The Cobbler's Soleless Son

by Meredith Katz

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Book Details

  Dedication

  The Cobbler's Soleless Son

  About the Author

  THE COBBLER’S

  soleless

  SON

  MEREDITH KATZ

  Everyone expects Renart Walker to follow in his mother's footsteps and become the cobbler for their little demon-ruled town. That'd be the proper thing to do: keep his head down, live his quiet human life, and try not to get too involved with demons. But Renart has never been terribly concerned with proper, and he isn't interested in a quiet life. His interests are a little more ambitious: he's aiming to catch himself a demon prince.

  As a human, he'd never be allowed to even get close to Prince Hrahez. The only solution is to make a bargain with a demon, and everyone knows what they want. Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained, and he's got a plan—but it involves tricking a demon. If it doesn't work, nobody in town would want to be in his shoes.

  The Cobbler's Soleless Son

  By Meredith Katz

  Published by Less Than Three Press LLC

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.

  Edited by Michelle Kelley

  Cover designed by Natasha Snow

  This book is a work of fiction and all names, characters, places, and incidents are fictional or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.

  First Edition August 2016

  Copyright © 2016 by Meredith Katz

  Printed in the United States of America

  Digital ISBN 9781620048290

  To(e) the lovely Samantha King, without whom this feat wouldn't have been achieved. Love you, darling, and thank you for always stepping up for me.

  Renart Walker, the cobbler's son, tilted his head up and breathed in the scent of demons. There were always at least a couple in this town—passing through, hunting, going about their business. Today, though, they crowded into the streets, rubbing shoulders and other parts (not all of them even had shoulders) with the humans around them.

  Hrahez, the Demon Prince who ruled the fiefdom of which Potfeld was a part, held grand events twice a year. Of these, the humans were only invited to one, and the demons brought the party to them.

  This year it was a parade, though as always, some kind of celebration had formed around it. Fresh food was being hawked to curious onlookers, and demons turned out to mingle with the crowds, joining in the revelry as it passed through the fief. The purpose, as Renart understood it, was for the prince to show himself off to his fiefdom—to remind them of his presence.

  The previous year, it had been a festival and market, though Renart hadn't seen much of it. Right at the start, he'd hooked up with a demon and missed most of the day's events. It wouldn't be the first festival he'd missed like that, though—and he rather hoped it wouldn't be the last.

  He wondered vaguely if Tarigan were around this year and what Renart would say to them if so. He didn't think it'd be something he'd have to deal with, even if they were somehow still in Potfeld, Tari probably wouldn't look anything like Renart remembered.

  Tari was a cubant—a sex demon. Renart had met incubi and succubi before, cubants manifesting male or female, but Tari was the first intercubus he'd seen. He'd known all cubants could change their bodies' entire appearance at whim, and swapped terms when they did, but wasn't sure if that changed how they thought of themselves.

  "Well," Tari had said when Renart had asked, "we're all cubants however we look. That's how we identify, kiddo. Pronouns, terms... for some people, demons and humans alike, they definitely matter! But for cubants—and a lot of shapeshifters—they're just descriptions for people who want to put words to others. And they help us get what we want." They had paused then, and grinned at Renart. "And I do like getting what I want from you. But we're everything, and we flow back and forth over that range. Male, female, both, in between, outside. We change what we look like and call ourselves to reflect how we feel at the time, though of course some of us have our preferences. But if I start feeling like I want to wear a different shape, I'll use different words."

  So that had answered that, and Tari spent a lot of time answering other things besides, some without words entirely. It had been an enjoyable and educational few months, but after that they'd started coming to his window a lot less. When asked, they'd outright admitted they were getting bored of Potfeld, and ruffled his hair as if to take the sting away. Renart had taken that silent apology to mean that they were also bored of Renart, and wasn't terribly shocked when one day, Tari just stopped coming around. The two of them hadn't had many interests in common, and Renart's eagerness to learn only got them so far.

  Besides, newly of age as he had been, Renart was curious about meeting a lot of types of demons at that time, and the way Tari drained his energy made it difficult to play around.

  The break-up had set his friends' minds at ease, at least, though Renart carefully avoided telling them that it wasn't stopping him from seeing other demons. Most people worried quite a bit about anyone who wanted to hang around with demons. Demons were predators, after all—and humans just their prey, the cities their herds.

  Demons didn't hunt humans to death in Hrahez's fiefdom—at least, not so often that it was notable, not if they stayed safely within the cities. Hrahez was rare in that he managed to maintain some sort of balance between giving demons the run of the place and keeping humans relatively safe. He allowed humans to live their lives with minimal interference besides what people brought on themselves—unlike most demon-run fiefdoms, which tended toward tyrannical slavery at best. For the people in those, there was never any safety. Fleeing to the few remaining human-run cities wasn't an option either. They rarely let in outsiders, and as he'd heard it, they spent all their time under constant vigilance to keep their cities demon-free, with citizens reporting each other for interrogation at the slightest hint of anything that could have been attributed to demonic influence.

  Of course, people complained about Hrahez anyway, but it didn't sound to Renart like things were terribly different overall from the centuries before the demons had appeared. One way or another there'd be an aristocracy with a common class to serve their needs. Whether it was humans preying on humans or demons doing it instead, Renart couldn't see the point in trying to draw a distinction.

  At least the demons were interesting.

  Music rang out suddenly, signaling the start of the procession. Renart was torn from his thoughts by his excitement, pushing himself up on the balls of his feet to try to see over the crowd.

  He knew Hrahez would be leading the way, but even if he hadn't known, there would have been no doubt which one of the demons was the prince. He was riding a black horse that didn't quite move like a horse, limbs flowing too smoothly, eyes so shadowed in its dark face that Renart couldn't really say for sure that it even had them. Hrahez's robes were draped over both himself and his horse so that he seemed to become part of the creature, sleek black hair so long that it melded in as well, flowing behind him like a cape. His curled horns weighed his head back so his chin was held high.

  Renart's breath caught.

  He had known Hrahez was an incubus, but hadn't anticipated the sheer aura he had. He exuded charisma, charm, desire. It washed over Renart with such intensity that he thought he might die, wanted to be crushed by that sensation more than he'd ever wanted anything. He sighed with an involuntary, sudden longing and heard the rest of the crowd do so as well, a loud exhalation from all around.

  There was no reason for Renart to stan
d out in that mass of meaningless faces and sounds, he knew. He was near the front but not quite at it, and wasn't tall enough to catch anyone's attention in a crowd.

  Despite that, their eyes met.

  A memory washed over Renart, visceral, of being a child, lying on his back in the fields outside the dubious protection of Potfeld's walls. He'd been staring up at the wide black sky with its million points of light, breathing in the cool fall air, shivering and waiting. At the time, he'd felt very small and alone in the darkness, and liked it that way. He stayed out very late, as late as he could without starting to drowse, and wondered if a monster might come and eat him. When one didn't, he finally went back home, disappointed. He'd climbed up to his window to sneak back in, his mother none the wiser, and felt a little lonely, lacking something he couldn't name.

  The bright flecks of gold in Hrahez's forest-green eyes were like stars. Looking into them made Renart long for it again—that sky, that hypothetical monster. He wanted to be devoured, and to fight back from the inside. As an adult, it sank into him in a new way.

  They didn't speak to each other. They couldn't have even if they'd wanted to, separated by the crowd, Hrahez leading a procession that wouldn't stop. Their gaze held as Hrahez rode past, and was broken only when the prince would have to crane his neck to keep it.

  Renart watched Hrahez's back until it too was out of sight, and then couldn't seem to focus on the parade itself. The crowd was shifting and talking, excitement and fear, and he felt a rush of sudden irritation.

  The person next to him nudged him. "Did you see him look at the crowd? Gave me chills. I swear he was looking right at me!"

  No question who the girl meant, though he felt a little offended at her assumption. "I saw," he said. "I wanted…" He didn't know how he could end that, and didn't bother trying. Not much of a point telling a stranger about that feeling, that desire to throw himself to the wolves just to see if they'd want to eat him.

  The girl made a face. "Of course you wanted him! He's an incubus. I want him too… Oh, I swear my legs are weak…"

  Renart's stomach twisted with his annoyance. He couldn't enjoy the parade, not any more. After Hrahez, everything else seemed like a cheap performance.

  "I have to go," he said.

  *~*~*

  When Renart returned home that night, his mother seized him by the ear and began dragging him over to her work desk. "I cannot believe you," she sighed. "Going out to the yearly festival like you're some kind of damn child? You're a man of nineteen, and it's high time you acted it!"

  "Ow, ow! Mum, you know these festivals aren't for chil—"

  "You've work to do, lad," she said, and took her seat again, handing him her cobbler's last and an insole. He obligingly began to press the last down against the insole, taking the sections of leather as she passed them over and placing them so she could tack the parts together. "Yes, argue back, certainly. Oh, you're clever all right, but what good is that when you can't help in the shop on a day like today? Do you know how much business we've been getting?"

  He managed to keep from rolling his eyes through force of will. Obviously, it had been a hectic day for her. "I'm helping right now, mum."

  She eyed him dourly, but accepted that. "Not a thought of duty in your mind," she muttered, pressing a tack down and hammering it into place. "Always chasing your dreams. You should count yourself lucky, you know. If we lived in any other fiefdom, you wouldn't get to go out and play with those demons. They'd have you out working in the quarries or the fields—"

  "Or the mines," he agreed affably. "Toiling away in misery at a job I didn't choose nor wished anything to do with. What a fate that would be!"

  Her hammer landed heavily on her bench. "Now listen here, Renart. You should be the future cobbler one day, but you don't act like you intend for that to happen. Nor do you look into any other work—you just faff around all day! It's time for you to focus, because I'm not getting any younger. I don't want to hire myself an apprentice, not when you already have this kind of skill."

  "I've been learning from the best, mum," he said with a winning smile and an utter lack of interest. He'd been watching his mother day in and day out since he was a child. She could pour her wants into the leather, shape it and change it and be satisfied when the end result was a boot. But leather was a tool, and it would only ever change as it was forced to. There was no challenge in it for him.

  "Hold it steady, Renart!"

  "Yes, mum," he said, and let his mind wander as she continued to grumble.

  Now, Prince Hrahez… that'd be a challenge. Completely out of his reach, of course. Most of the time when he went after a demon, he'd just walk up and introduce himself—but there was no way he'd just see Hrahez passing by casually on the town's streets like he did any other demon. He couldn't just go looking for him, either. There was no way for him to know where Hrahez was at any given time beyond the events he held.

  Waiting a full year to catch a glimpse of him again would be agonizing.

  Even if he got lucky and did, somehow, just happen to see Hrahez around, it wouldn't work out. He was sure of that. It was already difficult to make it so he was treated seriously by any of the demons he'd approached, but a prince? Renart needed to do something to get his attention, or he'd be beneath his notice. At best, he'd be used and thrown away. At worst, he'd be used right up. That had its own appeal, but sounded awfully temporary.

  There had to be something he could do. Some way to be acknowledged.

  But he couldn't think of anything.

  *~*~*

  Months passed, and it felt like his mind was always working. Whenever he wasn't distracted, he was thinking of opportunities. Making plans, discarding them, and starting all over again. His mother praised him for how devoted he was to business these days, but it was just easier to think when his hands were busy.

  Renart was mulling it over one late summer day, sitting out front of the shop and working some leather, and almost scraped himself with his tool when he was hit by a wave of desire. He looked up, knowing he'd see a cubant, hoping absurdly that it might actually be Prince Hrahez.

  It was a succubus, and she was beautiful. Voluptuous and fleshy, she was entirely made out of curves: round thighs and round hips, round waist and round breasts, curly hair bouncing with every step she took. She was tall too, he noticed. Her horns—two slick things that pointed up like reflective crescent moons—only made her taller. There was just a lot of her.

  The succubus glanced his way as his head jerked up toward her, and she smirked as their eyes met. Arousal washed over him again, but along with it—with finally seeing a demon around again who'd bothered to even look his way—came an idea. It was a half-formed plan, poorly-thought-out at best, but he didn't have the time to think it through properly. She was on her way somewhere, and if he didn't say anything, she'd continue on. He smiled back, knowing that what he was about to do was probably pure suicide. The risk was heady. A little excited, he rose to his feet.

  "Lady demon," he said. "A moment of your time?"

  For a moment, he thought she'd consider him beneath her regard—that she'd keep walking on without hesitation. Her gold-flecked green eyes returned to the road briefly before meeting his again, but she did stop, and spread her arms with a shrug. You got my attention; now what? her posture said. "I hope it will take more than a moment," she said aloud, lips still curved.

  His heart was beating fast, heat flushing his body, the weight of arousal growing in him. It settled heavily around his throat, his chest, his groin. She was affecting him, and even without the vague plan slowly coming together, he wanted her. He flashed her a grin, running fingers through his hair. "I'm counting on it," he said.

  The succubus lifted a brow at the surety, smiling back, then offered a hand to him. "Well, then?"

  Renart took it, and led her from the porch around the building, taking the back way into the shop. He needed to get the succubus up to his room on the second floor, but his mother wou
ld be on the shop floor, working and selling. There was no way he wanted to cross her line of sight, not while sneaking a demon inside. Sure enough, the path was clear from the back door, and he grasped the demon's hand in his own slightly sweaty one, almost dragging her up the steps to his room.

  She let out a laugh, amused and startled. "Eager, aren't we?"

  "You have no idea," he said. She could smell and taste the arousal rolling off him, he knew that much. Tari had described it to him once. It was, they'd said, similar to how smelling food made you hungrier, and sometimes even made you start to taste it already.

  The succubus probably had some idea how eager he was, he thought ruefully. Even if she herself weren't so appealing, the danger of his plan would have got his blood pumping.

  They didn't waste any time going about it, barely undressing. He was already hard, and she was ready for him. As soon as the door was shut she was on him, slamming him back against it hard enough that he saw stars. His feet scrabbled on the ground to brace himself as she sank down to her knees, unfastened his pants, and drew his cock out.

  Her eyes glittered up at him and her mouth opened, small fangs outlining a broad wet tongue. Eager, wanting, elated, he grabbed her horns to hold on as she swallowed him down.

  The horns didn't give him any control, for better or worse—they were just something to ground himself to. She was stronger than he was, and nothing he could do would affect her movements. Her head bobbed as she took him in over and over, mouth working, tongue lashing, one hand squeezing his balls, her other one stroking down her own body to settle between her legs. At least by holding her horns he could find himself again in that whirlwind of pleasure, have a sense that he still existed. He gripped them, white-knuckled as he ground his hips forward to push himself into the hungry warmth of her mouth, thrusting hard and fast. No need to worry about her throat. Cubants designed their bodies around things like this and he felt no resistance, no strain, as she moved on him.