reaction. The grimy old man was asleep in his own mind. Her magic had him, dulled his brain, handed him helpless into her keeping. She turned his back to her and wrapped her arms around his chest under his arms. A quick glance to ensure they were alone and she took flight, carrying them both up and into the dark night sky.
Morrigan blinked against the sting of wind in her eyes, except it wasn’t wind that tightened her chest and made her chin quiver. They’d lied to her, tricked her into quiet acceptance. Her family, those who were supposed to protect her, love her. People she thought she could trust.
Nanna was wrong. She’d told Morrigan it was an honor to serve the demon. It wasn’t. The demon perverted Morrigan’s power, used it to take life. She wasn’t a murderer. At least she hadn’t been before he took her.
Morrigan and her kind separated fools from their money, as well as from their gullibility and ignorance. Thieves by most definitions, yes, but they took nothing that couldn’t be replaced—or should be.
Their victims learned a fast lesson in the penalties for complacency and carelessness. One could even say the Ravens provided a service. But the demon served only himself. And he made her help. For that she would be forever ashamed.
Fifty-one years she’d been in service of the demon. Like most shape-shifters she had a life span that was more than double that of a human, and once her kind hit puberty the aging process slowed dramatically. Still, time marched on for her and her kind as it did for everyone. Though the passage of time was never more acutely felt than by one who was forced to stand still as it slipped by. She’d grown older over the years, but little else about her life had changed.
The old mansion she and Akram called home for the past six and a half months peeked between the tall oaks below. Morrigan banished the threatening tears with a deep breath, landing silent as a ghost on the river-rock courtyard.
The century-old house wasn’t really theirs. It belonged to the defense lawyer whom Akram consumed last. The lawyer had made his fortune defending business moguls from their stockholders and suffering employees when the company books didn’t back up the profits claimed.
She’d have preferred Akram consume one of the lawyer’s clients, but time had been a factor and proximity a priority.
Morrigan steadied the bum on his feet. “Come,” she said and led the way up the wide stone steps of the back deck and through the double French doors that opened onto the sitting room. The human host stuck to her heel like toilet paper.
“Morrigan, you’ve kept me waiting,” Akram said, rounding the corner from the hallway. “Was there a problem? Were you seen?”
Morrigan shook her head, then realized he was already busy inspecting his new host. “No. No problem,” she said. “And I’m never seen.”
Akram paused, the man’s dirty head in his hands, his thumbs hiking up the man’s lips to show his teeth. He met her gaze. “Of course. You are a true talent, Morrigan. Thank you.”
His smile was little more than a flicker across his lips, but the rarity of it sent a flutter through her stomach and made her breath catch.
Akram wore the expensive trousers and tailored dress shirt that’d come with the body and house. His hair was neatly trimmed, his face clean-shaven, his shoes shined. Good grooming and fine dressing has its own appeal, but Akram’s outward appearance rarely caught her notice anymore.
Physically Akram looked nothing like he had all those years ago when she was a young girl just beginning her service to him. The demon had possessed ninety-eight bodies from that day to this, devoured ninety-eight souls. Every one of them was male, and no two were alike. The hosts were as different as thumbprints, but Akram made each his own.
How many times had she studied him, discerning the differences and the similarities? Those unique quirks, the cadence of his speech, the crooked tilt of his smile, the fluid gestures of his hands, elements of the demon that never changed regardless of the body that housed him. Too many hours, too many sleepless nights, spent pondering the spirit who’d been her only companion, her only concern for more than fifty years.
Too many times her study of him would shift and melt into something stranger, something shockingly more intimate than the clinical intentions she’d begun with, innocent observations bleeding into wicked fantasy. Hunger for sensation, for the touch of his hands in places she so ached to be touched would swell in her. Deep in her womb heat would stir, her blood surging with warmth throughout her body, turning her molten from the inside out, wanting him. Wanting him.
How could such thoughts, such need, be anything but proof of her soul’s corruption? Yet too often she couldn’t fight, couldn’t deny those thoughts. Vivid images of Akram’s hard, healthy male form behind her, molding to her back, his stiff sex a solid imprint against her ass would invade her mind.
Strong spirit hands wrap around her, exploring her body, pressing at the base of her throat, smoothing down her chest, kneading the heavy, supple weight of her breasts and lower, over her belly, cupping between her thighs. In her mind’s eye she’s helpless to stop him, trapped by her own magic used against her. She must allow what she most desires.
His other hand traces a counter pattern over her willing form, caressing over her hard, puckered nipple, teasing the sensitive nub between his fingers, making her gasp. His hot breaths moisten the skin over her shoulder, his soft lips teasing kisses down her neck, nibbling, biting, sending breath-deifying shudders rippling down to her toes. Muscles deep inside her clench, tugging desire from her core, tightening through the slick walls of her sex.
The host’s thick finger slips down to part her feminine lips, spreading her creamy readiness through her folds, finding the entrance to her body. He invades her, pushing as deep as his physical body will allow, stroking her from the inside. It’s not enough. It’s never enough.
He bends her over. Her naked bottom brushing against the hair-rough flesh of his groin, her wet gaping sex exposed to him. He centers himself, one hand guiding his thick, hard sex to her opening, his other hand clutching her hip. For one brief moment the achingly smooth round of his cock’s head warms against her. Then the demon rocks his hips, pushing his borrowed body into hers, driving deep and hard without a word of permission.
Her body resists, muscles clenching, forcing friction, heightening sensation so that Morrigan’s lungs fill with air turned to pure pleasure, and released in a low, rolling moan. A heartbeat, flesh to flesh, heat to heat, and Akram draws his long, hardened sex backward through her pussy.
Long, invisible tendrils pull sensation from every corner of her body down through her sex. She angles forward, aiding him until the fat head of his cock nearly slips free. Her chest squeezes, catching her breath a shuddering instant before they push together again, their bodies meeting with a hard, satisfying jolt. And then again.
The erotic ebb and flow of their forms, meeting and parting, driving deep and pulling shallow repeats, the rhythm growing faster, more frantic, sensation heightening, becoming achingly acute.
It’s too much. It’s not enough. A little more. She wants it all. Any longer and she’ll burst into a million tiny pieces. Just a little longer…
And then longer arrives and her release floods her body, making her shudder all the way down to the soles of her feet.
Morrigan squeezed her eyes shut, willing the dizzying spin of her mind to fade. A mental shake and she opened her eyes again focusing on the Akram before her, in the here and now. The demon was none the wiser
