*Violence and suggestive material warning!*
Preying Upon Predators
"And what did the physician have to say?"
The portly mayor of this large, walled town — short and wide and dressed in basic finery of a non-noble, with a thin moustache and a silver pocket watch in his vest — wiped at his bald head with a handkerchief as he struggled to give a coherent reply. Even in the chill of the large cellar that acted as the storeroom for the town mortuary, he was sweating bullets in this stranger's presence. "Well, sir, uhm … The good doctor said it was a case of, I think, severe exhaustion and 'hippo-termite-ah'?"
"Hypothermia," the other figure corrected distantly, automatically, as he looked over one of several covered figures laying on long tables in the mortuary.
Said other figure was dressed in a long black leather coat that covered him from collar to knee, the actual collar upturned to hide his neck and a belt cinching the waist, while pairs of gloves and knee-high boots covered everything else. He had worn a kerchief to cover his lower face, but it was down to reveal a strong jaw and at least one large scar, as well as dark circles under his brown eyes. Eyes that glimmered with intelligence and glared sharply enough to cut wood.
Finally, a badge at his lapel — the golden inverted triangle with a winged sword, the crest of the throne — marked him as a member of the king's elite monster hunter corp, the Shining Sun. Agents of the royal corp had many titles depending on where you were, ranging from Dark Hunters or Huntsmen to the Pale or the Banesnares to the Golden Swords or Sunbearers. Here in this region, they were known simply as the Huntsmen.
"And your assessment?" the mayor asked fearfully.
The Huntsman straightened from examining the man, whose breathing was so shallow he was almost dead. "You're dealing with a succubus," he said, removing a book from one of his coat pockets and flicking to a specific page. He held it out to the mayor with one hand to show the image of a nude, curvaceous female with pink skin, short curling horns, a dark, heart-spaded tail, and small bat wings, her hands and crossed legs hardly covering her decency. "A demonic creature of the Belowlands who feeds on the energy of men through … carnal contact."
"But I thought succubi," the Huntsman lifted an eyebrow at use of the correct plural term, "always kill their victims."
The Huntsman lifted the other brow and cast a look backward at the row of other tables with corpses covered in sheets. All of the silhouettes were slack, almost bonelessly limp. Except for a certain part of their anatomy, which was painfully erect even several days after death. Their "tents were still pitched," as it were. But the large man that the Huntsman was examining was not yet dead, though he was very close. He curled his lip at the thought that he was brought down here as a preemptive corpse.
"No creature ever hunts exactly the same," the Huntsman explained, replacing the book. "But yes, they typically don't care if their prey survives." He placed a hand to his chin. "This must be a young creature, still growing and not strong enough to kill yet. It is probably trailing an elder, the one who is actively killing." He thought for a little longer before nodding. "I'll return for my fee when the job is done."
And like that, he was gone.
The Huntsman — Hunter was his birth name, if you could believe it — his lower face covered and a wide-brimmed hat on, kept his senses open as he patrolled the cobbled streets of the walled town of Jonesborough. In one hand he held a large dagger edged in silver aligned to his forearm, in the other a revolving-chambered pistol. From one wrist hung a crystal talisman to detect the presence of demons, a gift from a white witch apprentice he knew in the town of Gravesfield, the ever-cheery Luz Noceda.
As he walked, part of him couldn't help but mull over his time in this town or the circumstances leading up to it.
Hunter had arrived two days ago in more typical and low-key attire to gather information, without tipping the local monster off. Apparently, there had been a string of deaths resulting in the limp corpses with stiff phalli and thin scratches on their backs and chests every few days for almost a full month. The chilled, near-dead man was newer, one of a half dozen having occurred just in the last few nights. He'd also scoped the town in daylight to pinpoint patterns and found that his target was sticking to the wealthier districts.
Hunter's ears metaphorically perked as he caught a distant sound, the sound like a man strangled by the throes of pain and passion. He bolted to a full sprint and raced through the alleys in pursuit, the cries getting louder and more strained. He finally rounded a curve to find a dark silhouette, clearly feminine, riding the large man who was crying out at the top of his lungs.
He leveled his gun, aimed for a split second, and fired. The shot grazed the lithe creature and brought a hiss of pain and surprise before its victim howled and a lurid red light emanated from him before the creature abandoned its prey and fled, scaling a wall to escape by roof.
He cursed and jogged to check on the victim, even though he knew what he would find. And he wasn't wrong — the man was dead and cold, his body limp and his phallus stiff as a board. Thin scratches criss-crossed his chest, like a woman's nails but thinner and deeper, drawing lines of blood. But worst of all was the expression, wide eyes and a gaping mouth that could have been from agony or ecstasy.
Hunter looked at the talisman at his wrist, the white crystal smoking and blazing with red light. He blinked at that in shock. The light was expected, it was how the talisman worked. But for it to smoke like that, from his understanding of magic, meant that he'd run off a powerful demon indeed.
And now it knew he was here.
"Sir?" Hunter spun on his heel and levelled his firearm on sheer instinct. A woman at the mouth of the alleyway gasped and covered her mouth with a hand that wasn't holding a lantern and trembling with clear terror. Hunter narrowed his eyes and counted down from five before lowering his gun a little.
"Can I help you, Miss?" he asked tersely.
"I think I can help you, actually," the woman said resolutely, her terror better hidden. "I think I know where you can find that monster next."
Ten minutes later found Hunter in the woman's home, a cozy wagon filled with clay pots and medicinal herbs and lit with several oil lanterns. A traveling herbalist, then, and likely a midwife on the side. She probably supplied the local physicians with materials for medicines when she wasn't providing direct services.
On the small dining table was a map of the town, with charcoal X's and corresponding dates at several locations. "This is the pattern," the woman said, removing her cloak to reveal a simple, loose wool dress dyed in dark green and covered by an apron. The woman lit a fire in a brick-layered fireplace, and its light showed her in more detail.
This woman was about his age, fair-skinned and with dark hair cut at chin length. Her emerald eyes were wide and innocent, set in a pretty, round face and glittering with both kindness and wisdom behind a pair of circular spectacles over a pair of full lips. And Hunter couldn't help but notice that her loose dress didn't — or couldn't — hide the fact that she was very ... generously curved.
"And you know all of this, how?" Hunter asked, wrenching his focus back to the matter at hand.
"People talk to healers," the woman said simply. "And I have a personal interest in seeing this creature executed."
"Parents lost to an incubus, Miss?" Hunter asked wryly.
"Willow," she replied sternly.
"Miss Willow," Hunter settled on. He examined the map and tried to figure out the succubus's pattern. It took him several moments, but he found it. "It's a sigil of sulphur," he said. He lightly connected the dated X's with a charcoal pencil, the resulting symbol a triangle over an equilateral cross, the alchemical symbol for sulfur. Or sulphur, when connected to demons.
"I've encountered her kind before," Willow said, and tapped the center of the triangle. "She will finish her feeding here, at the cemetery. Where it is said she can draw power from the dead as well as the living."
Hunter narrowed his eyes and examined Willow, who looked nonplussed at his glare. She even smiled a little bit. It was disconcerting.
"If you wish for a bed out of the cold, I can offer you the couch," she said, gesturing to the living area of the wagon. "Plus, the beast may try to kill you if you return to the inn."
Hunter sighed at the fair point. "Thank you, I think I will take you up on that." He winced. "The couch!" he tacked on quickly, then removed his coat to reveal a simple white, laced shirt and a cravat. Then he removed his weapon belt and his boots and gloves. He glanced over at a noise to find Willow had set up a changing screen by her bed in the one-room wagon, and her shadow splayed over it to show her undressing. He averted his gaze and settled on the couch, pointedly avoiding looking in that direction until Willow wished him a good night and the lantern went out.
"Good night," he said back, wondering how long it had been since he'd heard those simple words.
The following day was spent preparing for the coming night, when Hunter would track and finish the succubus. Hopefully before it added one last victim to its list.
Miss Willow was a gem throughout it all. She guided him through town to get a look at the graveyard where she'd determined the last attack would be, she offered him food as he prepared his gear, and even offered her wash tub for a scrub. It was … honestly very touching. His people were supposed to be grim and gritty, focused on the job above all else. To experience honest kindness was rare indeed, and he liked it.
Finally, night fell and Hunter prepared himself, strapping on his gear belt, arming his talisman, and donning his coat and hat. "Thank you for everything, Miss Willow," he said with a nod.
"Just Willow," she corrected for the umpteenth time, a faint smile on her lips.
"Very well … Just Willow," Hunter smirked.
She rolled her eyes and curtsied. "It was an honor and pleasure, Huntsman," she replied.
He looked at her with faint pain in his eyes before pulling his kerchief down. "My name is Hunter," he said seriously.
Willow gasped. No member of the Shining Sun revealed their names!
Hunter nodded and left at a brisk pace.
Hunter grimaced as the hours passed. He was crouched behind the shape of a mausoleum and was trying very hard to not shift in discomfort. He looked up at the moon, waiting for it to reach the center of the sky — if this succubus followed a pattern based on an alchemical sigil, then it stood to reason it would act at times of significance.
As if in answer to his thoughts, Hunter heard the gate of the cemetery open. He removed a small spyglass from his coat and focused it on a couple moving along the path. He felt his talisman smoking again and it told him without a doubt that this was no moonlit stroll. It took some time to make out details in the low light, but what he saw made him flinch. For several reasons.
The woman was lithe and slim, though well-endowed in an almost unnatural way. Because, of course. Her hair was light red, almost pink, and tied in a high bun with her bangs hanging to frame her face. Her skin had a faint sheen of pink as well, like a full body blush and he could barely make out the icy blue of her eyes. She was dressed in a low-cut, sleeveless dress that displayed her assets and ended above her knees. Because, of course.
The man was … the mayor! He was sweating lightly and giggling like a schoolboy under the attentions of the woman, who had her arm wrapped around one of his and was trailing her finger over his shirt in a flirty way as she spoke to him. Was he seriously allowing himself to be led alone by a strange woman when he knew what was in his town? And Hunter saw more than most would, saw deeper. He saw the woman's predatory stance, could sense the bloodlust in her gaze.
He prepared his weapons, but before he could pounce, the succubus did first.
She tore off her dress, baring herself to the world, and ripped away the mayor's clothes — Hunter instinctively averted his gaze, he was a gentleman after all, but refocused and ran for his prey.
The creature's horns, wings, and tail had revealed themselves as she pushed the mayor onto his back and mounted him, screeching with vile triumph. The mayor's cries were of pain and pleasure, but also bone-freezing fear. The fool knew what was happening, but was too overpowered by his baser urges to stop it.
In range, Hunter fired a shot that ripped a hole into the succubus's wing. She hissed just like the night before and twisted to look at him with rage and hatred. "You again," she snapped in a raspy voice dripping with unspoken promises.
"Yep," he confirmed and fired again. That hit her shoulder, and he prepared his dagger to finish the job.
But the demoness snarled and dug her claws into the mayor, the man screaming in agony as he glowed faintly red and his life was ripped away and into his killer. The succubus cried out in unholy ecstacy and then rose to face Hunter, her wounds smoking … and visibly closing.
Hunter felt his heart race and sweat beading his brow as the succubus worked her magic upon him now. Succubi could prod and empower their prey's sex drive to lure them in, or to disable them. He'd heard of succubi who had turned their victims upon attackers like mindless zombies, overpowered by lust and driven to kill. She was trying to defuse the threat he posed — if he succumbed, she would feed on him. If he didn't he would still be weakened while fighting off her power.
"Poor, sweet little hunter," she crooned, languidly approaching with her hips swaying. He winced at the accidental use of his given name, and the anger cleared his thoughts enough to level his pistol. One bullet left. Just one shot between the eyes and this could end. But his hands trembled and he couldn't make himself pull the trigger.
"Poor little pretender," she cooed, now within arm's length. "You think you are a predator, killing little monsters." She casually brushed his pistol aside and cupped his cheek. Hunter grit his teeth, every ounce of focus used to resist the urge to give in. He ignored the whispers in his head that this creature was gorgeous, even her wings and tail and curled horns so graceful.
The succubus grinned maliciously and backhanded him, the force of the blow taking him from his feet and sending him crashing into the base of a tree. Stars exploded in his vision and he struggled to regain his bearings. He wrenched his arm up to steady his pistol against the monster's temple as the creature knelt upon him, her warm core braced against his trousers. And said trousers suddenly felt two sizes two small — the flesh really was weak.
"Don't worry," she sneered, bracing one hand on his shoulder and the claws digging into his coat, while the other wrapped around his neck and squeezed. She seemed completely uncaring about the barrel at the side of her head. "You'll love this!"
But before she could act again, she screeched and was torn bodily away from him to sail across the cemetery and crash into a tombstone that shattered under the force of it. In the succubus's place … stood another one, the small bat wings and heart-shaped spaded tail unmistakable. The new arrival turned to face him briefly, her gaze not lustful or predatory, but firm and determined. And Hunter could not help but gasp at the sight of those green, bespectacled eyes.
Willow?!
Willow turned away from Hunter and hissed at her adversary, squaring her shoulders and baring her nakedness in her kind's form of aggressive display. "Hello, Boscha," she growled, the sound like poisoned honey as she dipped into her true nature and its power. "It's been a long time."
"Willow," the succubus, Boscha, sneered as she straightened, her bones snapping back into place. "I thought you were dead." The words were casual, as if it were hardly worth remembering. "No one's heard from little Half-a-Demon Willow in so long."
"I'm not half of anything," Willow spat, her wings flaring with ire. Then she reeled in her emotions and sighed. "I'll give you one chance, Boscha. Leave this place in peace and do not return. Do that, and I will do you no harm."
Boscha seemed stunned for a moment. Then she laughed, loudly, heartily, straight from her flat belly. The sound was harsh and mocking, unbelieving. "Counteroffer, Half-a-Demon," she said. She unsheathed her talons, and Willow mirrored the gesture. "I kill you, feed on that poor excuse for a Huntsman, and go on my way like none of this ever happened."
"I kind of hoped you would say that," Willow commented with a small, grim smile. And then two demonesses lunged at each other with wild fury.
Boscha hissed and raked at Willow's eyes with her talons, but Willow ducked and lashed at her unprotected stomach and drew first blood. Boscha flapped her wings — impractical for true flight but just fine for quick leaps — and perched on a tombstone as the life force she had taken knitted the flesh back together with a hiss of crimson smoke.
"Not bad," she conceded with the faintest nod. "So let's pick it up a notch."
And so came the true battle, one that would have left any mortal witnesses awestruck — and did leave one Huntsman frightenedly amazed and his nose faintly dripping. The image of two fully nude and hauntingly beautiful women fighting would have been sight enough to break most minds, but these two were wrapped in faint auras of infernal power, which could draw in mortals like moths to flame and shred their minds like parchment.
The creatures struck and slashed with their talons and fangs, buffeted with wings, lashed with the spades of their tails, and gouged with delicate horns. They flipped and spun and practically danced as they dealt out and collected scores and cuts by the dozen, the wounds smoking as they healed and closed. But Boscha's wounds closed faster than Willow's and Willow's movements slowed faster than Boscha's. The redhead was well-fed, while the brunette was less so.
Finally, the balance cracked.
Boacha lashed with a headbutt that shattered Willow's nose and blinded her with blood and tears. She grabbed the fuller-figured demon by the throat and hurtled her bodily in an arc that smashed her into a stone bench. Then she leaned over and prepared to ride her rival, to draw her power and claim it for her own.
"Any last words, Half-a-Demon?" Boscha purred, stroking Willow's hair in a mockery of intimacy.
"You forgot something," Willow replied with a bleary smile.
Boscha lifted a thin brow in confusion before she stiffened at the sound of a gunshot — and blood poured down between her eyes from a hole in her forehead, while gore sprayed behind her. She twitched as the hole started smoking, but another shot rang out and the valley between her breasts was punctured, too. She hissed and tried to stand, and a final wound appeared below her throat with a cry of thunder.
Then she fell to the side, dead as a gravestone.
Leaned against a monument, Hunter blew the smoke from the barrel of his gun and holstered it. He grunted as he limped toward Willow, his entire body sore. He may have had some cracked ribs from hitting that tree. Then again, he'd had plenty worse. He stopped beside the living demoness and looked down at her, eyes unreadable.
Tears leaked from Willow's large, green eyes as she whimpered in pain. But her gaze was clear and unflinching. She slowly, deliberately, closed her eyes and bore her throat. She expected a gunshot, or maybe the feeling of cold silver-steel cutting her flesh. Instead … she felt something warm drape over her. She opened her eyes in shock just in time for Hunter to reach under her back and her thighs to lift her with a groan of discomfort into his arms and begin carrying her, her nakedness covered by his coat.
What on Earth was happening?
Hunter took Willow back to her wagon before returning to the cemetery to collect the corpses. The succubus he would need to confirm his kill, and the mayor's to inform the town of his death. He slung them over his horse and guided it to the town hall. Several officials were milling about, but stopped at the sight of a member of the Shining Sun. He revealed his kill and the casualty, and received a bag of gold coins for his trouble, as per royal law.
Before he left, he ordered a pyre to be erected in the town square. When it was assembled, he tossed Boscha's corpse onto it and poured anointed oil upon the logs. He took a torch and tossed it to ignite the pyre and the demoness's carcass went up like even more oil, a howling wind accompanying it like a wail of agony.
That done, Hunter returned to the wagon to find Willow, still wrapped in his coat, horns hidden, and chewing on some kind of beans like her life depended on it. She turned in surprise at his arrival, and then relaxed ever so slightly. "Hi," she said in a small voice.
Hunter felt his expression soften just a little as he pulled a chair from the table and sat squarely. "Talk," he growled. "What was all of that?"
Willow swallowed and dusted her hands off, her nails pale and very noticeably shorter than the talons from before. "I'm a succubus," she said, her faint smile dropping.
"Yes, I figured that out on my own," Hunter snarked. "How long have you lived here? Why help me? Why attack and kill one of your own?"
Willow swallowed thickly and her eyes shone, but she closed them slowly and took a breath. "I have lived on Earth for twenty years," she revealed. "Before that, I lived in the Belowlands. I was summoned by a sorcerer who failed to contain me properly and-" She shuddered. "I was ravenous from the summoning. I- I took him and fed and I-" Her face twisted with pain and she curled into his coat.
Hunter narrowed his eyes as he considered that. It wasn't uncommon for mystics and warlocks to summon entities from the Belowlands, the place demons came from, for any number of uses: informants, general servants, teachers, guards, enforcers, soldiers … the list went on. And it was not unheard of for particularly lascivious summoners to call upon succubi — or their male equivalent, incubi — to make use of them.
It was several moments before she recovered enough to continue. "I wandered after that, hiding what I was beneath a cloak I'd taken from the summoner's tower. Eventually I met a wise woman who realized what I was and that I just wanted to live. She took me in and taught me what she could about herbs and my physical form. She let me feed in kisses from her patients to calm them down and help them sleep." She held up a bean. "These are cacao seeds. She showed me how they help manage my appetite and maintain a human appearance."
"After my mentor died, she left me her wagon and supplies. I moved here sixteen years ago and have been working ever since, doing my best to blend in and live."
"Sixteen years," Hunter said disbelievingly.
"Ask anyone in town," Willow challenged, finally showing some heat. "I've helped everyone or their family or friends in Jonesborough at least once!"
Hunter raised a hand in acknowledgement. "Say I do and they confirm your story. What about the other one? Or the near-deaths that I assume were from you?"
Willow's eyes widened and grew … haunted. "Boscha …" She spat the name like a curse. "She was one of the oldest of us. She even gained the power to summon herself to Earth for short times. Times she could extend by feeding in graveyards to siphon power from the Belowlands."
That explained why Hunter had never heard of such a thing until the night before, from Willow herself.
"She was a cruel bitch no matter where she was," Willow said, wincing at the term as if it tasted bitter. "Down below, she made my life even worse. It was a miracle to be summoned and to escape, because I escaped her." She closed her eyes again. "And when I realized it was her that was here, killing the people I had chosen to help … I couldn't stand by and do nothing." Her grip on his coat tightened. "So I began feeding to build my strength, and I was careful not to kill the people of my home." She looked up at him, straight in the eye. "And then you came … and I knew you could destroy her."
"I almost didn't," Hunter said, his voice a hair softer. "She would have killed me if you hadn't intervened." He tilted his head. "Why did you do that?"
"I had to do something," she repeated emphatically. "She was going to kill you!"
Hunter's brows creased. Not, She would have been stronger, too strong to finish or She was distracted, it was the perfect chance. She said she wanted to save him.
"One more question," he said, bringing out his talisman that only turned pink in her presence, which it hadn't done before. He'd checked several times. "Why isn't this working with you?"
Willow's frown flipped into a bright smile. "That's Luz's handiwork," she chirped. "She and Eda came through a few years ago and found out about me. We became friends; we even write to each other between Jonesborough and Gravesfield." She giggled. "Luz is still learning, and restraining my true nature can mask it from that. Most demons don't have practice with that or even bother to learn how. Not like me."
Hunter grimaced and huffed a breath. Dammit, that sounded just like Luz, the cheery idiot. It was a similar story to how they'd met and inexplicably become friends, or at least friendly. Enough for her to make the talisman for him.
"So what now?" Willow asked.
Hunter didn't answer. He carried his chair to the front of the fireplace and sat, staring at the dancing flames. Willow chewed on a few more seeds before the silence got to her. She stood and approached, Hunter's coat falling to bear her shoulders. She looked at the fire, too, and then to him. He was staring at them as if in a trance. Willow knelt beside him and reached to brush his hair. He took her wrist without looking, his grip firm but gentle.
"Hunter?" she asked. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he said. "Just trying to find an answer to your question." He blinked and leaned back in the chair. "Okay, look. The Corps knows that not all monsters are evil. The Shining Sun is meant to exterminate those who attack humans, who get too arrogant, or careless, or feral to keep their hands to themselves."
He settled back forward. "And a secret part of it is that we like to recruit the ones that can control themselves." He looked at her. "I'll give you a choice." He turned his chair to face her. "I can walk out that door and you'll never see me again, unless," he gestured to their surroundings, "you fall off the wagon."
Willow covered her mouth to stifle her giggles at the unexpected joke.
"Or …" he suddenly looked unsure, "You could come with me."
Willow's eyes widened in shock at the offer. "Come with you?"
"Become my partner," he explained. "Travel with me and be my second in my missions and kill off rogue monsters." He shrugged. "You get to travel, to see the world. To make it safer."
Willow's face was blank for another moment before her eyes lidded and she successfully brushed her fingers through his hair. "Your partner?" she asked coyly.
"Not like that," he bit out.
Willow pouted, and in that moment he was convinced beyond any doubt that she really was a demonic seductress. "But that's what would have made me say yes," she said smoothly, still carding her fingertips through his hair. "Is that something you might want … Hunter?"
Hunter's breathing hitched, the memory of Willow in the fullness of her power coming unbidden to mind. And then it was pushed aside by the memory of her sweet smile as she served him her homemade bread, as she offered him her couch to keep him safe, as she brushed a lock of hair behind her ear while studying the map. Of the innocence he'd sensed in her ever since he'd met her.
Hunter stood up from the chair, towering a head over Willow. His lips twitched, years of conditioning to avoid emotion or attachment warring with what he was feeling. "... Yes," he admitted.
Willow threw her arms over his shoulders and crashed her lips into his. Hunter lifted her from her feet, grunting at the strain on his injuries. He felt lightheaded, and not from any demon magic. No … He felt hope for the future. For the first time in a long time.
SIX WEEKS LATER
"Eda, they're here!" Luz shouted, racing for the door.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," Eda groaned, following in her apprentice's wake with her black cat King over one shoulder and her familiar Owlbert on another.
The duo opened the door to find a familiar wagon rolling up to their secluded home, manned by a pair of even more familiar figures. Hunter tipped his hat and gave a brief smile before settling back into the stoicism of a Banesnare, as they were called in these parts. Willow waved with joy before leaping bodily from the wagon and running to hug her friend.
"I can't believe you're here!" Luz shouted in the embrace.
"Me either!" Willow squealed.
Eda rolled her eyes at a grown woman and a demoness acting like teenage best friends and approached Hunter as he unhitched the horses. "Need a hand?" she asked.
"I've got it," he said.
"Too late," Eda snarked, snapping her fingers and directing the horses to a pen. The tack and saddles floated up and into a shed for such things that locked itself. "There we go," she said smugly. "You're welcome."
Hunter rolled his eyes and shed his coat. He was on vacation and he refused to give the wrong impression to people if he wasn't on business for the Corps. "And how's it been around here?"
"Chaotic, just how I like it," Eda said, both smugly and fondly, looking at her apprentice. King hissed at Hunter before hopping off Eda's shoulder and rubbing against Willow's boots.
"The rat never liked me," Hunter groused.
"Maybe because you keep calling him something he eats," Luz quipped as she and Willow approached. "It's like calling a wolf a sheep or a fox a chicken." She winced. "Actually, everyone hates that one, so … a rabbit. Yeah, that works!"
Willow chuckled and took Hunter's hand, her wings spreading from beneath her cloak and wrapping him in an embrace.
"Blegh," Eda mocked. "Gross, lovey-dovey biz. I get enough of that from this one," she gestured at Luz, "and her new girlfriend. I'll be inside making potions if you need me." King flicked his tail at them and followed Eda back into the Owl House.
"So …" Luz said with a wide grin. "Tell me the story!"
"I wrote it to you," Willow pointed out.
"Yeah, but that doesn't have the same punch, you know?" Luz rebutted. "C'mon! Tell me, tell me, tell me!"
Willow smiled wickedly. "You heard her, Dear," she said, her voice lower and smoldering with feminine appeal. "You tell it better anyway."
Hunter levelled his unimpressed gaze at her, just to show that he could and was not doing this because she said so, and sighed in resignation. "Okay," he stepped out of Willow's wings and shook his limbs. "Here we go …"
The thought entered my head of a Monster Hunter and Succubus Huntlow AU and I couldn't drop it - so I churned this out in less than 24 hours. I actually really like how it turned out! Let me know if you liked it - leave a review!