Spoilers for…probably everything, I don't keep track anymore.
Rated M for language and hawtness
Short, quick (though hopefully still delicious) chapters, probably totaling three.
I own nothing. Rachel Morgan and all the fun of the Hollows universe belong to the Divine Kim. I just get to play there sometimes.
I apologize beforehand for the cheesy device, but I so did not want to write 20+pages of soul-searching and angst and emotional development etc. etc. So yeah, right to the good stuff. It could happen, right? Enjoy.
1. Craving
It was driving me fucking crazy. All day I'd been trying to ignore it, praying it would fade. But as the sun set it only got worse and worse until I felt that I'd loose my mind if I didn't do something to quell the insatiable fire that had suddenly ignited in my body, devouring my will and common sense as readily as kindling. I had to have him, and I could think of nothing else…
I tried running. It was still too chilly outside and I lost count of the times I'd slipped in the ice and snow melt. I tried cold showers. Something about the water though made it even worse. The cold turned to a burn, and it became his hot fingers roughly tracing my skin, his wet mouth moving down my breasts, his hard…
Bad Rachel, I thought to myself. But it was even worse now that I knew the usual conventions wouldn't cure this fever. And worse, now that it was nightfall, all I had to do was call him…
I tried to imagine that conversation. Yes Al, I am unbelievably horny for you. Get your tight demon ass over here. Now. I shook my head, he wouldn't believe me. Hell, I could hardly believe me! I had no idea what was going on with me. Sure, Al and I had been getting along okay, I guess. Besides him being overbearing and ridiculously difficult at times, my Saturdays weren't turning out to be as bad as I had feared. He had insisted on working on my Latin, which though I hated had proved immensely useful. Al had also managed to instill some foundational ley line work into my head, something which I desperately needed since I always seemed to be learning things by the seat of my pants. It was going…okay. But this? This was insane. I felt half delirious with desire. I was damned thankful Ivy was spending the whole day with her sister, Erica. If I was freaking out with lust and fear, what would it have done to her?
I raced back towards the kitchen, barely stopped myself from fingering my summoning glass and picked up the phone instead. I laughed half-hysterically when I thought of calling Ceri and asking her. Hi Ceri? How are you? No, I'm fine, but do you happen to know if female demons go into heat? Because that was the only thing I could think of. That or a curse. And if Al or Newt or anyone else had cursed me into feeling like this, I was freaking going to murder them.
It was almost early spring, everything else in the world seemed ready to burst into bloom. I couldn't help but stick my head out the window and into the garden in the back of the church. I could smell the wet, fertile earth, the rain still to come in the air, the refreshing sharpness of new things beginning to grow. And it all made me think of Al. Not Marshall, or my dead love, Kisten, or even my last boyfriend, Nick. The demon was the only being occupying my mind for any length of time. My spastic thoughts kept returning to him, and what exactly I'd like him to do with those strong hands, after he'd lost the gloves. I couldn't help but remember the first time he'd actually touched me without those damned gloves. The first time I'd gone to him willingly into the Ever-After. I had been surprised. His hands were warm, and big, surprisingly rough from work, and even more surprisingly gentle, when he wanted to be.
I closed my eyes. I could imagine it perfectly: gentle in some ways, rough in more. Oh my god. I was going to die or kill someone or both.
It didn't help that I was fascinated with wondering how different it would be too. If witches came from demons, would it be just like with a witch? Would we give into the instinct to power-pull, to determine the strength and worth of a potential mate? I thought Al would probably be able to outdo me, but I was sure I could at least give him a run for his money. I shuddered just at the thought. My knees gave way and I embraced the cold of the kitchen floor, stretching full out on it and wishing the cold could get past my skin and extinguish the heat that was burning me up inside.
I heard pixie wings, but it was distant. I knew his green velvet-clad British lord look was an illusion spell since Ceri had commented on mixing that spell so much she could do it in her sleep. I had to wonder, just with a hint of fear, would he take off something other than his clothes? What did unspelled demons look like? Did he have to take off the spell in order to…probably not, I decided. And besides, that face, those clothes I used to think were ridiculous, that was what I think of when I think of Al. My mind wanted to say it would be nervous, even scared of something else, but I knew it was pretense. In the state I was in, I'd probably screw anything with a British accent.
I breathed deeply, catching a few scents on the cold linoleum. Cat, spilled coffee, some cookie dough I must have splattered from last time I baked, and then I sat up suddenly, stunned and shaking and almost feeling sick. The faintest trace of burnt amber was there, probably from last Saturday when I'd actually called Al from my kitchen, and he had stopped in for a few minutes to be a pain in the ass before jumping us through the lines. And the mere ghost of a scent was hitting all my buttons, making the ache I'd almost gotten use to so much worse and fresh, like comparing a scabbed knee with disembowelment. It was the burnt amber smell I'd been getting used to during my forays into the Ever-After and demon society, but underneath it I swear I could just smell him. I knew then I couldn't care what he looked like, as long as he smelled like that. It was scary, and I was shaking again, but not entirely from fear.
"Rachel?" asked Jenks' worried voice. I glanced up to see him standing in his Peter Pan pose on the counter directly above me. "Tink's titties, why are you on the floor?" I just shook my head at him. What could I say? He was freaking out enough about me going after Pierce. He'd have a freaking aneurism if he knew who I was desperately craving now.
He flew down closer to my face. It was too much effort to keep watching him, and I slumped fully on the floor. I heard him calling me, trying to get me to tell him what was wrong. I didn't want to talk anymore. I only wanted one thing, or at least one person, but to do that…could I really do that? I hadn't felt like this yesterday, did I? I knew I hadn't, but still, today, he was the only thing on my mind.
I nearly screamed when I felt the soft, reassuring touch of velvet on my bare arms. He was here, above me, and I was on the floor looking up. But when I looked into his red eyes that had once seemed so alien and frightening, I felt myself falling into them.