by Tal Bauer
The incubus grabbed Alain behind the neck and pulled him down, sealing their lips together as his skin glowed amber and his eyes gleamed, bronze light bathing Alain’s shocked features.
Gunshots cracked, splintering down the alley. The incubus stumbled, releasing Alain. Alain crashed back against the alley wall and slid down the worn bricks, landing beside Cristoph.
The incubus turned rage-filled eyes at Lotario and Angelo, both holding their ground at the club’s back entrance and brandishing their modified pistols.
More shots rang out. Bronze holes appeared in the incubus’s body, gleaming shards of raw light beneath the wounds. But no blood. Angelo fired again, and half of the incubus’s jaw blasted away. There was nothing but a bronze glow beneath the remnants of the incubus’s—of Cristoph’s—face.
A snarl, like a lion raging at a lost kill, and the incubus turned. The image of Cristoph fractured. Fell apart into a stream of bronze light that shot straight into Cristoph’s and Alain’s chest.
Alain shrieked.
Footsteps thundered as Lotario and Angelo ran for them. “Alain!” Lotario shouted. “Jesus Christ, Alain! What the fuck were you thinking, you stupid sonofabitch?”
Everything sounded so far away. Alain shook his head, trying to break through the heat haze in his mind. Warmth hovered next to his body, the scents of sweat and sunshine and grass and gunpowder filled his nose. “Cristoph…”
Cristoph, slumped against the brick wall, stared at him. “Alain,” Cristoph whispered. One shaking hand rose and rested on Alain’s cheek.
One touch, and a firestorm erupted inside Alain.
He needed Cristoph, needed the man like he needed to breathe. Every one of his fantasies roared through him, all of his yearning, his longing. Cristoph’s smile played on an endless loop. He heard Cristoph’s voice calling his name, gasping, moaning. Wanting. Fire raged through him, a demonic burn coursing through his soul. Hunger twisted his mind until his only thoughts were possess, mine, possess, mine!
Alain grabbed Cristoph, dragged him into his arms. His lips descended, mouthing down Cristoph’s neck, sucking at his pulse point. He tasted the hot sweat and demon energy coating Cristoph’s body. Moaning, he rolled Cristoph onto the ground.
Cristoph went, panting wildly and breathing Alain’s name. His hands wrapped around Alain’s neck, his ankles twisted around his back, thighs squeezing Alain’s hips and dragging him down, grinding their bodies together. Alain molded himself to Cristoph, holding them as tight together as he possibly could. He buried his hands in Cristoph’s tousled hair. He was going to use his out-of-regulation hair as handlebars as he fucked Cristoph’s mouth. He said so, grunting the words into Cristoph’s skin as his bottom lip dragged over his neck.
Cristoph arched against him, his erection sliding against Alain’s through their pants. “Yes, Alain. Take me! Fuck me!”
Lotario’s hands grabbed Alain’s shoulders. Tried to pull him off Cristoph. Alain snarled, shoving Lotario away. He grasped Cristoph tighter. Nothing would pull Cristoph from him. Nothing. Cristoph was his.
He’s so fucking perfect. So beautiful. I’m going to make love to him for days.
“Shit!” Lotario reached for Alain again. Alain tried to punch him across his jaw. “They’ve both been caught up in the incubus’s spell.”
“How do we break it?” Angelo tugged on Cristoph, trying to drag him away from Alain. Cristoph refused to go, clinging to Alain madly.
Alain kicked Angelo, snarling like a wild animal. Heat poured off him, slicking his shirt, his clothes, with sweat. He needed to be naked. Cristoph needed to be naked. They needed to fuck. Now.
“It’s a possession,” Lotario snapped. Alain heard the words. They meant nothing to him, not in the midst of his need to fuck Cristoph through the pavement, all the way to Australia. “We have to exorcise the incubus’s energy or they’ll burn themselves up fucking each other’s brains out.”
Roaring, Alain swung wildly at Lotario, a wild haymaker with no finesse. Lotario ducked and grabbed his arm, twisting and pinning it behind Alain’s back. Alain tried to kick Lotario off, tried to fight back, but Lotario threw his shoulder into Alain’s back, holding him down.
He wasn’t going to let these men keep him from Cristoph. Not now. Not when the world had narrowed until all he could see was Cristoph, all he could smell was the sweet scent of his body, and all he could feel was Cristoph’s burning heat and his desperation for him. For Alain.
He’d claw his own bones out to get to Cristoph. Tear his own skin off.
Angelo grabbed Cristoph’s legs and yanked, finally tearing Cristoph from Alain’s grasp. As they separated, Cristoph went limp, his eyes rolling back in his head as he started to seize.
Alain bellowed wordless curses, mad spitfire, at Lotario and Angelo. Fury cracked his vision as he roared, struggling to get free from Lotario’s hold. His eyes burned, and his pulse pounded in his temple, a heavy war drum beating against his skull. Mine, mine, mine, his blood screamed. Cristoph was everything he needed, every carnal sin that damned a man, and Alain was going to dive cock-first into Hell tonight.
“Who the hell is this guy?” Angelo grabbed Cristoph and hefted him up, slinging Cristoph over his shoulder. He stumbled under the heavy weight. “What’s going on with him and Alain?”
“Give him to me!” Alain roared. “Get away from him!” His fingers scraped on the cold concrete of the back alley, fingernails cracking, skin breaking. Blood streamed down his hands, mixed with the dirt and the grime.
“Sorry, Alain,” Lotario grumbled, slamming his fist into the side of Alain’s face.
Dazed, he lunged for Cristoph, grasping for his shirt, his shoulder, desperate to cling to him. Lotario socked him again, a swift punch to his temple. His vision tripled, went blurry, ruby red. He slumped sideways, falling face-first to the ground, cheek pressed against the concrete. He tried to shake his head, clear the red-hot haze crackling through him, but all he could do was scrape his fingers against the ground as the world swam fuzzy and delirium-slow before his eyes. Cristoph’s scent burned his nose, and as Angelo took a few cautious steps back, Alain keened, an animal wail tearing from him.
“I don’t even know where to begin.” Alain felt Lotario sigh, felt Lotario’s forehead rest on his shoulder. “He’s one of the guards. They’ve been fighting—” Alain saw Lotario’s hand wave, as if to trying to encompass the madness surrounding the two men. “—this. I had no idea it was this bad, though.”
“Bad?” Angelo asked.
“Incubi target a person’s deepest desire, right? They penetrate their target’s subconscious. Get at what they want more than anything else. I would have thought, for Alain, it would have been—” Lotario stopped.
Alain’s eyes slid closed. There was a name Lotario almost said. His breath faltered, but Cristoph’s scent curled along his lips. He snarled, trying to fight Lotario off.
Lotario hauled him up and hefted Alain over his shoulder, holding him tight. “We have to get them to my place. Now.”
* * *
Angelo and Lotario raced to Lotario’s Bug, hobbling as fast as they could with the weight of two grown men over their shoulders. Lotario wheezed, and Angelo cursed with every step. They kept to the back alleys, snaking down the back of the Campo until the last moment. Lotario slumped Alain over the boot of his car as he fumbled with the door locks. Angelo dropped Cristoph in the cluttered backseat, sweeping away empty cigarette packs and newspapers before climbing in after.
Lotario shoved Alain in headfirst on the passenger side.
Alain drooped unconscious over the stick, but roused slowly as Lotario hopped in and slammed his door. Red-rimmed eyes flashed to the back seat, landing first on Cristoph, still unconscious, still trembling, and then on Angelo. His lips curled, a low snarl in his throat.
“Fuck,” Angelo breathed. “Go now! Drive!”
Lotario floored it, peeling out of the Campo in a scream of burning rubber and a thunderous cloud of black smo
ke coughing from the beat-up engine. The Bug lurched, stuttered.
Alain clawed at Angelo and reached for Cristoph. He was half in and half out of his seat, his knees kicking Lotario, growling inhuman snarls at Angelo. One of Alain’s hand fisted in Cristoph’s shirt.
Cristoph’s eyes flew open at the touch. He reached for Alain.
“Don’t let them touch!” Lotario bellowed. “Don’t let them fucking touch each other!”
“You wanna get in the middle of this?” Angelo shoved between Cristoph and Alain, trying to separate their desperate grasping. He threw himself forcibly in between them.
Alain roared. One hand wrapped around Angelo’s throat and squeezed.
“Hurry…” Angelo croaked.
Lotario gunned the Bug’s engine, not slowing for stoplights or corners. They careened wildly, and Alain lost his grip on Angelo’s neck as his arm slammed against Lotario’s headrest on a tight curve. He lunged again, both hands coming at Angelo, and Angelo grabbed him, pulled him into the backseat, and tried to hold him in a headlock. Alain kicked the side of Lotario’s head.
Cristoph wrapped his arms around Angelo’s neck, screaming Alain’s name.
“Goddammit, Alain…” Angelo wheezed, pushing back on Cristoph as he tried to keep Alain in the headlock and force Cristoph to let go. “Fucking demons!”
Lotario swerved the car, and in a squeal of rubber and burning brakes, brought them to a violent stop outside a run-down strip of apartments nestled above a pizzeria, an electronics store, and a kitschy souvenir shop selling crucifixes and rosaries. “We’re here!” He leaped out of the car and yanked open the rear door, grabbing Cristoph. He tugged on an arm and Cristoph’s shirt, the only two things he could reach, and dragged him off Angelo.
Angelo gasped. Alain tried to clamber his way out of the car, mowing right through Angelo to chase Cristoph.
Angelo helped him along, shoving him out to Lotario. “Here!”
Lotario flung Cristoph to the ground and grabbed Alain in a gladiator’s grapple, both hands wrapped around his chest and back.
“Get Cristoph!” Lotario roared. “Follow me up!”
They managed to brawl their way up five flights of narrow stairs to Lotario’s rooftop apartment. Alain kicked and punched and struggled to get to Cristoph. Cristoph wavered between consciousness and unconsciousness. Halfway up the stairs, Cristoph started keening, a low-pitched wail that sounded like glass being sliced in two. Alain roared, fighting against Lotario to get to Cristoph, and only a solid punch to the face managed to knock him off balance enough to continue the climb.
When they burst into Lotario’s tiny apartment at the top of the ramshackle building, Angelo stopped dead.
Lotario lived in the rooftop loft, an open, spartan space, with what little furniture there was pushed clear to the walls. A tiny kitchenette sat in one corner next to a threadbare couch with a broken frame and sagging cushions in the middle. Books were piled under the windows overlooking the street, windows that hadn’t been washed in decades. Grime clung to the panes, the walls, and the antique chandelier overhead, more rust than iron.
In the center of the apartment, two circles were drawn in chalk. An industrial size can of road salt for deicing sat next to the circles, along with chalk. Candle nubs and bowls of herbs squatted at the four cardinal directions.
More herbs hung from the rafters overhead, bundled for drying. Along one wall weapons hung for easy access, balanced on rusty nails. Shotguns, blades, swords, pikes, and pistols. Everything a demon hunter could ever need.
“Get them into the circles, now!”
Lotario’s voice kicked Angelo back into gear. He dragged Cristoph, limp, into the second circle. Lotario dropped Alain in the center of the first and grabbed the can of salt. He kicked Alain down, ripped open his black button-down, and poured salt across his chest. “Stay down!”
Alain howled, a wail that shook the windows. Angelo covered his ears.
Lotario sketched a rune in the pile of salt on Alain’s chest with his fingers. Alain thrashed, but didn’t rise, seemingly held by the rune to the floor. Lotario tossed the salt can out of the circle and grabbed a lighter, balanced on a stack of books, and lit the candles around Alain’s circle. He tossed the lighter to Angelo. As Angelo lit the candles around Cristoph’s circle, Lotario dumped the bowls of herbs surrounding Alain and plucked new buds from the dried hangings above.
He stood back, muttering to himself and staring at the two circles.
“Well?” Angelo held Cristoph down inside his circle. Beneath his touch, Cristoph’s skin burned, far too hot.
“Give me a minute. I have to calculate the circles.”
“Calculate?”
Lotario huffed. “It’s a sphere, really. I have to calculate the energies right. Balance the power so I can pull out and destroy the incubus and leave Alain’s and Cristoph’s souls inside their bodies.” He closed his eyes. “It’s really quite complicated, so it would help if you shut up!”
Angelo shook his head but stayed silent. Cristoph continued to seize beneath his hold.
Lotario mumbled to himself, grabbed a piece of chalk, and knelt next to Alain’s circle. He ignored the howls, the wailing keens coming from Alain as he sketched runes and sigils and signs along the circle’s outer boundary.
The air in the room crackled. A lightbulb blew out in the kitchen. Angelo’s hair stood on end.
Lotario jogged to Cristoph’s circle. He repeated the sigils and signs from Alain’s circle, then added a second layer of sigils at the cardinal directions.
“Get out of the circle, Angelo,” Lotario breathed. “Get out now.”
Angelo backed away. Lotario closed his eyes and held his hands out, palms up. He started to chant.
“Let God arise, and let His enemies be scattered. Let them that hate Him flee from before His face. As smoke vanishes, so let them vanish away. As wax melts before the fire, so let the wicked perish at the presence of God. Flee, enemies! God has conquered you!”
Lightbulbs blasted out across the apartment. Glasses in the kitchen shattered on the countertop and in the sink. Angelo whirled, holding his hand up to his face as a hot wind swept through the apartment. Books flew open, pages slapping forward and backward. Cristoph moaned, and his fingernails scratched over the wooden floorboards.
Alain went still.
Lotario continued to speak. “I drive you from us, impure demon, evil power, and infernal invader. In the name and by the virtue of our God, may you be snatched away and driven from this world, and driven from these men, these souls who are not yours. I take these souls back. I claim them as my own.”
The wind raged, howling through the apartment as Cristoph’s back arched off the ground. His mouth opened, a silent scream paralyzing his body.
Alain thrashed. His fingers ran red with blood as he scratched at the floor. The salt on his chest began to burn. Smoke and the stench of burning flesh curled through the air.
“Cease your audacity, invading demon, as you attempt to deceive the human race! You shall not take these souls! This is the command made to you by I, in the service of the Most High God. In your insolence, you still pretend to be equal, yet you are nothing in the eyes of the Lord! The Lord will have all men saved, and all men shall come to the knowledge of the truth. God—”
Alain bolted upright, sitting straight up, staring wildly at Lotario. His pupils had blown wide, and his gaze seemed to be pure black. His hands stretched out, blood drenching his hands, falling from torn his fingertips. He snarled, a mad, crazed grin of terror and glee. “You think you know God?” he shouted, and his voice wavered, strung through with more than just his own voice. There was something inside of Alain, within him. Speaking for him. “You think you know the truth?” Alain flung his hand. Blood went flying toward Lotario.
Lotario stood tall, staring down the demon in Alain as the blood droplets fizzled against the boundaries of the circle, disappearing in a puff of smoke.
“You know nothing abo
ut the thing you worship.” Alain’s lips curled back, sneering. His head tilted to the side. His eyes were pitch black. “We’re coming. We’re coming for him. He’s ours!”
Lotario spoke again, repeating the ritual. “I exorcise you, you impure spirit, you satanic power. I drive you from us, impure demon, evil power, and infernal invader. In the name and by the virtue of our God, may you be snatched away and driven from this world, and driven from these men, these souls who are not yours. I take these souls back. I claim them as my own.”
Dark chuckling rose from Alain, a dry laugh scraped over brittle bones. Cristoph wheezed, his body shaking, violent seizures inside his circle.
“I drive you from us, impure demon, evil power, and infernal invader. In the name and by the virtue of our God, may you be snatched away and driven from this world, and driven from these men, these souls who are not yours. I take these souls back. I claim them as my own!”
Cristoph bellowed, screaming so loud his throat seemed to tear. Bronze light burst from his eyes, from his mouth, from the center of his chest.
Alain whirled, staring at Cristoph.
A moment later, bronze light erupted from Alain, spearing out of his eyes and his mouth as he roared, arching backward and falling to the floor. The light seemed to struggle, beating against the borders of the circles, as if desperate to escape. Lotario brought his hands together, slowly squeezing something invisible between his palms. The light danced, amber shards sparking, sputtering. As if it were being extinguished.
Lotario’s hands clapped together.
The amber light disappeared with a crack, leaving the apartment shrouded in darkness.
Silence enveloped the men. Angelo heard his own heart pounding, the harsh, ragged inhale and exhale of his own panicked breaths. He clutched the crucifix he always wore in one hand, whispering Hail Marys as he slumped against the far wall, his legs tucking up to his chest.
Alain lay still, unmoving. Cristoph curled into a ball. Both of their chests rose and fell as one, trembling breaths escaping past quivering lips.
