Chapter 23 - Want Me, Take Me, Haunt Me, Make Me

Perthrux didn’t claim all of Ligat’s time.

It could have, and early in their acquaintance it had amused the demon to do so, whether that meant having Ligat wait for hours or days attending to it, sending him on trifling and unpleasant errands, or taking more painful and direct action to occupy itself. Demons could be fickle creatures, though—Ligat sometimes thought it was one of the few things that saved humanity—and Ligat had fallen from fascinating plaything to occasionally useful tool. He still came at the demon’s call, still followed its orders, but he’d built himself a place in the ethereal and found pursuits of his own.

Watching Hazel Lewis meant less wandering, of course, but in the days since her dryad captured him, Ligat had begun trying to approach or leave her home from new, unknown directions. It was practical enough to please his master—finding a way around the guardians would be useful—but practicality was never uppermost in Ligat’s mind as he walked the strange paths of the ethereal. The simplest was a reasonably straightforward route through the abstraction of a forest, of course, but he’d discovered that following another path led from Hazel’s yard to a beach where the sea glowed red and winged creatures came out of the waves. A third took him to the ruins of a city he’d never seen on Earth, a place of marble parapets and abandoned colonnades.

Had it been in the mortal world once, full of people that time had forgotten? Ligat couldn’t tell. He saw no people when he was there, but the place was inhabited in its way—

—and so when he became aware of footsteps behind him, he snapped to attention, calling power to his hands as he whirled around.

And there was the little medium, ducking behind a pillar, but not nearly quickly enough. She hissed a command to the dog she’d befriended, who vanished in a shimmer of blue light, and started backing away, not yet sure enough that he’d seen her to run and risk drawing his attention.

That uncertainty let Ligat close the distance between them. Hazel turned to run as she saw his approach, but he lunged forward too quickly, grabbed her wrist in one hand before she could reach for the knife in her belt, and spun her around to face him. “Following me?”

Her blue eyes were wide with alarm as she stared up into his face, and Ligat could feel the rapid beat of her heart through the slender wrist he held, but she lifted her chin and answered back smartly. “No, I just decided to take an afternoon walk in R’lyeh.”

Ligat didn’t know the name, but it didn’t matter. Hazel’s closeness to him did, he was finding—the defiant tilt of her head, the faint apple-blossom odor of her shampoo, and the softness of her skin beneath his fingers. They filled his senses rapidly, even as he tried to push the sensations away.

He should have known better.

“You should know better,” he said. “Prying into my affairs isn’t wise.”

Anger flamed in her face, reddening her cheeks and narrowing her eyes. “I’m drawing the ethereal wherever I go. It’ll overwhelm me before too long, even if your boss and his other sidekick stopped trying to hurry it, which I don’t think they will. What exactly would you say is wise for me to do under the circumstances?”

“Not this,” he said.

“Well, thank you so much for the input.” She tried to yank her wrist free of his grip, Ligat tightened his hand, and then the loud sound of hoofbeats made both of them freeze.

Ligat recognized the noise.

Fear narrowed his awareness. The hoofbeats were coming toward them, but one deity or another was merciful, and he couldn’t actually see the creatures making the noise, which meant they had a little time. He peered desperately down the street and saw an open doorway a few buildings away: salvation.

Hazel had started to turn, but she’d also stopped trying to pull away, and Ligat grabbed her around the waist. She fit easily over his shoulder, despite her startled wriggling. “Just what the hell—” she began.

“Hush,” Ligat told her grimly, “and hold on if you value your life.”

With Hazel’s lithe body pressed against his back, Ligat dashed for the doorway. He didn’t dare to look behind him, but Hazel did. He could feel her gasp and the sudden tension of her muscles. Then she did as he’d told her for once, hands clutching him to the point of pain.

Ligat ignored it. He ran with all his strength over the ancient cobblestones, other buildings speeding by his vision in a blur of once-bright color. One of the creatures behind them brayed—not a hunting call yet, he hoped, just urging its fellows onward.

There. Sanctuary.

He charged through the door and immediately swerved right, putting a solid wall between them and the street. As he came to a stop, hood fallen back and hair damp with sweat, one of the things outside voiced a high, equine scream.

Both of them flinched at the noise. “What are those?” Hazel whispered, breath hot against his neck as he lowered her to the ground.

“I never asked their names,” he said. “Hunters.”

He knew what Hazel had seen: the rough outline of a horse but skinless, red muscle dripping with blood that never seemed to run out—perhaps the creatures replenished it from their victims. “I fought one,” Ligat said, “and it was no easy task.”

“There were at least three. Probably more,” said Hazel.

She hadn’t stepped back, and Ligat’s hands were still at her hips. As the first mad panic faded, he became aware of their situation, and of the firm, yielding feel of her body beneath the denim. He watched the motion of her throat as she swallowed, then looked back up to find her staring at him.

“Why didn’t they follow us in here?” she asked, still keeping her voice down. The whisper made her sound even more breathless.

“They can’t cross thresholds. They can’t sense us through walls either.”

“So we…wait?”

“Yes. They’ll move on to other…games. It just takes time.” He dropped his hands back to his sides.

Hazel exhaled slowly, almost certainly not meaning to call attention to the rise and fall of her breasts, which her thin pink shirt did almost nothing to hide. Ligat didn’t mean to stare, for that matter. It still took him a moment to look away.

For that matter, she was still standing close to him. Maybe it was out of fear, or because they were the only two beings that resembled people or even life in this place, but Ligat saw her bite the corner of her lip and thought otherwise.

“What is this place?” Hazel asked. Her gesture took in the room, but Ligat suspected it extended to the city as a whole.

“A memory, perhaps. Or a dream. I’m not sure.”

“Not your demon’s lair, then?” Hazel gave him a tiny, mocking smile. “Did your master send you out for cigarettes, or are you playing hooky? Going to get in trouble if you stay out too late?”

Ligat felt himself rise to the challenge—in more ways than one, despite or perhaps because of the momentary spark of irritation. “Your concern does you credit.”

“I’m more or less a saint.”

The room was dim and warm around them, full of furniture that perhaps no human had ever used. Danger ran through the city beyond the walls. “I’m here on my own business,” said Ligat, raising one hand to cup the side of Hazel’s face. “My master knows what it needs to. And I’m no schoolboy.”

As he drew his thumb slowly across her cheekbone, her lips curved further and her eyes darkened. “What are you, then?” she asked, voice low again but not from fear this time.

“Unwise,” he said, and pulled her to him.

---

* * *

Ligat wasn’t gentle.

He wasn’t rough or clumsy—not by a mile—but when his mouth settled over hers and his tongue slid between her lips, it was with all the swift, controlled force of a hunter claiming its prey. With one hand on her shoulder and the other at her waist, he held her tight against him while he kissed her, though Hazel never thought for a second of moving away.

She wanted all of it—the heat of his mouth, the strength in his hands, the lean, hard lines of his frame—and more. She shouldn’t have wanted it, but she’d told herself that for days and it had apparently not sunk in at all.

I give myself very good advice floated through her mind, Carroll by way of Disney, but I very seldom follow it.

Hazel had spent most of her life being sensible. That life might be—probably was—approaching a grisly end. She’d reconsider her choices later.

Grasping Ligat’s shoulders to steady herself against both the angle and the surge of lust that left her legs weak, she leaned up into his embrace. He caught his breath. She didn’t hear it, but she felt the sudden stillness of his chest as her breasts pressed against it, and the knowledge sent another spike of arousal through her.

It was also briefly familiar, which made no sense at all, since she didn’t believe in soulmates or Disney lyrics. Besides, she hadn’t kissed him in the dream. Hazel brushed off the feeling of déjà vu—brains were odd and she had no time for analysis—and let herself sink into the kiss again.

All at once, with the same swiftness he’d used to grab her arm or throw her over his shoulder, Ligat spun them around, pinning her against the wall with his weight. His hands found her breasts, cupped them firmly, dragged his thumb over her stiff nipples until Hazel couldn’t keep herself from whimpering.

He raised his head just enough to murmur into her ear: “Do that again.”

“Make me,” Hazel gasped, but she was rocking her hips even as she spoke, seeking contact with the hard and truly impressive length nudging at her stomach. When Ligat’s fingers closed on her nipples, she didn’t whimper—she moaned.

All of the second thoughts floated through her mind in a moment, but, with Ligat teasing her breasts and his mouth smooth and deft against hers, she found herself producing a quick answer to every objection.

He’s a demon’s minion. But she knew that, and she also knew he couldn’t kill her.

It could be a trap. Not unless the demon had known exactly where she’d be and when, and if it did, she was even more doomed than she’d thought.

We’re in some abandoned store, for God’s sake, it’s not exactly clean or comfortable. Whatever. Some people had sex on camping trips. At least the floor in the building was dry.

The conduit— She got herself off regularly, and that had never caused trouble.

At that point, Ligat slid one hand down to the waistband of Hazel’s jeans, and his touch silenced even that feeble debate. He paused for barely a second before plunging farther in one cool, sure motion that ended with the base of his fingers pressed just above her clit and his fingertips slipping into her.

He must have felt how wet she was—well, there was no way he could not, she was basically dripping onto him—because he made a low noise in his throat. “Needy little creature, aren’t you?” he growled.

“Takes one—” Hazel reached out and wrapped her fingers around the erection tenting his robe. “To know one.”

Ligat’s cock pulsed against her palm. It was too thick for her to close her hand, especially with the cloth tugging and shifting between them, but she squeezed lightly and his hips jerked forward in response. Hazel drew her hand up and ran her thumb over the head, where the thick cloth was damp already.

He caught her wrist again. “Stop that.”

It didn’t seem like a real boundary, not with his other hand still buried in her jeans, his fingers stretching and teasing her, but Hazel stilled her hand anyhow. “What?” she asked, trying to be cool and sounding half-broken instead. “Do you have to pay for your own dry cleaning?”

“I have other plans.” He did pull his hand back up then, and Hazel groaned, but it turned into a giggle as she felt Ligat fumbling with the buttons on her jeans. He silenced her with another hard kiss. “Take these down.”

“Or?” she asked, though she was already slipping the button free, not caring how much it undermined the question.

His grip on her wrist tightened, and the red eyes staring at her flared. “Or I’ll find an easier way to have them off you.”

“You make a lot of threats.” Hazel yanked her zipper open. “And I need my other hand.”

Ligat dropped her wrist. She watched his face as she hooked her thumbs into her waistband and shoved her jeans and underpants to her ankles, dizzy heat running through her as he saw her exposed skin and bit his lower lip. “I’m not taking off my shoes here,” she said. She’d clearly lost her mind to lust and near-death experiences, but there were still limits, even if they began and ended with not getting stung by ethereal scorpions.

“No need,” said Ligat, voice low. “Turn around.”

You’re not my supervisor, she thought, but the order and the desperation in it both went straight to her center, tingling almost as much as the sudden cool air. Hazel turned to face the wall, aching and ready, as she heard the light clanking of metal behind her.

Then Ligat was there at her back, the head of his cock sliding, broad and cool, between her legs. He nudged her thighs farther apart with one hand, found the right angle to make up for the difference in their heights, and then thrust in with one unwavering, hard stroke.

“Mn,” said Hazel, or words to that effect.

Buried to the root, he stopped. His hand circled around her thigh to brush against her clit. “Too much?”

There was a challenge to the question, a hint of triumph—but Hazel thought for a moment that she heard concern as well. Don’t read those tea leaves, honey, she told herself, and sank back into sensation. “No.” She would have lied for her ego, but she didn’t have to. Ligat was filling her very thoroughly, and stretching around his girth was a process, but it was a welcome one. Hazel shifted her hips, exploring.

Ligat’s groan vibrated through his chest and her back. “Do not,” he said, one hand clenching on her hip, “move.”

“No?” she repeated, a challenge of her own this time, because she knew this was not the sort of encounter where she could whine, but I have to, I can’t stop, it feels too good.

He pressed harder on her clit, circling two fingers around it. “No,” he repeated, voice rasping in her ear. “Not at all.”

Hazel would have resented the command, but she couldn’t feel anything except desire. It flooded her nerves and her brain, making her arch so that her head lolled back against Ligat’s shoulder as he started thrusting, drawing her thighs tense around his hand when he sped that up.

The buckles on his robe dug into her back with every motion, a sharp contrast that wasn’t quite pain, that focused her mind more intently on the pleasure rising within her. She barely even noticed that she was moaning again, though she heard the noises Ligat made, the low gasps and groans as he pumped his hips and his cock worked in and out of her.

Braced against the wall, with Ligat’s hand and her own lust holding her still, she couldn’t tease him in return, couldn’t switch angles to set the pace, couldn’t do anything but feel. Sensation rocked her like waves in a storm, building at a speed she couldn’t control and had no desire to resist.

Hazel came with a long, low cry, her vision blurring as her body convulsed. She couldn’t keep from moving then. Without even thinking, she was jerking her hips in small but quick thrusts, drawing out her orgasm on Ligat’s cock.

He hissed against her neck. His hand at her hip clenched, the fingers on her clit pressed harder, and Ligat drove himself into her with a new desperation and a faster, stuttering rhythm. Hazel heard a moan that sounded like it came from the bottom of his lungs and felt him arch above her, all his muscles turned to steel cables for just a second. Then his cock started jerking inside her, flooding her with warmth, and the lean figure at her back slumped forward.

Whatever flaws he had, he was nice enough to brace himself with one hand against the wall rather than squashing Hazel into it. She appreciated that sort of thing.

And maybe she did let herself enjoy the closeness a little bit longer than she should have, for all that it was an even worse idea than enjoying his body. Her head was still spinning, after all—sudden movements were probably a bad idea. If that meant waiting under Ligat, feeling the security of a solid form above her and smelling the vague hint of cedar that clung to his skin, well, that was just the situation.

Besides, the longer she stayed pressed against him, the more she could maybe delay really thinking about what she’d just done.