by Anna Sanders
Cris tried to ignore the many emotions playing over his new roommate’s face. In spite of his harsh words, the woman was not going anywhere until he was sure she would not harm herself. He had no intention of letting the bandit waltz out the door after he’d already plucked her from the carnage.
“You must be hungry after all that blather.” He stopped taking pictures and stood upright. “I’ve been told I’m an abysmal cook, but I think I can manage a rare piece of meat for you. That is what you’re partial to, si?”
She nodded mutely.
“By the way, what’s your handle?” he asked her. “I told you mine. I can’t just keep referring to you as ‘bandit’ all day.”
“Isidora,” she answered.
FOR A SIX-HOUR PERIOD seismic activity increased at Puyehue-Cordón Caulle to an average of 230 earthquakes per hour. The increase was felt for miles.
Still, the two acquaintances were perfectly safe in their haven. The continuous shaking did not faze Cris and Isidora as they ate together at the table.
“This is all a part of nature,” Cris explained. “Even though it’s a violent, terrifying event, it will also re-fertilize the land and rivers. There’s a reason for this.”
“Yes, there is. The Land Gods are roving,” Isidora said. “The only way they will stop is with distraction. And after they are sated, then they will grow back the earth and make it stop trembling.”
Cris was compelled to agree with one thing. If there was an ounce of truth in anything the animal was saying, then it was true that she would make a perfect little distraction. What a tart she was. It had been a full day and still Isidora was on his case.
Being in close quarters with the bandit had brought him to one not-so-startling conclusion: he was going to take her as his own. But first he had to win her over with his illustrious charm. That meant holding his tongue when she insisted that her ridiculous beliefs were reality.
Anyway, it wasn’t like he could deny that listening to her crackpot theories didn’t hold some appeal. He was supposed to be able to influence those with his will, yet found himself mesmerized instead by the way Isidora’s mouth moved. Or the way she trilled her tongue on certain words. The mongrel was spellbinding, even if she was wrong.
“How many women has your pack killed… I mean… ‘gifted’ to the lava lords?”
She lifted her eyebrow at that. “None. It has been a very long time since Cherufe decided to split the earth. Our pack has known nothing but peace, and that is why we must secure more for ourselves.”
He decided to change the subject before he said something that put him in permanent hot water. “Would you like to see my portfolio of other natural disasters?”
When she gave a nod, he stood up and went to the bed. Stooping down to reach underneath, he drew out a large leather suitcase and rifled inside of it until he found a large folder. He put it on the table.
She opened it and stared at the first photo. It was of a sky lit with lightning, at least thirty streaks of it.
“Ai!” she exclaimed. “Who angered the sky?”
“Nobody angered it. It’s the lightening fields in Venezuela. It’s an amazing phenomenon that takes place for one hundred and sixty nights out of the year.” He pointed at the album. “That photo got me an award. And it was the front cover of… some nature magazine. I can’t recall the name.”
She was far from impressed by his cred, that was for sure. She gazed in fear and wonderment at the picture. “Someone has hurt their God,” she whispered, tenderly touching the photo.
“Look at the beauty of it instead,” he advised, dragging his chair over to be closer to her. “Isn’t it amazing what nature can do? Nearly three hundred strikes, all taking place at once…” Cris covered her fingers with his, dragging it over the plastic covering. “People still live here. Go to work here, vacation here. They live normal lives despite the very real danger.”
Isidora found herself mesmerized by his voice. The gently touch of his hand was nice, despite the tougher quality of his skin. Her posture went from rigid concern to lax curiosity.
“Here, look at the next ones. They aren’t nearly as… shocking…” He smiled widely at his own pun.
Cave of crystals in Mexico. Stunning sand formations in Arizona. Oceans with frothy waves breaking over black sand. The book abounded with beauty. “This is your passion,” she said, looking at him. “You go to these places and you steal their memories for your books.”
He shrugged a shoulder. “That’s one way to look at it.”
“They will be preserved forever.” And finally, she sounded impressed by him.
He had at least three of his portfolios with him, and he showed her many things. The one thing she seemed to love the most was that he had been all over the world at least twice. She had never seen much beyond the Puyehue Lake.
“There is so much to see,” she said after she closed his last book. “So much beauty.”
“Yes,” he answered, staring at her. “There is.”
Isidora found herself discomforted by his intensity. “Why do you look at me this way?”
“I have a hard time reading you,” he admitted. “That is one of my gifts. I can see into people. But it doesn’t work with other cryptids. I guess I shouldn’t expect it to work with you.”
She frowned. “What are you looking for?”
“Just… I don’t know. Further insight. I don’t know much about you.”
“So you try to read my mind instead of asking me?”
Cris smirked. “It’s how demons usually operate. It’s quicker.”
“We will be stuck in this room for more days, yes?”
“Yes.”
She gave him a small, secretive smile. “Then that’s plenty of time for getting to know one another.”
His cool gaze flitted up to meet her fervent one. “Tell me,” he said, his voice husky. “If I were your Cherufe, what would you have given me?”
Isidora shifted on the bed so that she sat at the edge, one leg swinging down while the other tucked itself beneath her. “All of myself. I would have succumbed to you, and given into your fire.”
His eyes smoldered. “That’s a good answer.”
“You ache to serve a fire demon?” Cris sauntered toward her.
“I was chosen…” Her words were becoming mere whispers. Isidora reached out a hand to touch the hard contours of his abdomen when he reached her. “But perhaps a regular demon will have to do.”
His throaty chuckle made her grin.
Isidora undid the snap of his snug jeans. Slowly, her nimble fingers manipulated the zipper until the fabric parted to expose gleaming skin. She tugged the flaps aside and down, revealing his growing erection.
She began to caress him. It drew a hearty breath from deep within him.
What was once soft flesh quickly became iron in her grasp. And damn it, Cris felt himself already going saggy in the knees. Maybe it had been a while since he’d gotten laid. Or maybe he’d been thinking about this, for enough nights on the cold floor, that it coming to fruition was exactly what he needed at this point. Who gives a fuck? The temptress was running his sense aground.
Eventually the touch of her hands turned to a tender test with her mouth. Starting underside, Isidora wetly dragged her tongue from the head of his shaft down along to the base. There she swirled it in tiny, exact circles before cupping his sack for a kiss. After that, it was a lot of sloppy up and down work with her perfect little mouth. Drawing his member deep into the hot cave of her mouth before sucking back with precise expertise that had him hoarsely groaning out his approval.
Between long pulls she whispered hot things in her language that he didn’t understand and didn’t ask about. She could have been plotting to kill him for all he cared. As long as it was with pleasure, he wasn’t stopping her.
Soon, a niggling voice told the demon that he was being selfish, letting Isidora do all of the work. If she continued the fun would come to an abrupt halt, and he had no
intention of letting her foreplay go unrewarded. With supreme effort he used his hips to pull back, and using the tip of his finger, he urged her toward him by her chin.
When she had risen on her knees to his eye level, he wiped her lips with the pad of his thumb. The bandit wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her soft body to his, but Cris was too impatient about getting her unclothed.
With hurried tugs and rips, soon the two of them were fully naked. They each took a moment to commit every sight to memory, looking their fill before their hands and mouths went wild once more. Isidora clamored to have him on top of her. She used as much strength as she could to pull him down onto the bed, legs splaying open so that their bodies could contour naturally.
“Please, don’t make me wait,” she begged of him.
Cris held her ample breasts in his hands as his mouth plucked and licked her nipples. He wanted to listen to her and bury himself snugly into her moist opening. But no—she would endure some of the teasing that he himself had to resist.
Looking down upon her with a wicked smile, Cris lifted her leg by the thigh with a hard grip. The action spread her legs even further apart, allowing his other hand to blaze a trail to her throbbing clitoris.
“But it’s so much fun,” he breathed hotly against her neck. His fingers twisted and pried, making her shudder beneath him. “Surely you don’t mean to make me stop.. .this…”
Her answer was a whimper, frustration and lust in one. Cris played his fill before moving his fingers into even more hungry territory. She was so slick with arousal that the digits slid easily into the tight hole.
Panting growls tore from her throat as she arched into his fingers. “Cristis,” She pulled him by his hair so that he was forced to look into her wild, black eyes. “Take me.”
Oh, he was more than happy to. But bringing her to this point was highly enjoyable. Giving his hand one more twist for good measure, he moved to hold himself up in preparation.
Well, when she put it that way. How could he delay any longer?
With one thrust he was inside of her. The rickety bed squealed in time with the pumping of his demanding hips. His mouth captured her cries in a heated kiss, and his body steamed on top of her.
“You’re in for it now,” he groaned.
Her reply was to lift her legs to hug his hips. Isidora’s surrender was anything but subtle.
JUNE NINTH, AND LITTLE HAD changed. With the exception of the new lovers and their torrid explorations of one another.
Soon, however, Cris noticed that he was focusing more on the animal in his bed than on his task at hand.
“This isn’t going to last much longer,” he said.
The two of them stood nude before the window, Cris fiddling with the camera and Isidora fiddling with him. He’d gotten her a few dresses from the mostly abandoned town, but she had yet to wear any of them.
“I need more aerial shots.” He spun around to tug her into his arms. “Will you come with me?”
“Back there?” Her smile faded slightly and she looked away from him. “I… can’t.”
“Don’t worry. We can go downwind so it will be easier for you to breathe. I know exactly where to go. You’ll be entirely safe.”
“But the Fire Gods…”
“Oh please. If I was able to take you from them once, you don’t think that I could do it again?”
She wanted to believe him. Going back there held appeal for one reason, and that reason was him. Seeing him in the action while he captured images to add to his work sounded interesting and fun. Going back to the place of her purpose for death did not.
“Nothing will happen to you. Come with me, Isidora. You won’t get another chance like this.”
It was too tempting to back away from.
“How will we get there?” she asked.
He grinned. “We fly.”
CRISTIS BROUGHT THE TWO OF them to the ground with one last beat of his massive wings. Once they reached it, Isidora floridly cursed and scrambled away from him quickly to sit hard on the rocky earth. “You didn’t mind it so much the first time,” Cris teased her, folding the dark appendages behind him like some sort of giant butterfly.
“I wasn’t awake that time!” She was having a hard time catching her breath, her dress whipped about her legs as she pulled her knees to her chest. Thinking of doing that all over again when they had to return made her heartbeat even more erratic.
With attempted calm, Isidora smoothed down her windswept hair and kept her bottom firmly on the ground. “What do we do first?” She asked once her voice had stop trembling.
“First, we set up the tripod. Then I’ll take my hand held up to that ridge.” He pointed. “And unless you want to come with me—”
“I’ll stay here,” she interrupted.
Cris chuckled. “It will be easier on me anyway. I’ll get better shots without you screaming and choking me.”
She huffed at him and removed the backpack from her shoulders. “Just do your work. Monster.”
The set up for the tripod was surprisingly swift, or maybe it was just that Cris had done this so often. To prevent it falling over during one of the constant quakes, he bungied it into place with elastic cords.
While he connected everything, Isidora looked at the terrain around them. He really had brought her to a pretty area. It was a peak high above the still smoldering volcano, and though it was still hazy, the air was clear enough for her to inhale without effort. The massive ash cloud was blowing away from them, and as it went, she was able to see the lava track clearly.
He would get some amazing photos. The azure sky was peaking in patches through the haze, the fiery magma colored the forest a furious orange. What he wouldn’t be able to catch was the stinging smell of brimstone, which wasn’t such a loss.
The ground shook spastically and Isidora braced herself. It only lasted about ten seconds and didn’t detour Cris from his concentration.
“There, all shiny.” Cris stood back from the set up with a satisfied smirk. He turned to Isidora. “I’m not going far. You’ll be within ear shot.”
She shrugged a shoulder in response. “What could possibly happen?”
He really liked that answer. Leaning down low to peck her cheek, he chucked her chin. “Stay put.” Then he unfurled his wings and shot himself into the air with one strong push. She watched him go with a sigh of relief. At least it would be another hour or so before he was bringing her skyward with him. In the meantime she could mentally prepare.
The ground shook again and Isidora squeaked a bit in surprise. She tried to catch sight of Cris. By the time she found him, he was a floating outline in the horizon
Isidora decided to peek into the camera that Cris had left, just to see what kind of images he was getting. Scooting along the ground carefully brought her to the foot of the tripod. She stood cautiously, not knowing when to expect the next aftershock. Looking through the lens gave her a perfect view of the festering carnage. The sight was spectacular; the angle really portrayed the bewitching process artfully.
Another shake toppled her tentative footing and brought her away from the camera. She laughed nervously and sat on the ground as it continued. The tripod jangled unsteadily for a moment before righting itself. The eruptions seemed to be increasing in volume, the scenery blazed with color, and the earth shivered in ready reply.
It was getting rather persistent. Cris must not have noticed as he hovered in the air. Isidora picked him out again and silently pleaded with him to hurry back. Being alone was reminding her too much of her close call. Even the air seemed to thicken around her. A panicky spark seized her chest and she hugged herself tightly.
The quakes increased around her. Her nervousness spiked with it. Every few minutes she would strive to seek Cris. He was meandering further and further away until his former outline was now a mere dot.
How many snaps did he need?
It was quickly becoming something she couldn’t ignore. The air was dead aro
und her, the only sounds that of the rolling earth. Her lungs were now actively searching for air. Part of that could have been her anxiety, but she was too unsettled to notice the difference.
The sky became darker around her. Still, Cris did not return.
A shadow covered her and she noticed a rise in the heat. It seared the nape of her neck. Confused, she turned her head to see if the clouds were changing direction.
Isidora’s eyes widened in shock. A scream escaped from her throat.
There stood Cherufe—a volcanic creation of stone and liquid fire. It stomped toward her, making the area quake in turn. Its visage was too horrible to describe. It looked like a person covered from head to foot in burning rocks, its eyes little more than flaming empty pits and a mouth that made only a rush of hot air instead of actual sound.
Cherufe reached out to grasp her. When the glaring heat connected to her skin, her screams turned even more terrible. Her flesh cooked against the magma God.
Powerless to do anything, Isidora wailed as Cherufe took her away. He dragged her down the mountain to a place where she would serve him.
And then be consumed.
CRISTIS WAS VERY PROUD OF himself. He’d found a way to get impressive pictures of the volcanic site without absorbing so much heat that he ruined his equipment. He hadn’t accounted for that last time, and it had cost him an afternoon of work.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been out there but it didn’t matter. Not when it came to the caliber of his work. Isidora would understand. She had to.
Anxious to reach her side, Cris wound his way above the range and found the summit that he’d left her on. “Isi?” he called as he landed. “I got some great stuff.” He stuffed his second camera into its protective bag and set it beside the tripod.
She wasn’t there. There weren’t many trees that she could be hiding behind, and with the earthquakes he doubted that she would have wandered far. Intentionally, anyway.
He tried calling her name a few more times before he saw it—a faint trail disturbed on the gravely mountainside. Bending down, Cris traced it with his fingers. It was hot to the touch. He stared at it for a while before he saw that they were burning, coal footprints.
