Bump in the Night

by Heidi Belleau;Ally Blue;Kari Gregg;Peter Hansen;Laylah Hunter;Brien Michaels;Sam Schooler

  He took it with appropriate humility. What else could he do? He mended the holes in the sails, scrubbed rust from the winches, and dove beneath her in a snorkeling mask and fins to inspect her hull since he didn’t trust the scuba tanks sitting neglected in Ligia’s hold all this time. He even polished the brass and waxed the decking until she once again looked the part of the regal lady she was. She deserved no less. Besides, sailing was hard work. A vessel in top shape was a necessity. He couldn’t leave until he had everything in perfect working order. He simply couldn’t.

  All the while, the island hunched like an alien off the port bow, its dark heart watching him with unseen eyes as cold and empty as death. He felt its pull every second of every day and night. Felt the demon-thing calling to him, tugging at the invisible chains still binding him to it.

  Come back, it sang in his mind, in his heart, in his soul. Come back home and be with me. Let me make you happy. Let me love you.

  The constant temptation tore at him, though he knew it lied. Only his utter destruction waited for him on that island. He didn’t know how he knew it, but his gut told him that nothing less than his willing sacrifice of himself—not simply his physical life, but his essence—would satisfy the thing to whom he’d given his love.

  The most terrifying part was how a small, shadowy corner of him longed to follow the sweet, persuasive voice in his head back to the island, up to the high peak and over the edge into the sea.

  He didn’t know how the creature would benefit. Maybe it drew its energy from human heartbreak and suffering. Maybe it ate souls. Who knew? But his heart told him that his death—his willing, loving, sacrificial death—would feed the thing somehow. Make it stronger. That certainty kept him onboard his sloop, cleaning and mending, pretending he wasn’t crying himself to sleep at night and waking up screaming from nightmares he never remembered.

  One night he emerged from a dream of sex and black, drowning-deep eyes to find himself perched on Ligia’s rail, preparing to jump into the water. The reflection of the quarter moon rippled on the long, slow swells. Shaking all over, he climbed down, crawled to his cabin, locked himself in and curled on the floor until the need to use the head forced him out the door again. The light of the rising sun caught in the wispy clouds and stained the sky a somber lava-red that reflected the anger and despair swirling in his gut.

  The incident proved to him that the island’s resident monster wouldn’t let him go easily. But Noah had never been good at staying where he was put. The transparent attempt to hold on to him lent strength to his flagging sense of self, and made him more determined than ever to get away from this cursed place.

  He kept meticulous count of the days. Fifteen passed before setbacks stopped cropping up aboard Ligia and he deemed his lady seaworthy. Supplies, however, were a problem. Even with careful rationing, he was down to one can each of fruit, tuna, and beans in the galley cabinet, half a jar of instant coffee, a bottle of wine, and the dregs of less-than-fresh water in the holding tank. And he had no real idea of where on the map he was. The batteries on all his equipment—including the GPS—were dead, and he’d never been good at navigating by the stars. He might well sail for weeks before finding land.

  Returning to the island to replenish his stocks wasn’t an option. If he went back, even for a moment, the malevolent god would have him.

  He raised anchor at sunrise on the sixteenth day since his return to Ligia. Weighed against the prospect of returning to the island, allowing its sinister entity to tear away all he was and erase his whole existence, death by thirst and starvation at sea seemed the lesser evil. At least he’d die as himself, Noah Rose, not an anonymous blood sacrifice to a thing that shouldn’t exist.

  The elements fought him—the rising waves, the howling winds, fierce squalls after months of nothing but sunshine and gentle showers. He welcomed the struggle, in spite of his weakened condition. The work helped keep his mind off the thing still singing a soothing lullaby to his weary soul and aching heart.

  The island slipped beyond the edge of the horizon in the midst of a storm, while Noah fought to trim the sails. When the weather calmed at last and he found no sign of the familiar hump of stone and greenery in all the vast expanse of visible ocean, a weird brew of release, fury, and desolation took him to his knees. Under the bright and pitiless stars, he sobbed and screamed and beat his fists against Ligia’s boards until his strength ran out, then fell into exhausted sleep where he lay.

  He woke with the sun in his eyes and the deck rocking beneath him on a gentle swell. The storm had passed, leaving only rapidly shrinking wet spots on the boards. Not a single cloud marred the cerulean perfection of the sky.

  He hated it. Hated the crisp, clear, sunshiny day that seemed to mock the black hole inside him. Hated the rain-washed breeze carrying the smell of fish, the cries of seagulls and faint, frantic shouts whose words he couldn’t make out.

  It took several long seconds for the meaning of what his senses told him to sink in. By the time he forced himself to his feet, the other vessel had maneuvered alongside Ligia and two men with the creased faces and permanent squints of career fishermen had already boarded her.

  He watched the strangers approach him, realizing for the first time that he was still naked, his hair hanging lank and greasy around his shoulders, his beard and mustache hiding half his face behind a hopeless tangle of sun-bleached knots. He ran his palms over his protruding ribs and the jut of his hipbones, and wondered how long he’d lived on nothing but his obsession and the demon-god’s spunk.

  The younger of the two men stopped, one hand on the gun at his side. Noah let out a hoarse laugh. As if he posed a threat to anyone, least of all this strong, well-fed specimen. The older man strode forward until he stood within arm’s reach of Noah.

  Then he spoke. And Noah clamped his hands over his ears and screamed.

  He kept screaming even when the two men grabbed his arms and dragged him away from his lady Ligia, onto their dirty little boat that smelled like fish and rot and unwashed socks. He screamed until his vocal cords no longer produced sound, until flecks of blood flew from his lips when he coughed, until they finally, finally stopped hovering over him and locked him in a cabin alone.

  He curled on the hard, narrow mattress with his head under the thin pillow, humming to himself in his raw, cracked voice to block out the murmurs he could still hear faintly through the walls—the beautiful, terrible, singsong words he didn’t understand, that tore at his insides with needle-edged claws.

  The eyes, though . . . he couldn’t escape the eyes. Their black, black eyes, not normal human ones but the same eyes as the devil creature’s, empty as the voids between the stars. Those eyes burned dark in his mind, coaxing him back to the island. Back to the god to whom he’d given everything, only to be abandoned in the end.

  The voices, the eyes, the whispers in his head, hazy half memories of hot days and fragrant nights getting fucked by his beautiful god—all of it plucked and tugged at him like hands, a relentless seduction hauling him step-by-step back to the embrace he both needed and feared.

  Back to devastating pleasure. Back to nightmares. Back to forgetfulness.

  Back to those whirlpool eyes that would suck him in, drain him of his past, his present, his possibilities, and leave his bones for the jungle.

  “No,” he croaked, a sudden hot surge of defiance shaking his body so hard his bony knees knocked and his teeth rattled together. “I won’t. You can’t have me. Not anymore.”

  Saying it out loud felt good. Searching inside himself, he realized why—because, for the first time since he’d heard the thing’s captivating voice among the birdsong, he knew it was true. Even though he still sensed the pull of the siren calling him to his personal shipwreck, he’d found the strength to fight it. To throw off his chains and start down the long road back to himself.

  Tossing the pillow aside, he sat up. The cabin had a small porthole. Looking out, he was surprised to find that nearly a whole day
had passed. The sun rose from the water as he watched, transforming the calm sea into a sheet of gold. Ligia’s silhouette undulated on the low, rippling waves as she followed behind, towed by a sturdy line. Voices in perfect, gorgeous French shouted commands, jokes, and obscenities at one another from above.

  Noah smiled, for the first time in what felt like forever. What a perfect day to be free.

  Jason’s head rolling across the floor stopped me in my tracks. It couldn’t be real. I shut my eyes against the tears, prayed silently that when I opened them again, Jason would be standing in front of me.

  No such luck.

  My stomach lurched.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Fromunder asked.

  I stared, horror-struck, at my lover’s headless corpse. Blood still dribbled from the severed neck. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. The icy cold eating at my flesh barely registered as the coppery stench mingled with the cellar’s natural odor of mildew. I retched, but nothing came up.

  Fromunder’s words rang in my skull.

  “You promised me. You swore that as long as—”

  “—you did what I told you, I’d spare him. Trying to desert me is not doing as I say.” The demon glared at me. “I brought you into my home.” I could practically see him gesture around the room. Something leafy sprouted from the walls, though I wasn’t sure if it was some remnant of Fromunder’s true form, or if something else—something even more evil—had taken root in this place. “And this is how you repay me?”

  “Then why not punish me? He did nothing,” I whispered, revulsion rising like bile inside me. “He was yours.”

  Fromunder laughed, a harsh, dead sound. Red eyes gleamed from the darkness. I pictured the green, leafy face those eyes sat in.

  “You are mine. The only reason he lived as long as he did was because you had a soft spot for him.” A vine-like tentacle slithered out of the distance, urged Jason’s head in my direction. Gore painted the side of his face. What magic was this? Already the blood had started to congeal. A crimson, jelly-like mask covered the left side. And fuck if he hadn’t started to decay already, the stink so pungent I had to cover my mouth and nose.

  The sight of Jason’s lifeless eyes nearly brought me to my knees.

  “I don’t want to do this anymore,” I sobbed. The threat of Jason’s execution had been the only thing keeping me obedient for the last year. What did I have left to tie me to this monster? “I can’t keep doing this.”

  “We had an agreement. If you still want my protection, you will do as I say.”

  There was no doubt Fromunder was the only thing standing between me and a group of dangerous men who thought I’d seen too much. But was life really worth keeping if this was the price? “People are asking questions! Too many men have gone missing. The police are already investigating. They’ll start to connect the dots sooner or later, and they’ll trace it all back to me.” Sure, it was the demon keeping all those men inside his true form, feeding on their sperm, but would the police ever see that? Of course not. Fromunder would vanish, and I’d be left to take the fall.

  “Their investigations don’t matter. Neither of us will be discovered. Not as long as I still walk this world or any other.”

  I struggled to draw breath as horrible scenarios danced their way through my brain. What if the police did discover the truth? That I’d found those men and lured them back here for Fromunder to have his way with. I could picture it already. They’d track me down. Break down the door and, suddenly, that fucking demon wouldn’t be anywhere around. They’d haul me in and I’d spend the rest of my life getting raped by men twice my size. At least with the demon, I had some modicum of control. I could top from the bottom, as the saying went.

  And even if I did go to jail, Fromunder would likely follow me there. I knew he’d placed some kind of trace on me. Prison would be like heaven for him. A fucking all-you-can-eat buffet.

  I forced myself to calm my breathing. Wondered if I could make it to the door before Fromunder killed me as well. Death would be a welcome alternative to the hell I was stuck in.

  “I wouldn’t let you die. That would be too easy.”

  I chewed my tongue to keep from screaming. For fuck’s sake, even my thoughts weren’t safe now?

  Another tentacle. This one snaked its way up my leg, massaged the inside of my thigh. I hated that he forbade me to wear clothes when I was in the house. I suppose it made it easier for him to do things like this, but that didn’t make it any less humiliating. “Besides, you’re too much fun. I can turn you on in the blink of an eye.” A soft chuckle. “But what I would do instead of kill you is string up your dead lover’s body and make you watch as I dismembered it.”

  I closed my eyes, tried my best to fight the image of the demon’s words. It sounded almost like the threat he’d made to keep me trapped in his power when I’d tried to leave the first time.

  I’ll kill him, Brant. I’ll string him up and make you watch as I suck him dry.

  I shook the memory away. Tried to think of some way out of his hold. But it was hard to think of anything with that silky smooth tendril creeping up my leg, teasing the head of my cock. I didn’t want to be turned on, but the demon’s curse amplified every feeling, made me need that caress so badly I ached.

  “And then I’d resurrect every single person you’ve ever loved. And the ones who are still alive? I’ll tell them the truth about your so-called death. Bring them here to meet you. Then I’d absorb them. Bring them back good as new and show them to you every day until they’re nothing more than bags of bones.”

  I failed to stifle a moan. Fromunder had added another tentacle as he spoke; this one toyed with my taint while the other got me hard. God, I shouldn’t have been this lost to lust when my tormenter was describing such terrible things. A sharp exhale. When Fromunder had first offered me protection, he’d made it look like I’d died in a fiery crash. Even now, pangs of guilt still assaulted me when I thought of the family I’d left behind. But I’d been scared. And cowardly. Because of my weakness, I hadn’t seen my family in nearly three years. I’d been so tired of running when Fromunder found me, I’d jumped at the idea of finally resting. I hadn’t stopped to consider the cost.

  “You nymphos are so easy. Do you want it?” the demon cooed.

  I wouldn’t answer. He couldn’t make me.

  “I can’t?” The tentacle at my ass widened, pushed until it was inside me, twice as thick as any cock I’d ever taken. The pain blinded me for a moment. I wanted to fall to my knees, give in and declare my undying loyalty. But I refused. I bit back a groan when the tentacle rammed my prostate.

  “Shit!” I cried. The demon’s extension fucked me with abandon. Tears burned my eyes, it hurt so bad. I had no idea how big the thing had actually become, but with nothing more than a glance, I knew it was wider than my forearm. As I so often did while in Fromunder’s grasp, I prayed to God. Begged him to kill me just so the pain would go away. I stared at Jason’s severed head and imagined it was him, hoped Fromunder’s curse would do what I wanted it to. The tentacle brushed my prostate again, smooth as satin, and that was all it took. The muscles in my sphincter relaxed. Pleasure edged its way in, mingled with the pain.

  “Do you see? Every part of your body belongs to me. Especially when I can do this.” The assault slowed and the tentacle massaged my prostate.

  My orgasm drew close, the exquisite pain drawing it out. I wanted him to hurt me more. I’d always welcomed pain-tinged pleasure, but Fromunder’s curse had ramped the need up more than I’d thought possible. “Please . . .” I begged, though I wasn’t sure what I was begging for.

  “More? Absolutely.” The tentacle widened again, stretching me almost to tearing, but still it massaged that magic spot and through the pain, pleasure burned. “You know how to make it stop.”

  “I won’t.”

  “You should know by now that your stubbornness will get you nowhere.”

  The tentacle around my cock t
ightened, jerking me off more fiercely than before. Fromunder emerged from the shadows at last, and that could only mean my dick had started to leak.

  He came into full view, skin glistening in the overhead lights. His lipless mouth curled into a grin. Was this his true form, or had the demon tried to merge with a man and created this abomination before me? Almost human but for his green skin, pointed teeth, and those leaves on top of his head, swaying in the breeze from the AC like some absurd imitation of hair. And those missing lips. I’d seen him with a glamour projected. He could look any way he wanted, so why choose to be that? Maybe it was the closest he could come to a human form without using a lot of magic. Maybe it was just easier to walk this way.

  “Stop resisting me, Brant. Give in.”

  Tears welled, but I wouldn’t. Not this time. “Never.” The tentacle in my ass drew out before slamming in again. My shriek was pure agony. I had to make the decision now or I’d be mopping my own blood off the floor. But he wouldn’t let me go without the answer he wanted; he’d made that perfectly clear.

  “I can bring him back for you.”

  I bit my tongue because every inch of my soul screamed at me to tell him yes. But I had to be sure he wasn’t lying. I wouldn’t continue on this path unless I had someone with me at night. There to comfort me when I hated myself so much I couldn’t bear to go on. When I could still see those men’s faces in my mind’s eye.

  “It’s proof you want, is it?”

  The tentacles disappeared. I blinked in relief, and before I could breathe, Jason was whole again. “Hi, baby.” His hand touched my face for the briefest second before turning me around and bending me forward. He shoved into me, no warning, only lubed by the slime from Fromunder’s tentacle. Rough and merciless, just the way Jason always did it.

  “Please stop!” I cried, because I knew it wasn’t him. It felt dirty to do this, no matter how good the impersonation.