Shaping Steel (closed to Aurelianus) (Mature)

[Skie and Avery]

The Chosen were much better at extraction than Avery would have guessed. He was sure there would be a fight, given that they also needed to transport the monster that had been created. Yet before he knew it a back way out of the inn was created, silently, and they were whisked away through Concordia. The moonlight filtered through the boughs ahead but they moved untouched, slipping through the shadows as easily as spectres. The demon king was only too aware of how clumsy his steps were, each footfall an obvious sound while the movements of his new friends were nothing that could be discerned from a breeze rattling the bushes.

The camp itself was even more efficient, far from the road and cradled in a copse of trees. At the edge, just out of reach of the warmth of the fire, the creature sat. She, if Avery could even be sure it remained a she, kept close to the trunk of an old oak, the heavy branches shading her from any moonlight. Plumes of hot breath billowed in the chill air, from more than just the gaping face the tiefling had created. Those that had escorted them were not the coddling kind, and Avery found himself staring down his gift from a distance, unfettered by any questions. Here and there he caught the gaze of one or two of his playmates, the low throb of hunger sated but building again dancing in their eyes. Ignoring it, he went to her.

It was unnerving approaching a being with no eyes. Somehow the maw of teeth and slithering tongue bothered him more than Gimmel had. As his steps brought him closer, it was apparent that he wasn’t the only one bothered. Even though it couldn’t see him, it knew. The body that bore it as a steed tensed, the arms that had once been so useless against his attacks hugged close, shoulders slumping. Even to Avery, unaccustomed as he was to it, the fear was palpable.

As he’d seen Aurelius do, Avery reached up. Before he could offer his hand to his gift, it struck. From fear to fight, an arm swung out. The blades glinted in the dim light, and as a wrist smacked his, throwing his arm to the side. Something sharp and pointed caught his skin. Avery hissed and moved back, the hackles on his neck rising as he cradled the wound to his chest. Small as it was, it was more insult than injury. Somehow he felt someone watching from the trees. It wouldn’t do to be rejected by his gift. Test or not, failing before the eyes of the demon who held what he so desperately sought wasn’t an option.

“Now now,” he cooed. A green gaze danced as it watched the beast shudder and snap. The demon king could at least understand her fear. He himself was overwhelmed, changed within as surely as she had been without. Something quivered in his chest, something between fear and excitement. He would need to steady it before he could move.

Holding out his bleeding arm once more, gently stepping forward. “I won’t hurt you.” Uncertainty hung in the air and he held up both hands in a placating motion. “I suspect you won’t be hurt ever again.” Laughter tickled the back of his mind but he held it in. The creature needed his sarcasm reigned, if ever it would accept him.

Pheremones were a tricky thing, he thought. If he allowed the wind to take his scent, it would waft into the camp and attract spectators at the most benign. No, he needed something more direct, something with more finesse. Avery took another step, watching as the masculine arms and legs that held up the girl’s body shifted and crouched as if it were a dog going low before an attack. Smiling, the demon king held his breath. It wasn’t necessary, but the feeling of holding in his scent even as he felt his body warming to create it was a lot like holding a breath in his lungs for a deep dive. It was a burn, and pressure, and he knew the release would be as satisfying.

He felt hot, hot enough to sweat, droplets glistening on his forehead. Finally he knew he was ready. The spit in his mouth was too sweet, almost enough to gag on, and his head felt as if it would float away. The soft grass beneath his bare feet was spiraling away as he closed the gap between the two, the sound that came from the monstrosity barely registering in his mind. Teeth were against her neck, and he felt her stiffen beneath him. His kiss was slow, deliberate, and it was with great care that he let his teeth break flesh. Just before he was thrown off, needles and blades nicking him as he went, his tongue probed into the small cut, a string of saliva dripping down her skin.

Both bodies, as one, shuddered. For a moment, with his lips pressed against warm skin, one of the beasts heartbeats pounding beneath his mouth, he’d had doubts about his plan. Now, the quiver of the monster and the movement from beneath the masculine body let him know that he had triumphed. Oh how useful this skill would be, he gleefully thought as he waited as a flush spread across the weaponized woman’s flesh. After a moment, he approached her again, unafraid when he was pulled into her embrace.

“Mastemael,” he whispered delightedly in its ear, petting absently at a jaw as the tongue slithered out and curled around his neck. “Oh how beautiful you are, oh how you will be revered.” He was somewhat sure of his promises. After all, if the Beauty weren’t moved by him when he returned with this, and with the power he could glean from new alliances, they were not paying enough attention.