Page 9 of Corruption
Charles shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
With a small sigh, Sam sat back in his chair again. “What will you do? For dough, I mean?”
“I’ve got some saved.”
“You never were much of a spender. How long will it last?”
“Dunno. I’ll probably.... I’ve been thinking eventually I’ll do some PI jobs. Catch enough cheating husbands to pay the bills.” He’d been mulling over that idea for a few weeks. Basic investigative work like that was a piece of cake, and he had some contacts in the LAPD who would probably help throw a little work his way as he was getting started. And he could pick and choose which cases to take. None of them would involve demons.
“That’s a good idea,” Sam said. “You’ll make a great private dick. Hell, maybe I should consider it myself. I’m real tired of getting almost killed.” He rubbed ruefully at parallel scars on his left cheek. Harpy claws. Charles had been with him on that assignment.
They were both silent for a good ten minutes as the sky turned indigo and the stars began to appear. Sitting quietly with a companion and listening to crickets chirp wasn’t such a bad thing.
Eventually Sam groaned slightly and hauled himself upright. “Have to go. Got a date with Anita tonight. She wants to try that fancy steak place in Beverly Hills. I keep telling her I can make good steak at home and it won’t cost me a week’s salary, but she’s being stubborn. Wants to wear her new dress, I bet.”
“She’s a nice girl.” Charles had met her only twice, but she’d smiled at him and didn’t make him feel like a freak.
“Yeah, she is. I want to ask her to marry me, but I’m not sure I have the balls for it. What if she says no?”
Charles felt his mouth stretch into an unfamiliar grin. “She won’t.”
“If you’re so confident, maybe I oughtta get you to ask her for me.” Sam chuckled as he pulled a small notepad and pen from his pocket. “I know you have my phone number, but I’m going to write it down for you anyway. I want you to call me, okay? Invite me to do something with you. Even just coffee or whatever. We’ll have a good time, and then the next time I’ll callyou, right? And you know that little hot rod I’ve been working on? We’ll take it out to El Mirage and drive so fucking fast we’ll feel like we’re flying.”
Charles took the little piece of paper containing Sam’s scrawl. He tucked it into his pocket—along with the black feather he always kept there. “I’ll call,” he promised.
With a satisfied nod, Sam clapped Charles on the shoulder. He left the porch and walked to his car, but before he climbed in, he paused to wave. Charles could barely see him in the darkness, but he waved back.
Long after Sam was gone, Charles remained on the porch. He hadn’t bothered to turn on the outside light, and there was no moon, but he could see passably well anyway. He had good eyesight. As he’d been doing for weeks now—ever since Kansas—he let his mind wander. He thought about flying and sex, about monsters and heroes. He thought about the call of a man’s heart.
He almost dozed, and he knew he should go to bed. When he left Kansas, he’d expected nightmares to plague him. But they hadn’t—not a single one. His sleep was filled with visions of bronze skin, glowing eyes, and black wings. He dreamed of a creature bowing naked before him and begging him for... for everything.
Sometimes he woke up angry, convinced Tenrael had somehow bewitched him. Sometimes he woke up happy for the freedom he’d given the demon—a freedom Charles himself would never quite have. But always he woke up achingly hard and alone.
Maybe he wouldn’t sleep at all tonight. Perhaps he’d go for a walk instead, pad barefoot along the wet sand and listen to the waves endlessly crashing.
Gods, his backitched.
He had almost decided on a course of action when his sharp ears caught a strange, soft sound like something battering against air. And then something landed in his front yard. It was large but nearly silent, and all he could see in the darkness were its burning eyes.
As Charles sat frozen, wondering if he really had fallen asleep, Tenrael ascended the porch stairs to stand before him. He wore nothing but a white cloth wrapped around his loins, and with a few impatient tugs he removed even that and tossed it aside. He sank to his knees and bowed deeply. “Master,” he whispered.
For a long moment, Charles couldn’t say anything. His throat was completely stopped up. But he swallowed a few times and managed a choked sort of noise. “No. I gave you yourself.”
Tenrael rose up on his knees. His hair had grown down to his shoulders, and although there wasn’t enough light to tell for sure, Charles would have bet it was clean and silky, and that it was as glossy as the feathers on his wings. Tenrael’s skin was unmarred. Perfect. And, oh gods, his beautiful cock was fully erect.
“I want to give myself back,” he said.
“Why?” Before Tenrael could answer, Charles heard a car rumbling a block away, and it occurred to him that even at night his neighbors might notice a naked demon on his porch. So Charles closed his book, stood, and picked up the empty water glass. “Come inside.”
Tenrael followed as obediently as if he’d been summoned; then he stood, looking around the living room curiously while Charles placed the book near his favorite armchair. Charles took the glass into the kitchen, and when he came back, Tenrael still waited, his hands folded in front of him.
“Why?” Charles repeated.
“I want to be yours.”
“You don’t owe me a debt for freeing you. You don’t—”
“That’s not it.” When Tenrael trembled slightly, his furled wings shook. His erection had subsided, making Charles long to stroke the soft flesh back to life. “Please,” Tenrael said.
