Page 31 of Strength of Desire

That was the only word for it. It was black, more leathery than scaly, and instead of trailing smoke, it felt wet. It was a thick rope of a thing, as big around as my forearm, covered in something clear and viscous.

That couldn’t just be my sweat. Sweat wasn’t that thick, or that smooth. It wasn’t that…soft.

The word made no sense. Everything else about this creature was hard and rough, but the tail felt like skin where it pressed up against me. As I watched, it snaked around my back and the tip came back to rest below my belly button. How long was it?

I was still sweating, but my midsection was covered in a mix of sweat and whatever coated the tail. I gasped as it squeezed me, then again as it uncurled, sliding away and leaving me relieved and desperate and quivering at the same time.

“Please,” I groaned. The word came from my mouth unbidden, but this time, I wasn’t asking the monster to stop.

This time, when the tail reappeared, it pushed itself between my legs. I wobbled, taking a half-step to the side, which made room for it to slide between my thighs. The tip, still smooth and wet, brushed past my balls, then slid around my shaft.

It wrapped me in tight coils of heat and slick until the tip of the tail reached the head of my cock, sliding around it, flicking and teasing. Jesus, that was too good. Too much. I shuddered, my knees shaking, and in an instant, the monster was there.

One clawed hand grasped my hip, the other rested on my shoulder.The other. For all I knew, the thing had eight hands. All I could tell about the creature behind me was that it was massive, and hot, and…and that it wantedme.

The monster’s claws were almost delicate in the way they steadied me. Once in place, they hardly moved, like the creature was frozen in stone. It was only when I shook or sagged, my body weak from pleasure or fear, that the claws pressed in, and only because my movements had pushed my skin against their sharp points.

All the while, the tail—Jesus Christ, a fuckingtail—slid and grasped and slinked around my cock. I was rock hard, dripping pre-cum that mixed with whatever liquid coated the tail. I was so close. All I needed was another—

“Cory.”

Someone said my name, and I couldn’t tell where it came from. It wasn’t the monster. The voice wasn’t right. It was too high and raucous. Too insistent.

“Cory. Cory Cory Cory Cory.” My name crashed through the air. I twisted around, baffled. The creature still held me. It didn’t seem to notice the intrusion.

“Cory.” This time my name was accompanied by a sharp twinge on my face. My hand flew up automatically, touching my cheek.

“Ow,” I complained. I closed my eyes, trying to shake the pain away, and when I opened them again, I was back in my room at Vesperwood, lying in bed.

The raven stood on my chest, peering down like it was considering pecking me. Pecking meagain, I realized, my fingers still touching the sore spot on my cheek. It had bitten me.

Relief and disappointment filled me as I stared up into its beady eyes. I was safe in bed. Early morning light came in through the window, which was open and letting in a cold breeze. The monster, the fire, smoke, and thetailhad been nothing more than a dream.

I was more relieved than disappointed. I was pretty sure of that, anyway.

“Okay, okay, I’m up,” I grumbled, pushing myself up against the headboard. I glared at the raven, which I still hadn’t named. “You didn’t have to be quite so forceful, you know.”

“Cory,” it croaked. “Cory Cory Cory.” It hopped on my blanket like a child in a bouncy house. The look it gave me was smug.

Ever since the moraghin attack, it had come to visit me nightly, and most mornings too. I’d started leaving my window unlatched and propped open, so it wouldn’t tap incessantly as I tried to sleep. I didn’t know what it wanted, or if it wanted anything at all.

It hadn’t repeated the word ‘Vesperwood’ once in all this time, but in addition to my name, it had taken to repeating ‘Good night,’ ‘You again,’ and ‘Peanut,’ ad nauseam. I didn’t know where it had learned the word peanut, but it seemed to mean any small bit of food I gave it.

“Let’s see what you brought me this time,” I said, flinging the covers back and padding to the window. A dead mouse lay on the sill, its head lolling at an unnatural angle. “Gee, thank you.”

“Thank you,” the raven croaked, flapping over to join me at the window. “Thank you.”

“You don’thaveto bring me presents, you know. You’re not a cat.”

“Cat. Cat cat cat. Cat cat cat cat cat.” It sounded like a snare drum. I shook my head.

“I have to shower. If you leave before I’m back, please at least take the mouse with you?”

I had no idea if the bird could understand me, but I pointed to the mouse and shook my head sternly, hoping that would convey my meaning. The raven never stuck around for too long, and if it was a familiar, it had yet to show any hint of magical ability. With the possible exception of maybe being able to read my mind.

Howhadit known to say Noah’s name, that one time? I shook my head. I didn’t like thinking about that.

It felt good to shower that morning, like I was washing metaphysical as well as tangible grime off of myself. Every other night, I lay on Romero’s sofa and had a sex dream that ended in an orgasm, and yet my brain wasstillconjuring up monsters to fuck in its spare time. I felt gross, queasy, and exhausted.

---