."
"Good. Don't you forget it again. No matter what. Understand?"
Malaki managed one frantic nod. Then, Silvan was on him, thrusting and rocking, hands moving here and there, then inside his body with three glistening fingers -- and slip, slick, he was inside Silvan, so tight and cool that his brain exploded all over again but it was so good to let his mind fragment into orgasm this time, and all he knew was flesh and heat and stickiness and sweat and lights exploding around them in glorious bursts that blinded him yet again...
When twilight came, or at least they thought it was the edge of night, Malaki was well enough to stand and walk. That meant it was time to go. Face whatever might be waiting for them outside. Malaki wasn't sure what it would be. Silvan, even less so.
A part of them would have liked to remain on the cave floor forever, riding and driving and coming in great sticky gouts between their pressed bellies... but they knew they couldn't.
But it'd happen again, when next they rested. The promise had passed between them, eye to eye, more than once. If they were running away together, they were with each other every step of the way.
Picking his way to what Malaki believed was an exit, he reached down and took the demon's hand in his own.
Silvan glanced up. "Are you all right?"
"I am." Malaki ran his fingers over Silvan's face, petting away imaginary blood and salving his hidden wounds. "Very all right."
Doubt flickered. "You're sure?"
"Positive." Malaki opened and closed his perfect eyes, then smiled. "Because, Silvan. I can see. I see you clearly now."
And together, they stepped out, into their future.
Don't Look Now
... And then there was the occasional night Ransom didn't tell anyone about. The boys at work didn't need to hear everything, now, did they? He was the new lad on the building sites, had only been at his new job for a few weeks at the time, and he could tell when something was having a go at messing with his head.
So he had nightmares. So what? Living on Dante's World, it'd be stranger if a man didn't.
Usually his wild rides on the night mare and strange dreams were the fault of good stout ale or a fine, rich rum. He got the same headaches from mead or wine, so he indulged in all that he could afford just as he pleased. Long as he proved sober enough for the work he did, the boss didn't care. The fine ladies on the streets might wrinkle up their perfect little noses at the smell of booze on him as he headed in to work, but a man with enough demon blood in him to make him a danger to himself -- well, he had to do what he had to do to get by, right?
He'd become more discerning with time. Had to. One simple reason. Along with the hangovers, he got the occasional foreseeing dream. A bit like what they said true demons could summon up, although he reckoned with himself it would be a bit harder to tell between a true vision and a boozy nightmare.
This, what was going on right at the moment, well, he wasn't at all sure what to make of it. Dream or reality? "Damned peculiar" was the best he could do.
Ransom was fairly sure he lay in his own bed. Looked like it. He bounced a little. Felt like it. He sniffed. Smelled like it. Ugh, might want to wash these sheets or change 'em before they disintegrate.
Then again, his bunkmate of the moment didn't seem to mind.
Therein lay the rub. He didn't recall bouncing the mattresses with anyone of late, though he supposed it was possible -- he must've hit the best out of five taverns that previous night. And those were the ones he could remember.
He drummed his fingers on his worn-out mattress. Right, then. He had a stranger in the bed with him. Could do, could deal. Part demon, remember, with no need to worry about catching or passing on any nasty human diseases.
No, the trouble, as far as Ransom was concerned, was that he couldn't see his visitor. He lay on his right side, facing the window, with his back to the stranger. All he could hear was breathing, light and even. Good sign, that. Whoever he'd brought home might be sleeping still.
But, could be they were awake, in which case a blind-panic whip-round to see who the hell was there just wouldn't do.
Decisions, decisions.
The bed felt a bit heavy; gravity pulled him back toward whoever-it-was. Hmm. He must have been a bit frisky and picked up a nice serving wench with good heavy thighs and heavenly big breasts fit to drown in. There was a nice thought, wasn't there? He'd half a mind to turn about and give that sort of dainty a good-morning kiss.
"Wouldn't mind if you did," a lazy voice drawled behind him, as if it had read his mind.
And oh, shit. Ransom froze, on account of that voice -- well, the timbre of it happened to be male. Very male. Very much so. Amused as hell, to boot.
After an all-too-long moment Ransom's heart started to beat again, and he could breathe. So, a man in his bed. Still not a problem. He liked to think of himself as open-minded, and it wasn't like he'd never done anything with a fellow before. After all, he'd sampled a bit of everything else that life tossed his way.
"Hangover?" the voice asked. It sounded rough as a lion's mane, but was also molasses-soft and had a nice, slow drawling pace. Warm, languid fingers came up to run through Ransom's hair, massaging gently at his temples.
Oh, that feels good. Maybe a bit too good. Ransom closed his eyes and breathed in and out, in and out. Whatever else this fellow had brought to bed with them, part of it happened to be a magic touch. The soreness of a head after too much fermented mash melted under those long, nimble fingers.
Unfortunately -- or perhaps not so very -- Ransom's smaller head decided to wake up and say good morning. If the man had touched him at all like that the night before, no wonder they ended up in bed together.
Ransom cleared his throat, a little embarrassed. There he was with a hard-on that could likely pound nails, and still no idea of who or -- deep gulp -- what he might be lying in bed with. And while he was open-minded, sure, he was also old-fashioned enough that he generally preferred to get and remember a name before he got the goods, so to speak.
"Don't remember a thing, do you?" The voice sounded ever so entertained by Ransom's plight. "And here I thought I'd made the earth move for you. A man ought to recall something like what we did."
As Ransom turned a little, a head popped into view over his shoulder, blessedly human-looking, staying just long enough for Ransom to get an impression of maple-colored hair and wicked eyes. It disappeared while an arm snaked across his middle, pulling him back, and well, bedamned if his new friend didn't have an erection to match his own.
"Always did like wake-up sex," the man rumbled. "Best kind. Slow, sweet, lazy."
Cool fingers trailed down Ransom's spine and he arched automatically into the touch. They slipped between the globes of his ass, making him gasp as he realized first that he was already good and slicked up, and second, that the man he lay with had no shame whatsoever. That hand of his was everywhere, sliding up and down his crack, tickling the sensitive skin behind his balls, nuzzling into his pucker and stretching him open. Evil little hand, it knew what it was doing and it seemed bent on playing Ransom like a sprightly fiddle.
"Anything starting to come back to you now?"
Well, yeah, something did happen to be coming, and it had better be him; soon, at that. Ransom gave up on the why and the whence forth as pretty damned unimportant when the man slipped the hand resting on his ribs down to cup his sac, then grip his cock.
"Say my name," the stranger urged as he stroked Ransom, slow but speeding up. "Fox. Call me Fox."
"Fox," Ransom choked out. "For the love of the gods, Fox --"
"Ah-ah, doubt they'd appreciate that." The hand jerked hard on his balls, just enough for a fantastic shot of pleasure/pain. "You remember me now, don't you?"
And yeah, how could he have forgotten? Laughing over a few or a dozen shots of Old Victory, the good stuff. Fox's treat. He'd had cash in good supply, and he'd said Ransom was paying him back by making him laugh. It'd been too long, he claimed, since he'd enjoyed himself that much.
Things got a bit fuzzy after that, but Ransom did remember coming back to his place, collapsing onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, and then... oh, yeah, then there had been the sex, with the coming, and coming again. Loudly. His neighbors had banged on the floors, the ceiling, and both adjoining walls.
"Oh, yeah," Fox growled playfully. "You know me." He pulled Ransom tighter still. The tip of his erection slid between slick cheeks, teasing. "Wanna go again?"
Shameless, he was. Of course Ransom wanted to go again. What brainless idiot wouldn't? He wriggled a little, back against that very nice pressure, and relished the little indrawn breath that Fox gave. So, he wasn't a total master of control, then. Good to know.
"Fox," he breathed. "Come on, man. Do it. Go ahead and --"
Hold on, wait just a second, here.
Fox...
The name sounded familiar, beyond the immediate connections. He frowned even as the pressure against his pucker increased, Fox lining up the head of his cock with his hole and heading straight for glory. Ransom felt a niggle of doubt, a whole lot of fear, and a burst of courage as he asked, "You wouldn't happen to be that same Fox who's a vampire that's been hanging about lately, would you?"
Fox snorted. "You really want to talk right now?"
No, of course Ransom didn't, but neither was he going to let the matter go. All his mates on the job and at the taverns had been all a-buzz about this vampire Fox, who liked to play with humans and was rumored to have a taste for demons. Not a safe fellow by any account. Double reason for Ransom to have been a little more careful about who he was keeping company with. Gods, he must have been drunk out of his mind the night before not to have noticed the fangs! Fangs which were, even now, nibbling down his shoulder, not breaking the skin, but reminding him that they could.
"You don't wanna think about bad things right now." With a deep pop, Fox slid inside, just about an inch. Ransom arched and mewled like a wild creature. "Just think about me, baby." He worked Ransom with a slow, slow slide, deeper still. "Knock, knock," he murmured wickedly. "Let me in."
"Wait," Ransom gasped. "Wait -- ah, hell!"
Fox pushed hard and was suddenly seated to the root, the rough hair around his cock and his tight balls both resting against Ransom's ass. He could hardly think, let alone sort out the mess he'd gotten himself into, but Ransom had to know. "Am I awake? Are you a dream -- a night vision? Or are you real?"
"Don't I feel real?" Fox drew back, then thrust, hitting Ransom's sweet spot hard enough that he saw holiday fireworks crackling behind his eyes. "This is real as it gets."
"Yeah, but that don't mean much." Ransom's fingers clawed into the mattress. "Just tell me."
"Shush, now." Fox was delving deep inside Ransom, knocking his hot gland six ways to seventh-day and leaving him breathless. "Quiet for me now, baby." He tugged on Ransom's straining erection, jacking it ruthlessly. "On second thought..." A warm mouth suckled at the back of his neck, and then sharp teeth nipped at his skin. "Let me hear you scream."
He got that wish right enough. Ransom hollered and writhed around the rod splitting him apart, coming hard enough that it splashed up his chest and onto his worn sheets. They'll definitely need washing now, he thought fuzzily before the spasms of Fox's orgasm and a hot wash deep inside sent him back into the sweet orgasmic void.
He came around to the feel of soft strokes on his chest. "This is awfully good, isn't it?" Fox murmured behind his ear. "You could have all of this you want. I'd be happy to take you on."
Dazed, Ransom shook his head. What'd he...? Nah. Nothing came for free. "The price tag?"
"Isn't one, baby." Fox nuzzled at him. "Just come with me when I go. That's all. Have me day, night, whenever you want it; all you'll have to do is crook your finger and I'll come running."
Couldn't be real. Things like that didn't happen to Ransom. Trouble is, it felt awfully real. So real that it was leaking out of him.
Fingers tipped with rough calluses tweaked at his nipples. "I'll give you some time think about it. I don't have to have an answer tonight, though I do have to go before the break of day. But I'll be back."
"Will you, then?" Ransom challenged. Dreams usually didn't return, not the same ones, anyway. Every night had a new vision for him to see. He shifted a little, feeling Fox roll with him, firmly lodged in his ass, still half-hard, and felt a lump start to rise in his throat. Dream or not, sex didn't get much better than it had with Fox.
So it was pathetic, but Ransom couldn't just let Fox go, no more than he could get over the feeling that he was standing at a crossroads and that he'd damned well better know which direction he was pointed in before he set off. Dallying with a vampire was hazardous to a man's health, right? Even if -- especially if -- that man happened to be half-demon. It'd just been so long, that was all. Now out of the blue, he'd gotten some fantastic sex and something a bit like affection from the unlikeliest of sources. Strange it was, and strange as it was, Ransom reckoned he could get addicted to Fox in an awfully big hurry.
He just wanted to be... sure of what he was doing.
"Will you?" he repeated. "Come back, I mean?" And damn me for a fool, that I should even ask. No, not ask. Beg like a loose barmaid eager for another coin.
"Course I will. Every chance I get." Fox kissed Ransom softly at the nape of his neck, then nestled his head in behind Ransom's. "Go on back to sleep, now. We've got a little time before the sun comes up."
Now there was a good idea. Sleep... sounded even better... than lying awake and thinking... and how could he help it, enveloped in Fox's strong arms, fringes of long hair tickling soft on the skin of his shoulder... and...
Ransom was gone.
\*
Outside, the neighborhood watchman began banging a gong. Time for all the working class to be up and about their business!
Ransom's eyes shot open for the second time. He rocketed straight up, gasping for air, only to discover --
He was alone.
Hell! Had it been dream? Surely it would have been. The other side of the bed was empty. The sheets were too tossed and tangled up from his own habit of thrashing in his sleep to tell if another had lain there.
Ransom did find a pool of his own drying spunk near his hip, and more on his belly. With his face a little crimson, he slid a finger between his ass cheeks, only to find nothing but dry skin and an untouched anus.
Gods have mercy. A wet dream. A fucking wet dream.
Ransom collapsed back into his worn sheets, breathing as if he'd just run a race. Gods! Just an ordinary sex dream that'd gotten him over-excited. Not a nightmare or a foretelling vision, no, this was too low for that, too personal. Just a dream, and no bad thing. If something like that had happened for real, who knew what he'd do? Fucking around with a vampire like Fox, who was rumored to kill as he pleased with one finger raised at the law? Who liked demon blood as well as that which ran through mortal veins, and wouldn't hesitate to hunt either?
Fox. The name chilled Ransom to the bone now that he was properly awake. A real dirty piece of work, Fox the vampire. He felt a bit sick to his stomach. His subconscious was getting seedier than one of the downtown underground stations.
Ugh.
He decided to ignore the first round of the town crier and smashed his face into his pillow. Only his own scent there, none of Fox's vampire smell or the spicy cologne he'd worn.
Good.
No, fucking great.
Fox the vampire. Ransom snorted. There was a nightmare, eh?
\*
Fox straightened his hair and sighed, wishing he could still see himself in the mirror of the highly guarded townhouse he'd 'appropriated' for his own uses. Shame. He'd been a handsome devil once upon a time, as he recalled, but there'd be no telling what he looked like now. Double shame. He'd have liked to see the whisker burn that tingled on his cheeks and look across, not down, at the finger-shaped bruises on his upper arms.
All the same, he figured he was pleased enough with what his appearance happened to be. Leila, his sister vampire, not half so feared or well known as he himself, would be bitch enough to comment about him playing with his food if she noticed, but who cared about her? H'ran, the only vampire Fox answered to, might pick up on the sex-rumpled look, but he'd just be pleased things were going according to plan.
After all, seducing a seer had been his idea. Not that Fox minded. He'd been pleasantly surprised with how randy the young Ransom could be, all the spicier for the demon tang to his sweat and his skin. If he were to be saddled with a partner, he couldn't have chosen one he'd liked better. The vision thing, well, that was just icing on a whiskey-soaked cake. His very favorite.
He laughed to himself, thinking on how confused Ransom would have been right about then. If he did say so himself, he'd done a fantastic job of dusting the man with sleeping powder as they'd fucked, knocking him out after the last of the show and giving Fox a chance to tidy up a bit. Ransom ought to be wondering just what the hell had happened, if it were a strange new dream or a real encounter, which amused the hell out of Fox.
Oh, yeah, it'd been a nice set of concoctions H'ran had come up with, letting him slip past Ransom's natural defenses the way he had, first by a pinch in his drink, then another, and finally a dose passed from tongue to tongue, until the curly-headed half-demon was wholly and entirely under his spell. Fox patted the pocket of his tightly-fitted pants where a small bulge betrayed the packet of deeply enchanted herbs he had left over.
Of course, this wasn't the whole battle, not at all. Fox grinned as he imagined H'ran cautioning him to be careful. They'd won a single skirmish, not the war. Still had to coax Ransom over to their side, away from his hard-knock life as a laborer and into service. Into his life as a full-time lover.
As for himself, Fox looked forward to every second of the clash and fray.
\*
Ransom was in a foul mood when he got home from work a couple of weeks later, which was no surprise. He'd gotten to where he was just about afraid to go to bed, no matter how tired his mind, how his muscles ached to stretch out, or how weary he was. The way he figured, something out there had it in for him to send him the same variations on a dream almost unendingly. It wasn't a stretch of the imagination to conclude the following, which was that the gods had: A) a really, and that did mean really, really shitty sense of humor; B) a grudge against him; C) some trick hidden so far up their sleeve it'd be past the elbow; or, D) all of the above.
As Ransom stripped the sheets from his bed for the fourteenth time in as many days, he reckoned sourly that he already knew the answer to that particular riddle. D, definitely D. There'd be no other reason for the torment he'd gone through over the particular cycle of visions, dreams, and mind-diddling as he'd had over the past couple weeks.
He wiped his hand on a clean corner of his working trousers, wrinkling his nose from the mixed smell of his own honest sweat and the heavy smell in his rooms. God, the place reeked of male climax, salty and musky. Not something he disliked, mind, it was just he'd rather have a little say in the matter. And he hadn't -- not once -- been given the chance to say no.
Every single time he closed his eyes to sleep, for the night or just a little snooze, there he was: the vampire Fox. Broad in the shoulders, lean in the hips. Either dressed for a nightwalker's evening on the town, or slouching in thin denim pants that fit just a little too right and tight, or wearing nothing but his own skin. Fox himself, the damned and damnable hell-beast that he was, looking at Ransom with those whiskey-brown eyes radiating the one message he always came to deliver: "C'mere, baby. Give me a kiss. Then fuck me and let me fuck you until neither of us can stand up."
Gods! The thought gave Ransom a shock to the loins from just thinking about that rough voice, even while awake and cleaning up after himself.
But who could blame him? Yeah, Fox had that kind of a look down to an art. You couldn't miss it and most times anyone in their right mind wouldn't want to. Ransom had never seen the like directed at him, but he recognized each glint and glimmer. Fox knew just the right amounts of heat and temptation to mix together to have his knees melting and other bits, Ransom's cock in particular, springing to attention. A man could fall for such a look, whether it came from a vampire or no.
Ransom was no fool. He knew the vampires were always and forever after demons and demonesses as their servants ever since they were discovered on Dante's World, and he'd been extra-special careful... but maybe not quite cautious enough, even for a half-breed. All the same, he'd watched his steps. No one he knew had reason to suspect he was anything but one of the lads.
So how'd he gotten so mixed up and confused? Was it the way the Fox in his dreams stared at him? When he'd looked at Ransom, he'd nearly been licking his lips. Sometimes he did. The vampire was so hungry for Ransom that he could jump on him and eat him alive, showing no mercy.
Sometimes, he did.
No, the hell with "sometimes". Try every night. Every fucking night. While Ransom was meant to be resting, his mind was occupied with being a right active sex fiend -- and with Fox, always Fox.
It was going to drive him absolutely around the bend.
Ransom sighed as he tucked in a corner of the last blanket. He was a man who had a fair turn of mind, and to give the dream-vampire credit, he offered up a good deal of variety once they got down to things, didn't he? Fox didn't seem to mind being the one on his knees or on his back, or the one with his head buried between Ransom's legs, sucking hard at his cock until Ransom spilled heavy loads of seed into his mouth. He did like things the other way around, mind you, but he seemed amiable enough about taking things in turn and turn-about.
"Wouldn't want things to get boring, would we?" Ransom snarked at the ceiling, really hoping that something was listening.
Their little trysts came about in so many ways. Could be they'd meet and they'd greet in the bed, always the bed, sometimes with the leftovers of a picnic or a board game that they'd been sharing or playing between them. But always, after a few bites or turns, they'd move on to other things with a nasty, wicked, secret thrill of having a one-night-stand -- even if they did happen to come together every night.
Or on the other hand, Ransom might swim up through the fog of ordinary dreams to find Fox already ready for him, cozied up bare-ass naked and laughing. But no matter what, most often at first, and always at the last, they were having at each other like beasts, one buried to the balls in the other's ass and giving it holy what-for.
Now, it wasn't the man-on-man thing that bothered Ransom. If it weren't for Fox being a vampire and himself part demon, he reckoned he'd have set about finding a way of getting into those pants within five minutes of meeting the bastard. Eminently fuckable, that one.
Standing with a pillow in his hands, Ransom lost himself in an ordinary daydream, picturing how things might have gone down if he and Fox had come together for some ordinary tryst. He figured Fox to be the type who would rather top, given the choice. The man would pin your wrists down above your head while you spread wide as you could to let him lie nice and comfortable between your legs. With the way he swaggered, you could tell Fox had a hell of a cock on him.
Ransom swayed, imagining himself a virgin to the whole scenario. Imagining Fox's prick as if he were seeing it for the first time, wondering how that'd feel, nudging deep inside his ass. Now, there was a pretty picture to set his pulse a-thumping and his prick a-twitching.
Sometimes he thought he should take off into the taverns again and hunt himself down someone as far different from Fox as possible, someone tall and blond and muscled from head to toe, but he couldn't even bring himself to step inside a drinking establishment -- him, who'd been a seven-pint man in his day!
Not only that, Ransom couldn't so much as go from start to finish with a fantasy about just such a man, not truly, when he drifted off into idle daydreams during breaks at work. Sure, he might start by thinking of peeling ordinary coveralls from strong, sun-browned limbs, but sooner rather than later he'd find himself imagining tugging the leathers off a tough, ivory-colored vampire whose lazy drawl urged him on to all sorts of depravity, might the gods help him.
Then, he'd have to go and hide his hard-on from the fellows. Although some might have thought it was for them, with the way he'd be staring off into space and come to himself to find out he'd been gazing at a bloke he worked with. As to that, well, he didn't so much mind. The men at work were a live-and-let-live type. He'd been put down a time or two, but kindly. So far. Someone who took violent objection... well, that would be something Ransom figured he'd like to postpone for -- oh, forever, that'd do nicely.
And he didn't want one of the blokes from work, not really. They're solid and ham-fisted, and that sort of man wasn't for the likes of him; never had been, never would be. He liked men the way he liked women: supple and limber, able to take things slow and easy, maybe a little seedy, and safe, above all else safe, with no guesswork involved.
It was definitely best that no one else knew. Ransom figured the few other vampires he'd seen in passing weren't clueless, what with preternatural senses and all that, but Ransom was either beneath their notice, or they just didn't want to know why he smelled like the hormones put off from the back room of a brothel twenty-four seven. The aroma probably inspired either jealousy or a wobbly tummy.
Although he had caught a neighbor or two subtly sniffing the air around him as he passed them on the stairs. When that happened Ransom blushed, thanked mercy for their live-and-let-live silence, and hopefully got along home safely -- ha, safely! -- without an altercation. Things had worked out so far, anyway.
Was it so bad, then, to have these lovely nightly sex dreams?
Hells, yes, it was! At least he could be damned sure he'd only been dreaming. Every time he woke with the front of his sleep trousers soaked or his sheets a soppy mess, there'd be nothing but his own come there. No foreign look, taste, or smell to the stuff. No lube slathered between his ass cheeks, no soreness from being all but split in two, or the kind of beautifully chafed dick a man got by giving someone a proper seeing-to.
Ordinary dreams. Rides on the night mare. Nothing but by-products of the mind.
Thank any small gods who looked out for half-breeds. Were any of this actually real, Ransom didn't know what he'd do.
Course, he wasn't so sure what his next best move would be, either.
\*
That night, he managed to stay awake until past the turn of the clock, till fully one in the morning, and no visitors, no, not a one. Trouble was, a hard-working man -- demon -- needed some sleep. Problem, though, was that he doubted he'd get any decent rest if he did drift off, even if there were no dreams -- he couldn't help it, he was just that damned jumpy. Problem two, the way his mind wouldn't stop working over and over visions of the vampire coming to him. Gods help him but he'd had to jerk off, coming so hard that it felt like he hadn't gotten off in months, all but humping at the air and spurting out thick pulses of jizz.
Maybe if he slept on his beat-up old couch? He'd bought the thing a few months back for the occasional guest he hoped to invite home, so they'd have a place to sit besides the bed, but what with one thing or another it'd become home to all the bits and bobs a man accumulated, and besides, he'd figured out fast why it'd been such a cheap bargain. Had a peculiar aroma of its own, it did, not unlike sex, but more like pussy than dick and ass. That'd teach him to buy from a bawdy house, so it would.
Besides, he'd sat on it once or twice when there was still room, and learned that it followed the Inter-Dimensional Rule of Springs -- no matter where you lit, one of them would be jabbing you in the buttocks. Catching a nap on that, even if he could clear it off, was just plain out.
The one chair he owned? Ransom eyed it warily. Not that comfortable on its best days, but it did recline if you worked the handle just right. Not a cheap plastic model, either, so there'd be no sticking of the material to uncomfortable bits. That, plus a pillow; that might do.
He ran a tired hand over his face. Ah, hell, it'd have to do, wouldn't it? Foolish as it might be, he couldn't help thinking that if he lay down in the bed, it'd barely be a blink of the eyes before Fox was there to join him, just as he had, just as he'd continue to do unless Ransom stopped him.
And by the gods, he had to be stopped. 'Twas far too dangerous for a half-demon who didn't want any master to be toying around with a vampire who could bind him as its servant -- for so he'd learned they could do, with blood or sex or both, if the demon didn't go willingly.
Mercy help him, he was almost willing. But he valued his freedom, he did, and so he'd fight until the last, win or lose.
Down in the chair he went, then. The old thing turned out to be surprisingly comfortable. No pokey or pointy bits, and it molded around his joints like a nice, well-worn blanket. As a whole the construction creaked a little, but that was only to be expected, and once he'd settled himself...
I must have been more tired than I'd realized, he thought as he yawned. Right, he could still catch a few hours before the town crier started his hue and cry, and it'd be time to get up and straggle into work.
Then, he was asleep.
And he was dreaming.
And damn it all if Fox wasn't right there, waiting for him.
The dream had changed, this time. They were outside, and it was the kind of early not-quite-morning Ransom remembered from his childhood in the mountains. Not the sunny city idyll kind of day, but dark gray and misted over, a little chilly, a little damp. Fox's hair was curling up from the moisture in the air, and he wore a thick blue cable-knit sweater against the cold.
Huh. Did vampires feel the chill? Well, if nothing else, this had to be the most clothes Ransom had seen on the bloke in a long time, even if his battered denims did look like they'd been dabbed on with a brush. He wore high boots with a short heel on those elegant feet, though the leather wasn't new but beaten into a comfortable fit.
Ransom gave himself a hard shake.
The movement didn't help much. Fox grinned at him, leaning up against a thick, leafy tree. His hands were casually tucked in his pockets and his hips canted forward a bit. "You took long enough tonight," he drawled. "I'd thought for sure after last night's fuck, when you had me twisted up into a fisherman's knot, you'd be running back for more."
Ransom could feel his cheeks color as the vampire tipped his head back in pleasure. "You," Fox said, withdrawing one hand to lazily stroke his chest, "are one fine fuck, you know? You've got the tools, and you know the trade. Every time I take a step I can still feel you drilling right through me."
"Glad enough that I can't recall it," Ransom lied. On account of he did remember, every second of that hot velvet squeezing around his cock, Fox writhing beneath him as his thrusts lost their rhythm and he went straight for speed. He'd been wanting more, more, deeper, harder, gaining ground but still hunting for more. There had been open-mouthed kisses, wet and hot over Fox's flexing shoulder blades as he gripped the bedposts hard and called out Ransom's name.
Fox pulled his other hand out of its pocket and stroked down the length of the bulge between his legs. "You ready to go again, Ransom?" he asked, voice husky. "I could stand another taste of you tonight. Except this time I want to make my mark on you. Want to pound you into this ground right here until you leave claw marks in the turf. Such a pretty place to be. People might walk by later, and they'll puzzle over the scratches you've made. Now what, they'll wonder, leaves that kind of track? But you'll know. And I will, too."
His voice washed over Ransom, dark-brown sugar syrup rough-edged with lust. "I can smell you from here," he said. "Cheap whiskey from that bottle you hide in your room, the traces of spunk, and the last little bits of soap from a shower you must have taken after work. Good thing we're not in a bar. I hate the smoke from those torches. Stops me from scenting you."
"From tracking me down?" Ransom demanded.
Fox shrugged easily. "Call it what you want. I always do find you, though, or you find me."
Which was true enough. Ransom shifted uneasily. Then he blurted, without meaning to, "Why's it always got to be sex, then?"
Fox lifted a lazy eyebrow. "There's a change. I never heard you complaining before, Ransom. From what I recall, you like what we do just fine each and every time." He pushed off of the tree and moved in closer, ambling slowly, as if he hadn't a care in the world, but to clever eyes appearing graceful as a snake weaving toward its prey.
His grin widened. "What, didn't you get quite satisfied last time we fucked? You want to be inside of me again? Now, I'm a big believer in share and share alike, but I'll be gracious if you're wanting --"
"No!" Ransom stumbled back -- then blinked with surprise. Ho, there! Turning Fox down was new, and the way he saw things, it was a fine start. He felt so ridiculously pleased with himself that he wanted a tot of whiskey to celebrate. Any other time, after such an invitation, he'd have been unable to help himself. He'd have snatched Fox up and started to devour him with kisses and gropings after that little speech. But somehow, he'd found the strength to back away. How'd that happen, then?
No matter. Take advantage of it while it lasts, eh? "It's always your body, my body, end of story," he went on, fast, backing up a step for each one Fox took forward. "Doesn't matter when, where, why, taking or giving, but I can't help feeling you're putting your mark on me. And I don't care to be owned by any man. So answer the question, or I'll make myself wake up."
"You can't do that." All the same, Fox stopped, a frown creasing his forehead. His kissable lips turned down at the corners... now that's an expression just begging to be licked away... no, stop it! Bad, Ransom. Think about the important thing, and then rub it in his face.
He folded his arms across his chest, knowing his eyes were lit up with an unholy glee. "I can, too, can't I? Else you'd not be so upset about the idea." Ha! Why he'd never thought of this before, he didn't know, but he had some power over the vampire now.
Fox was out-and-out sulking by then, his lower lip pushed out, just inviting itself to be nibbled on. But nah, Ransom decided he was going to stay strong now that he'd got the upper hand for once.
"Yeah, you could wake up," Fox admitted. "I don't want you to, though. I like having you here like this." Then, the vampire smirked. "I'd rather have you without this heavy sweater on me, though. I want to have you underneath me, opening up wide and letting me right on in, sweet as you please. Best fuck in the city. And you are, you know. There's not a man, demon or vampire who I've run across that knows how to give as good a fuck as you."
"Right, stop there." Ransom held up a hand. "Don't get me wrong, that's not a bad thing to know. But you're trying to distract me --"
"Is it working?"
"Not quite well enough."
"Damn it." Fox kicked impatiently at the grass. "Fine, then. But I was answering your question. I'm just using my own style, is all. Why's it always sex? Beats playing pool and drinking beers while we ogle serving maids ten or fifteen years past their prime."
Ransom pinched the bridge of his nose. "Alternatives to sex are very much not the point I'm trying to make," he said, voice muffled by his hand. "Why's it you're here, in my mind? Why'd you pick me? What's the point of this whole joke?"
"No joke, baby." Fox came a little closer, and Ransom let him. "Guess your mind thinks it wants me, that's all. Happy to oblige it."
"Not likely," Ransom scoffs. "In the waking world? I happen to hate your kind, wanting to enslave us all, and I don't feel a thing when I look on you but the need to see you and your lot all brought down to the dirt."
"Oh, so you've decided to show your balls," Fox purred. "Guess what, though? We aren't going down, Ransom. Vampires have been here a lot longer than your breed, and we plan to stay. But as for going down, I'd say I can do that just fine."
"If you don't stop with the fucking sexual innuendo --"
"Can't do that, and no, I'm not sorry. This is just the way I'm made. But you keep on talking. I'm listening." Fox made a great show of doing so, even keeping still in an attitude of deep concentration. "Go on, then. You must think there's a reason I want you. What's on your mind?" Besides the obvious? the shape of that lickable mouth leered at him.
Truth be told, though he'd pondered it many a time before Ransom was giving the question some thought. "You're a trick," he says finally. "Bait in a trap. I know your lot want my kind as servants, and as for me, you want my dab of a gift for foresight. What good would seeing the future do you? Your kind isn't long for this city, this world. The humans outnumber both our races -- ah, hell, what am I saying? I'm half human -- and they'll outlive both breeds. You won't be any better off with me by your side."
"Aw, now, that's just bad of you." Fox shook his head, little droplets of mist flying off his curling hair. He came closer, personal enough, somehow, to trace a finger down over Ransom's heart. "Now if the vampires really wanted you, don't you think we'd just take you? Snatch you up like a little stray dog and bring you home?"
"Might be," Ransom shot back, "but you know you couldn't keep me if I didn't come of my own free will. There are rules to everything, and this is one: since this is only a dream, I don't belong to you. You can't bind a demon with phantom blood or sex."
"Mmm-hmm. And you've got this all... figured... out, don't you?" Fox's finger stopped, circling around Ransom's navel.
Ransom swallowed dryly. "Yeah. I do. Took some thinking, mind, but I get it now. You make me fall for you in my dreams, then offer me the same deal in real life. I come along nice and quiet and you've got yourself a slave. Just let me tell you straight up then, thanks but no thanks."
"Now did I confirm any bit of your slander?" Fox's whole hand had gotten in on the action by then, stroking just above the hairline low on Ransom's torso. Toying with the elastic on his sleep trousers.
"You didn't deny anything, either," Ransom whispered. He knew he should step back... but somehow, he couldn't stop Fox, and didn't want to smack his hand away like he should have.
Fox's eyes narrowed. "If this is all a fantasy, like you figure, then I'm just a figment of your imagination. A damn good one, too. I could be any man you want. Anyone you care to dream about, doing what you want him -- or her -- to do. But you don't want that, do you? Come on, at least be honest with yourself. You want me. You've wanted me since that night in the tavern." He tapped his nose. "I can smell things pretty keenly, halfling, and this doesn't lie. Tell yourself the truth. You like these dreams. You need me. You ache to be with me. It's not just the dreams. You want to live your life out with me, whether I'm a damned vampire or not."
All Ransom could feel was a numb kind of shock, and the tingle of rough-tipped fingers slipping under his waistline.
"If I'm wrong and you don't want this, I don't have to come to you again. But let me have just this once, huh? One more drop of you on my tongue, to last me until I find someone else to love. Someone else's mind to visit. You don't think these are ordinary dreams, do you? I've been visiting you on purpose. And I can come here any time I want. All you have to do is invite me back, and you've done that every single night. Don't lie to yourself."
Fox's hand dipped lower, lower, lowest, all the way down until he found what he'd been looking for -- not such a difficult task, really -- and squeezed. "One more time," he coaxed. "Bottom, top, neither, I don't care. Just let me see that face of yours while you're coming. Feel your muscles shake like you're havin' a fit." Clever fingers skimmed and stroked over heated, swollen skin. "Say yes, baby. You know you want to. One more time before I go."
Ransom was gasping by then, wishing he had a handy tree of his own to lean against and support himself. "You promise?" he managed. "Once more around the park, and you're gone?"
"Gone like the wind," Fox whispered. He pulled down Ransom's pants with eager hands and drew him out, just rough enough to make Ransom's nerve ends thrill with pleasure. "Though why you'd want to give this up is beyond me. It's your loss, Ransom, and I'm going to show you what you'll be missing out on."
He dropped gracefully to his knees and pressed his face to Ransom's groin, inhaling deeply. "Just the smell of you gets me so hard," he whispered. He licked one long stripe along the throbbing vein beneath Ransom's cock, tapping his tongue in time with the pulse beat. "Mmm, but the taste of you is so fine." He sucked hard, once, on the spongy head. "Finest flavor in the world, all whiskey and sin."
Ransom's hands were clenching into fists. "Shut the fuck up," he rasped. "Do it."
Fox teased him with a long row of light tongue-flicks. "Say please."
And because by then he was so horny, and because he no longer cared, not about pride or being right or getting this sweet night-after-night torture to end, Ransom ground out, "Please. For the love of pity, please!"
"Now that's what I like to hear," Fox whispered, then slid his chilly, heavenly mouth over the head of Ransom's cock. He kept on going, cheeks full and throat working, until he'd taken every inch in. Then he sucked, he swallowed, he worked his tongue the way only he could until it was all Ransom could do to stand upright. His rough fingers slipped back around Ransom's ass cheeks, sliding between his crack to tease the hole he'd been in so many times, filling it up and killing him with pleasure.
Ransom was so close to coming he didn't care about anything else. Unable to speak, he grabbed Fox by the hair and worked his hips, thrusting in and out of that eager mouth, heedless of the fangs, until he came with a moan from the very heart of him and a great shudder that nearly knocked him off his feet.
Fox pulled off, lapping hungrily at a strand of come. Ransom's cock was slick and shiny with saliva and his own juices, "And you wanna give this up." Fox sounded just a little too amused. "Damn fool."
Ransom found he was still too wrung-out to speak. All he could do was stare, blankly, at the man before him, licking come off pinkened lips. "You wanna wake up now?" Fox whispered. "Or you want a little more?"
Ransom's mouth moved, all ready to say the word, but then --
"Ho, ho! Six o'clock of the morning, and time to wake! Time to wake! Six o'clock of the morning, and time to wake!"
The clanging of a bell and gong woke Ransom from a solid sleep. He rocketed up from his armchair with a thundering curse of "Damn it all to hell!" His eyes wide open and shocked, he stared around his home. Scattered clothes, check, bed empty, check, vast wet puddle of come on his belly, check.
Fuck -- again! His heart was beating trip hammer-fast in his chest, and his skin felt slick with droplets of sweat. But -- and this was new -- the details of the dream were already fading. All he remembered was a cool mouth around his cock, and a rough-rum voice telling him he'd be on his way after just one more shot. Gone.
And vampires kept their promises, didn't they? They considered themselves to be honorable folk, in their way.
There'd be no more Fox in his dreams, then.
Ransom stuffed down the tiny little qualm he felt about that. If things were truly over, then thanks be to the gods. Course, when you've got the half-demon lineage with an odd quirk that lets you see the future from time to time, you can't control what you dream about, but if that truly was the last time the vampire appeared in his night visions, he decided to be glad of it.
Because? Fact was Fox had been telling the truth. As much as Ransom dreaded them, he was starting to look forward to those dreams. To the thrill that wracked him backbone to bellybutton. And bein' divided like that, between someone he knew for a damn good fact wanted to take him over, and the life he'd carved out for himself? Not a good thing, no, not good at all.
It'd be a mercy if it was over. He'd always have regular fantasies, he could visit the taverns again, and if worst came to worst he'd always have his own hand to keep him company at night.
No more Fox.
Ransom tried to make himself smile, but couldn't quite pull it off. He felt as if... no, fuck, no! He wasn't already missing the vampire. Couldn't have been. He was glad to have the creature out of his life, so he was.
Bye, Fox. Doubt I'll be seeing you around. Mind that you do let the door hit you in the ass on the way out, eh?
Ransom shook his head resolutely. God, he felt like a new man. Good enough to shower and eat some breakfast instead of drinking a tot of whiskey to drown out all-too-vivid dreams. Then back to work, where he could get good and tired and come home to rest in peace.
Yeah, he thought as he reached for some fresh work clothes, determined not to let himself regret. Not one bit. He was going to have a good day today, no two ways about it.
\*
It was way too early in the morning to still be awake, but Fox was at his home, pacing around the room with angry strides, kicking a circle of enchanted herbs into a muddled mess. Throwing a temper fit wasn't the smartest of moves, he knew, but if Leila dared poke her nose in on him just then she'd likely find it bitten off.
Fox was not in the mood for company.
He dropped to one knee, tracing patterns in a small, scattered heap of herbs on his floor. Just a bunch of crushed roots and other things; no real smell to them, and a slightly slippery feel, but the power they hold... held...
Power that'd be useless now, because the game was up and his plan hadn't worked. The damned -- beloved -- seer figured it out. All by himself. And they were that close -- making him think of home, blowing his mind via his cock --it had all been meant to be the sealing of their bargain. He'd planned to tell him the truth before Ransom woke up: that he wanted the man in much more than his dreams. He wanted him real, alive, and in his bed.
All he would have had to do would be to say: yes.
Then Fox would have had that warm body to wrap himself around, snug and naked in his own, real bed. Waiting for a good and nasty morning wake-up call. How much better could the sex have been when it wasn't filtered by that faint, filmy touch of surreal vagueness that dreaming lent their little encounters?
Fox shifted irritably, angered by the erection that just wouldn't go away. He'd only entered Ransom's mind, not really had his mouth around that prick, but he could still taste the half-demon, still smell him, and still feel him under his fingertips. Phantom pain had nothing on phantom fucking.
The leader of his blood-kin would be pissed beyond words, he'd been so determined to have a demon seer on their side -- but the canny bastard would probably do nothing more than give him that creepy smile of his and say, "Better luck next time, Fox. And I'm sure you'll come up with a new plan by, say midnight, won't you?" Then Fox would have to scramble to figure something out, all the while dying for a taste of what he couldn't have anymore.
He dashed the herbs he'd been playing with aside.
Okay, fine. New plan. He'd find one. Win Ransom. He didn't care about the demon part of him, didn't care about his occasional glimpses into the future, just wanted him, the man, in his bed and in his life. He was going to win Ransom no matter what it took. He was Fox, he was feared, and once he'd staked his claim, there'd be no shaking loose whatever shackles he chose to use.
And Ransom was his. Just as he knew he belonged to Ransom. They'd forged a bond, he was sure of it.
He just had to figure out a way of getting them back together again.
A small smile curled up one corner of his mouth. Ransom was many things, but he could be predictable. Ten to one odds that he'd go to his favorite tavern again for a drink to celebrate, after work, when the sun was down and Fox could go play.
Fox decided he might just be in the mood for a drink himself that night.
He'd do whatever it took.
He'd do anything.
He was in love.
Willa Okati
Willa Okati is one hundred percent in love all things vampire and supernatural. However, she's an even bigger fan of stories that feature beautiful men exploring their desires for one another. Casually known as the "blue-haired, tattooed wench" among Changeling folks, she lives for the fun of acting just as young as she feels. She'd love for you to visit her website at http://www.willaokati.com or join her reader's loop for fun and chatter at willa\_okati@yahoogroups.com. Happy reading!

