Serene

After a bit of heavy petting, she dragged him along until they found an empty tent, then got him down on one of the bedrolls. She made him go on top, and cast an Illusory mask on him so she had Catcher's stern, disapproving face staring down at her. Exactly what the doctor ordered. A bit of good old-fashioned self-flagellation to take her mind off the existential dread.

Those still celebrating were evidently rounding off the evening by setting off fireworks that emitted a muffled cacophony of bangs and crackles, multicolored lights flashing bright enough to show through the heavy tent fabric above them.

Wesley set his shiny paperweight revolver aside with great reverence and went on to win a hard-fought battle against his trousers, eventually managing to fumble them off and kick them aside. She guided him inside, and coached him to take it slow so he wouldn't shoot his load too early. She found herself in the somewhat unsteady rhythm Wesley beat out. Her focus narrowed to just those deep, hurt eyes boring great bloody wounds in her conscience.

"Hit me," she breathed.

"What?" Wesley asked, slowing.

"I said hit me."

He stopped entirely, poised awkwardly on his outstretched arms with his dick just about in. "I'd never do that." He said it like a grand declaration of love. Like the words were supposed to mean something to her.

Ugh. I should've guessed.

"I'm paying, aren't I?" she argued. "I hired you for a service, and you agreed to do it, which means I have every right to expect you to deliver. Now, hit me."

But he still refused. Things stalled until he went soft and sat back on his haunches, his sheepish expression strong enough to bleed through into the mask she had put on him.

"Fine," she said, rolling her eyes. "Just… choke me or something, then."

"Like… put my hand around your throat?"

"Yeah."

He did agree to that; did it, too. She told him to squeeze harder, and he did, and she was beginning to see stars when he pushed inside again.

The sex was mediocre and he came quicker than she'd have liked, but even that had a sort of authentic charm to it. She cleaned herself out diligently and laid down beside the young man once finished. He was plainly exhausted, and she gave him a big-sister pat on the cheek for good effort.

He looked like he was about to say something, maybe apologize for his performance, but only incoherent mumblings made it past his lips as he drifted off to sleep.

Serene let both of their masks lapse, and sighed as she studied the young man's profile, his face framed by sweat-slicked hair.

It wasn't enough. She hadn't been punished nearly enough. She tried not to think badly of him for it; she was the freak, not him.

Almost as soon as he went out, Wesley began to fumble about him and mutter gibberish. It took her a while until she realized what he was missing. As soon as she handed him his revolver, he cradled it to his chest and went quiet with a blissful sigh, like a fussy toddler with his blankie. She snorted a quiet laugh at the strange sight and stroked a bit of hair from the corner of his right eye.

Even after getting his comfort object, he soon started up again, repeating a phrase over and over like a mantra—something like 'Who are you?'—while his eyes moved rapidly beneath their lids. Dreaming.

For some inexplicable reason, Serene found words coming out of her mouth in a low, soft melody. A lullaby her mother used to sing.

Wolf a-howling in winter's night,

Aggrieved by fearsome hunger,

He stalks the woods with envy-dripping fangs,

And mischief-glinting eyes.

Ye wolf, ye wolf, begone from here,

No fare shall ye find tonight,

For my watchful eye is open.

Ye wolf, ye wolf, begone from here,

Naught of mine shall ye steal tonight,

For my warding fire burns bright.

Ye wolf, ye wolf, begone from here,

No succor shall ye have tonight,

For I have fangs as well,

And mine are longer than thine.

Her voice was hoarse from the manhandling, but the lullaby still seemed to calm him a little. At least he stopped wriggling and making so much noise. She allowed herself to relax, snuggling into his back.

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Strange. Out of everything that had faded from memory, that pointless old lullaby had stuck. Why?

[Congratulations! You have reached Level 8!]

She almost jerked back at the sudden sensation.

Huh. It had been so long since she'd leveled up that it took her completely by surprise. Never expected to be seeing that message again.

* * *

Nyx

In a ravenous fury, Nyx cut straight across the distance that spanned the city and the farm, ignoring all obstacles. William's little sleepover party was dying down by the time she made it to her destination in the early hours of the morning, but a few mortals were still stubbornly clinging to the celebrations, lurching in sluggish dance around a flagging bonfire and shooting off fireworks that burned bright in the sky.

She snaked her way through the makeshift camp, easily tracking Matthew by his scent, and slipped unseen into the farmhouse. She reasserted her nebulous half-shape into her customary womanly figure as she stepped through his door, choosing not to manifest the appearance of any 'clothing', but instead presenting her full nudeness.

Matthew lay on the bed, naked except for the covers drawn up to his waist. Noticing that someone had walked in but too fixated on some insignificant thing in the ceiling to realize who, he said with a dramatic sigh: "Annie, I think I'm going to call it quits for tonight. Let's face it—I just don't have it in me anymore. I'm old. Old! No, don't argue! Your kindness is noted, but completely unnecessary. So let's just…" He looked down, and stopped picking with his finger at the grain of the woodwork behind him, eventually letting his hand fall. "Demon? The fuck are you doing here?"

But Nyx was not particularly in the mood to explain herself. She was brimming, boiling, bursting with power—potential that needed to be released. Her hunger had grown along with the rest of her so that she could no longer deny it. She cleared the footboard of the bed in one leap and landed straddling her master, slamming her hands down on either side of his head and bringing her face close to his.

"Tell me you want me," she said in a tight, urgent voice.

"The fuck?" Mongrel shot back, trying to jerk his head back but already pressed into his pillow as far as he'd go. Once the shock of her appearance began to wear off, he peeked down over his nose at her nudeness, the predatory arch of her body, and surmised her intent. "Is this what I think it is?"

"Say you want me."

He smelled so bad—so good. She wanted to just bite his head off and gulp down all his blood in one go. It took every bit of willpower she possessed to hold herself back.

"I, uh… want you?" He looked a little frightened, chin retreating into the leathery folds of his turkey neck.

"No!" Nyx hissed through bared teeth. "Say it like you mean it. Convince me."

That got through to him, and his gaze firmed up, nervous uncertainty replaced by unrepentant greed. "Shit, you know what I want, baby," he said with a sleazy grin.

She could believe that. Maybe it should have been enough to satisfy the terms of her contract, but it didn't satisfy her. "Say you need me," she continued, and let her tongue extend half a foot to trail along his jawline and up his face, finally boring into his ear and making him squirm.

"I—ah!—need you!" he squealed. She knew he was telling the truth, because she could feel his hardness rise up to press against her belly. "What's gotten into you all of a sudden? This better not be some new form of advanced cocktease warfare, or else…"

Again, Nyx did not see the need to answer. Instead, she yanked the covers away with a tendril manifested from her back, leaving her master fully exposed under her, then made more that shot out and anchored to the walls and ceiling, leaving her at the center of a webbed cocoon made up of her own being. Before Matthew could begin to wriggle away, she wrapped more tendrils around his arms and legs to pull them wide—and keep them that way.

"Feeling kinky tonight, aren't we?" Matthew remarked as his eyes flitted right and left between his restrained limbs, seemingly caught between fear and arousal. "I mean, not that I mind or anything, but…"

"Oh, do shut up," Nyx growled. "Apologies in advance, dearest, but I may get a little rough."

"Pshaw! You think you can get one over on me? Not fucking happ—"

Leaning in, Nyx's jaws unhinged as though to devour her master's face. Her tongue shot out; extending, extending, extending as it filled Matthew's esophagus and finally put an end to his yammering. His eyes rolled back and he gagged noisily, but she didn't let up.

They had sweet sex—finally unified in form as they were in purpose. Now that she had let go of her last shackles of self-control, there was nothing she could do to hold herself back. She drank him in deeply, completely, wrapping herself tighter and tighter around his body like a constrictor snake until it was impossible to tell where one being ended and the other began.

Retracting her tongue from his throat, she leaned close to his ear and whispered: "I love you, Matthew."

"Hwuh?" the poor old man grunted in complete bewilderment.

"I love you." She squeezed down on his sex organ, drawing a hoarse groan from its owner while his eyes bugged wildly.

"Don't yank my chain. Demons—unh—can't love anything. 'Cept themselves, maybe, but…" He trailed off, and his eyes fell shut as he was hit with a wave of pleasure resulting from her efforts.

"I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you." Those silly words, which had always seemed so laughably empty, were suddenly the most profound thing she'd ever heard. She'd never get tired of saying it.

Matthew chuckled breathlessly. "Well, when you say it like that, I suppose it's hard to—ooh, aah, ooh!—doubt you."

"Say you love me too."

"C'mon, that's…"

"Say you love me."

As perfect a moment as it was, she knew it had to end; mortals were simple things, after all, and liable to break if handled without due care. She'd milk him dry, show him a glimpse of true paradise, then tend to him while he recovered from her ministrations.

Then she became aware of a third presence. Nyx looked over her shoulder to see that shameless whore standing in the open doorway, frozen in place with the rims of two water mugs pinched between the thumb and forefinger of one hand and a handful of pills in the upturned palm of the other. Her face was blank with shock.

Nyx grinned wide at her—a grin that conveyed her feelings better than words ever could.

I win.

The whore turned and fled without a word. Nyx, meanwhile, turned her full attention back on her master. She arched her back as she parted her sleek torso from his sweaty, spheroid paunch and grasped his chin in her hand; firmly, but not hard enough for her claws to cause him any harm. "You. Love. Me. Say it."

"I love you," he wheezed, and the firm look in his dark brown eyes told her he meant it.

That sent a shiver of pleasure up her spine, and waves of golden ecstasy pulsed outward from her chest. She gasped and tilted her head back, the countless tendrils extending from her body quivering with triumph. "Again."

"I love you."

"Who do you love?"

"I love you… Nyx."

"That's right. Me—not that whore. She doesn't deserve any of your love."

"I…"

She whipped her head back down to glare imperiously at the old man splayed out beneath her. "Now that you have me, she's nothing to you. Isn't that right, dearest?"

"Y-Yes?"

She allowed her expression to soften just a little. "Good. I'm glad we're of one mind on the matter. Well, then—just lie back and allow me to take care of everything."

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