I’m digging into my next demon story hard now. The action is percolating, the world building is popping, I’m having fun. I hope to have it done in the next month. In this unedited snippet I offer a closer look at my hero Miles in his demon state. His brother Mitchell starts asking questions.
“You’ve been off for a bit now. Antsy for work are you?”
He’d been known to get out of sorts between jobs. He couldn’t help it. He had so much energy he needed to keep busy. And even here, snug within the bosom of his loving family, he felt, itchy.
By rights he should be on top form. His red skin was cool with the night wind, and had been for the past few nights. At home he could sleep bare. Not nude, but without his human disguise. Well, nude too. Still, it wasn’t enough.
“I dunno. I’ll figure it out.”
But he didn’t, not right away. He did, however start to feel better. That run with his brothers prompted him to extend his visit another week. His family was happy to have him longer – especially his mom; her list was almost done – and he and his brothers went for a run every night. One night his parents came along too.
Safe from prying eyes in the dark quiet of the bush, they playfully stalked small creatures, roughhoused with others and sharpened their claws on the trees they climbed. It was wonderful. He went to sleep each night calm, with a smile on his face.
But then he began to have the strangest dreams. Dreams that woke him up and forced him back out of doors to regain that calm on long prowls before he could rest again.
He didn’t even know what the dreams were about. He couldn’t remember much more than snatches. He recalled a feeling of contentment. The kind he often felt around his family, but this was mixed in with a bit of full belly after a holiday meal and an orgasm thrown in for good measure. It was like whatever he was dreaming about was capable of satiating him completely, fulfilling every need he had and he few he wasn’t aware of.
Sometimes he remembered a faint, powdery scent, softness beneath his fingertips as he stroked along a creamy curve. So he knew he dreamt of a woman, which was comforting and unsettling once he figured it out. He woke up hard and needing, his skin so sensitive even the soft touch of the sheets threatened to make him come. But who she was he had no clue. He wanted her though, badly.
He’d have gone to look for her, but he could never quite see her face. But that didn’t stop his subconscious from conjuring all manner of sketchy, half-formed images with which to torture him. He could feel the softness of her skin, see the outline of a tall, slender body. He sensed power in her, which was its own aphrodisiac, but she was a stranger.
She was real though. She wasn’t just a figment of his imagination, a manifestation of frustration or longing because he hadn’t made love in a while. But how he knew that he couldn’t say.
The sight was common among his caste of demons, especially when it came time to secure one’s mate. Some had it more, others just enough to foreshadow or provide better than average instinct and intuition on which direction to go. Now his was telling him to get on a plane. His gut said that on the other end of a large stretch of blue water he’d find the female haunting his mind and gently tormenting his body.
Having run and tramped and frolicked for hours with his brothers, he should have slept soundly, dreamlessly. But one night he woke up the house crying out. He hadn’t been that loud, but Garhine demons shared many traits with large cats, including extra keen hearing. His brothers rushed into his room, his mum and dad on their heels, all of them looking concerned.
“What’s going on then?” Marshall asked.
He felt himself calm as they settled around him, his brothers on either side, his mom in front, his dad at his back.
“I keep dreaming of a woman. I dunno know her. But tonight I saw her for the first time. She’s dark, darker than me, I mean, with short black hair. She’s tall, with long slender legs. She was carrying a gun.”
“Go on,” said Mitch, interested.
“Only thing, I wasn’t me. I mean, I was, but I was a cub. Tiny. I was in my right skin. I crawled into her lap, wrapped my tail around her arm. She was stroking my back and the tips of my ears.” Those slightly pointed ears twitched now.
“Yeah?” Marshall again. His way of saying get to the good part.
“She kissed me and said, ‘such a pretty red,’ and I remember preening, snuggling down on her lap and going to sleep.”
His brothers’ soft chuckles couldn’t compete with his mother’s loud happy laughter.
“What?” he asked, a hand rubbing absently over his heart, thumping a bit fast from the dream.
“My son, I think you’ve found your mate,” his mother informed him.
Damn, he thought. She was American.