by August Li
“Ros? Ros!” In the bathroom, I looked behind the shower curtain and in the little alcove where we kept the washing machine. Sometimes she climbed into my bed when she got scared, but she wasn’t there tonight.
She wasn’t anywhere.
No, dear God, no. The fucking Nazis. I ran out onto the street and looked up and down, as if that would do a damned thing. What the fuck had I done? I turned my face toward the sky and screamed my throat raw, and then I fell to my knees in the snowbank, sobbing and choking. I puked up the cup of espresso, staining and melting the snow, and then I reached into my pocket with a shaking hand and touched Raf’s name on my contact list.
“Dante?”
At first all I could do was cry and sputter. And scream. Then I heaved in a few deep breaths. “Come back.”
“Dante, you’re scaring me. What—?”
“Just come back! Raf! Come back! I need you. I—” I gagged again, though my stomach was empty.
“Okay, okay,” he said. “I’m turning around. Just keep calm. We’ll figure this out.”
I looked up at the stars and screamed again. I didn’t have words for this, for the fear, the rage. I prayed he was right. What would I do if he wasn’t?
Chapter Eleven
BLESS THE Pennsylvania Department of Transportation. Those hardworking and dedicated bastards kept the buses running until the snow was asshole deep—enough for me and Charlene to make our way to a club on 13th Street. I was fucking horny—hungry—and I needed something.
The place was kind of pretentious, touristy, but I was too desperate for activism. I made sure the doorman saw what he wanted and the bartender saw someone worthy of getting a drink. Sipping my watered-down scotch, I looked around. It was early, and with the storm, the place was pretty empty. But a guy sat at a table in the corner. He looked nervous—out-of-town type—and I went over and sat down across from him. He was cute if average—dirty-blond hair and blue eyes, a striped polo shirt over stiff, new jeans—but he seemed receptive, greeting me with a smile and a lift of whatever purplish red shite he was drinking.
“First time?” I asked.
“What? Oh, in here? Yeah. What about you?”
“Not my first time.” I ran the tip of my tongue along the rim of my glass, holding his shocked eyes the entire time. “So what do you think?”
“About what?”
The way he blushed and trembled was adorable, intriguing. Even better was his desire washing over me, shaping me into his fantasy. It not only made me big—tall and muscular—it told me how to interact with him to fulfill his needs. I set my drink aside and leaned my elbows on the table, forcing my way into his space. “What do you think about me taking you into the bathroom and pounding your ass?”
“I… I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do. You’d love for me to fuck you until you can’t stand. There’s nothing wrong with admitting it.” I tipped my cup and downed the rest of my drink. “I’ll be in the men’s room—for five minutes.”
Without waiting for his response, I turned and left, my cat tucked under my arm. When I got to the gents, I took off my jacket and made a nest for Charlene in the corner of a stall. I dropped a kiss between her sleek little ears and whispered for her to wait for me. She lay down and curled up against the lining of my coat, and I went to stand by the sinks.
My shy lad crept around the door less than two minutes later. He smiled at me, and I smiled back. “Where are you from?”
“M-Missouri,” he said.
“Hmm. Married?”
“Does it matter?”
“No.” I grasped him by the shirt, spun him around, and pushed his chest against the counter. I smacked his ass, then his inner thigh. “Spread your legs.”
Even as he complied, he looked over his shoulder at me with wide eyes. Sweat glimmered across his forehead and above his lip. “What? Here? What if someone sees?”
“Then they’ll see me giving it to you good,” I answered with another slap to his flank. He wanted a bit of rough, and I could do that. “Do you have a problem with that?”
“No, I-I want this. I don’t care if someone watches.”
I pulled his pants down and scraped my nails over his round, lightly furred cheeks. In the mirror, I saw his eyes roll back and his face turn bright red, the flush creeping all the way down. He needed this, and I was going to provide. I could already see in his scrunched-up expression how much he adored me, and I knew how to coax him even further toward that forbidden edge he’d always dreamt of stepping over. “Yeah? You’d like that? You’d like an audience of men in here watching while I tear you apart? Maybe jerking off, getting so turned on by watching what I do to you?”
“Ugh. Oh God.”
I moved my hand to the flap in his underpants. “What, baby? You want some guys in here to watch you? I can make that happen for you.”
“You… you can?” His eyes were like the sky when the clouds shifted and the blue poked out, his desire decadent summer, ice cream dripping on asphalt, chewing gum liquid in the heat, pineapple juice with too much cheapass gin. Jolly Ranchers stuck to their wrappers, making your cheeks suck in when the tart flavor hit your tongue. All melty and sticky and so sweet my mouth watered. I couldn’t wait to feast on that pulpy sunshine pouring out of him. I was going to make this perfect—better than he imagined while he jerked off when his wife was out shopping with her sister.
“I’m going to take such good care of you, you sweet little thing.” I smiled, and a minute later two men came into the restroom: an older gentleman with close-cropped gray hair and a stout, burly bloke with a thick brown beard to match the wavy mop on his head. My particular skills might not have many practical applications, but when I needed them, they delivered. “We have an audience, my sweet. Are you ready?”
Before he could answer, I pushed two fingers into his mouth, rubbing them against his tongue. “Get them wet,” I whispered, leaning down next to his ear and flicking my tongue along the edge.
He sucked sloppily on my fingers until they were coated in his saliva. He grunted, and the bearded man groaned and unzipped his fly. “See that, baby? He’s so hot, watching what I’m doing to you. Look at what you’re doing to these men. It’s just like you always wanted. You’re driving them crazy.”
He dropped his head to the edge of the counter and sobbed, but it was the good kind of crying, the breaking of that wall of guilt and judgment so the golden light could pour out. “Oh God. Fuck me. Now, please. There’s… there’s things in my pocket….”
He rooted around and came up with a handful of condoms and packets of lube. I couldn’t infect him, but telling him so would intrude on his dream—what he wanted was another man, a human man, and so that was what I became. Looking in the mirror, I saw my tan skin and square jaw, receding dark hair cut short. I slid the condom on and tore open the lube with my teeth. It was watermelon. Appropriate. Perfect. Summer. Perfect fucking summer, warm and sweet and so juicy it dripped down your chin. I squeezed the packet and let the clear gel drizzle over him. He shivered pleasantly and arched his back, tilting his hips into the air.
His skin was so red it looked sunburnt, lips shiny with spit, hands shaking where he gripped the edge of the counter. Behind us, the two guys were kissing, rubbing and squeezing each other. My lad’s eyes flitted to them now and then, but mostly he watched me, watched me like I was some deity descended from heaven. I’d hoped to get a snack to keep my strength up, but I’d happened on a feast fit for a king.
Except I wasn’t feeling his energy seep into me, wasn’t satiated at all.
“What are you waiting for?” he rasped. “You… you haven’t changed your mind?”
This guy whose name I didn’t know, who probably worked selling office supplies or some kind of insurance, he needed me. He’d shaped me into exactly what he had always wanted, and I might be his only chance. I bent over him and sucked at his neck, pulling the salty skin up between my lips and teeth. “No, I’ve always wanted to do this, fu
ck somebody like you. You’re perfect, baby, and I’m gonna make you come so hard.” I fucked him for all I was worth, fucked him like he was the only man I’d ever touched, the only one I’d ever touch.
He’d given me a tattoo, an anchor and a rope on the side of my neck, and I slipped completely into his fantasy, doing just what he needed without having to think about it. “You like this?” I panted as I pulled his collar aside to nip at his shoulders.
“Yeah.”
“Tell me. I want to hear it.”
“God… I-I love this.” He soon lost the ability to form words, nothing coming from his swollen lips but long, low moans mixed with choking cries of pleasure.
I watched him break apart, all his cells or molecules or whatever the fuck we’re made of spinning free, dancing about in the negative space, and slowly coalescing until he came with a ragged scream—a newborn cry of transformation. And that’s only a flowery metaphor to anyone who hasn’t been with me.
After I finished into the condom and we separated, the guy stood and looked at me with wide eyes, wobbling like a baby horse. But I could see it in his face—he knew his legs would hold him, and he was ready to run. With a smile, he brushed his lips over my stubbled cheek. “Thank you. This… all of this has made me think.”
Against the wall, the hipster with the beard grunted into the older guy’s neck. They weren’t really concerned with us anymore.
“’Bout what?” I asked.
He grinned, showing slightly crooked teeth. “I… I don’t know. Maybe about staying in Philadelphia, looking for work. I… I was always too scared to…. I’m not so scared, though. I think maybe I could do it. Ha. Probably just endorphins or whatever. Afterglow. It’s probably stupid to consider changing your whole life just because of a fuck in a bar bathroom.”
Sensing he needed it, I reached out and pulled him to my chest, wrapping him in my arms and stroking his damp hair. “The reason’s not important. Your life needs changing or you wouldn’t be thinking about it at all.”
He nodded against my thick pecs covered in dark hair. I was liking this role he’d written for me, starting to see myself slipping easily into it—I could do worse than a bloke who liked a bit of rough, urgent sex and dirty talk but sweet cuddles after. Being there next to me made him feel safe, and I understood the anchor tattoo. That’s what he wanted, what I was to him: something to keep him in place while the chaos surged and swelled all around. I rather liked that idea. Sure, in time, months or a year or two from now, someone else would catch his eye and I wouldn’t be the pinnacle of perfection anymore—he’d start noticing that I snored and left crisp crumbs in the bed, that another boy had better calves—but I could soak up the honeymoon energy until it waned, feed on it for however long it lasted.
Except I couldn’t. I could see the gilded glow spilling from his every pore, taste it on the air like fresh-cut lawns and barbeque smoke, but that’s all it was. Meals I couldn’t eat. It was awful, like starving while watching a fucking cooking show—enough to entice but impossible to get my hands on. I started to get scared. This had never happened to me before.
“What’s wrong?” my companion asked.
I shook my head. “I’ve got to get going.”
He chuckled. “Me too. Company meeting at the hotel tonight. Will I see you again?”
“I don’t think so.”
He nodded and stepped away from me. “Well, this was good.”
“It was.” I reached out, scraping and clawing, desperate to close my fingers around even a crumb I could lick off my hand. But I couldn’t. “You’ll do well here, if you decide to stay.”
“Yeah. It’s the one good thing about being an insurance adjuster, I guess. You can find work anywhere.”
“Yeah.”
He turned away, and I didn’t want to let him go. I was so hungry, so desperate I wanted to clutch him to me, get a taste of that satisfied essence he was spilling. But I couldn’t, and it wasn’t his fault. “You know, I think you’re going to have an inspired life.”
“That’s a heck of a thing to say.”
“I can just tell. You just have to chase it. Don’t settle. If you remember today, remember that.” Fuck, what was I? A football coach? A bloody motivational speaker? I usually had more time to be subtle, but I needed to leave him better for the experience. That was the whole point of me.
Despite his sweaty hair and the bruises on his neck, he looked formidable when he straightened his back. His blue eyes were clear, determined. “I will. Thanks again.”
He left the room, and I was alone. The other two had slipped out without my noticing and were probably fucking each other senseless somewhere nearby. In the mirror, I began to change back to nondescript and unmemorable, with the real me just behind the veneer the mortals saw. If I squinted at my reflection, I could see my horns, the softness to my face and lips. I’d liked being a big bastard, the kind of bloke who might wear a knitted beanie and watch boxing. Being abstract again, having no identity so soon, was unnerving, but not as unnerving as not being able to absorb the honeymoon energy. Fuck. I turned on the faucet and splashed some cold water on my plain, forgettable face.
As if she sensed my distress, Charlene crept out of the stall and wound her little body around my ankles. She would be getting hungry too. I’d go back into the bar and order some chicken or something. No reason we both had to starve.
I picked my jacket up off the floor and put it on. Thank fuck this place was clean—at least at this hour of the morning. After tucking Charlene in close to my chest, I took a last look at the room. I knew what I needed to do, because I knew what that pale pointy-eared bastard had taken from me. I’m a lover, not a fighter, but the thought of his face made me wish I’d meet a lad who got turned on by ninja serial killers and blood spatter.
Charlene mewled and butted against my chin. I nuzzled my cheek against her head. “I know, mate. First you eat, and then we go deal with the delicate faerie flower.”
Chapter Twelve
I WAS having a lovely party with Mrs. Guzman, drinking Mama Juana—the very excellent home brew she used as cough syrup or kept for when getting inebriated was an absolute necessity—and enjoying the dancing of her little figurines as music wafted into the kitchen from the living room. I enchanted a trio of little men in ponchos with curled mustaches to accompany the tune on the stringed instruments they held, and stuffed rabbits pranced in a line while glass birds fluttered around the light over the table.
Mrs. Guzman—Corazón—made a delightful dance partner. As soon as I was free of this realm, I would take her to one of my houses and weave flowers into her hair. I would conjure a terrace beside a waterfall where she could dance and dance… and I would find some mortal musicians to play the spicy, sensuous music she seemed to favor. I’d construct columns wrapped in ivy and hibiscus to surround the tiled floor. It was nice to have that decided and to have something to look forward to when I returned to my lands, something to occupy myself. Making things and perfecting their every detail until I tired of them was a favorite pastime of mine.
Of course, that dour demon had to interrupt our merriment sometime well after dark. He pounded on the door until we let him inside, snow sloughing off his body as if he was one of my people, of the variety who favored frost and ice. Mrs. Guzman patted his cheeks and took his rumpled jacket to the closet. Inky indulged her with a smile but narrowed his pink eyes at me. “You pig-fucking son of a bastard whore.”
“Language, Raphael,” Mrs. Guzman said in her lilting voice as she spun and took a sip from her dainty chalice. She went to put a new disk into her machine while Inky backed me against the living room wall.
I heard a soft mew, followed by He’s very angry, fey-friend. He wanted to mate, but it wasn’t successful.
“Ah, the incomparable Charlene. Good evening, my love.” I smiled and bowed to the black-and-white cat, and she swatted me in the mouth with a paw, leaving a small cut on my lower lip.
“Don’t you try sucking
up to my cat, cunt.” Inky shoved his fist into my shoulder, but I pushed past him as another jaunty tune began.
I held my hand out to Mrs. Guzman. “My lady.”
“Ah, Ramon. You are so handsome. My beautiful soldier boy. Such a hero.” We began to dance, the figurines on the floor scurrying out of the way of our feet. “Where is your lovely wife tonight?”
“Well, she commands a large portion of your ruler’s forces,” I said. “Training them takes more of her time than she would like. But no one is better equipped for the job, because they cannot match her intimate knowledge of warfare. Alas, keeping this realm safe remains her priority, though I am sure she would prefer to be here. Duty to one’s people is a heavy burden.”
“An admirable young woman,” Mrs. Guzman said. “Her hands are probably full with all the terrorists. Isis and Al-Qaeda.”
“Exactly,” I answered, dipping her. “And on top of that, being such a legendary beauty that artists are lining up to commit her image to paintings and statuary. And we mustn’t forget her enthralling singing voice.”
“A movie star and a general,” Mrs. Guzman muttered dreamily. “Does that mean I will have to wait for grandchildren?”
“Hardly! My wife is already pregnant with twins! A boy and a girl. She insists our daughter must have your name.”
“Isn’t that wonderful! Oh, I can hardly wait to get my hands on the little angelitos. You will have to forgive me if I spoil them rotten.”
There was a high-pitched, scratchy screech, and then the music stopped. Poor Mrs. Guzman looked positively crestfallen as she drained her little goblet and stumbled to sit on the lurid sofa, her head lolling back against the cushions.
“Enough, asshole,” Inky hissed through his teeth. “You took something of mine, and I want it back.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Then fulfill the bargain you agreed to, demon.”
Charlene became agitated, and Inky released her from his coat. She went to swipe at the rabbits dancing in a line, batting at their white whiskers as their bulky hind legs thumped up and down.
