Hey, everyone! I figured it was finally time to give a preview of Demoness V. It’s still a little ways off, as I’m very busy with the Haven series and stuff from the real world keeps getting in the way and eating up my time.
As usual, you can find both this chapter and the second chapter of this story over on my Patreon if you are a 1$/month Patron.
Enjoy!
John Greenfield lay soaking wet and half-dead on a rocky shore.
He came to coughing violently, a thousand pains wracking his battered, abused body, and he turned on his side and vomited. A stream of foul-tasting seawater was jetted from his mouth onto the rocky beach he lay upon and mixed with the rain and swell of water from the waves lashing at him, as though the sea itself held a grudge against him. He coughed, terror and panic surging through his body, filling every fiber of his being as he desperately sought to figure out what was happening. Then he coughed raggedly and vomited again.
When the last of the seawater had escaped him, he groaned thickly and sat up. Shivering violently, he hugged himself and looked around, his head swinging in a slow arc from left to right. Ahead, all he could see was the dark eternity of the ocean, and the waves pounding the shore. To either direction, more beach, shrouded in a rainy darkness. A heavy wave came up and washed over him, nearly dragging him back into the ocean. John cried out and lurched to his feet in a surge of panic, then stumbled away from the water, from the most immediate threat. He still had his boots, he realized, looking down.
His clothes too, although they were ragged and wet and torn in many places.
Where was he?!
What had happened?!
Shivering even more harshly, he rubbed his arms furiously, trying to bring some warmth back to his slowly numbing body. Think, dammit! He could see no lights around, no fires, not even any structures. Opposite the ocean, he saw a dark treeline. Overhead, lightning forked the sky and thunder cracked, rumbling so powerfully it rattled his bones. He cried out in a pure, primal reflex of fear. Boat. He had been on a boat.
He’d been going somewhere, and the last thing he remembered was-
Lightning struck again, and this time it was as if it had struck his skull, his mind itself, which lit up like a beacon in the night as a realization hit him.
John sucked in a deep breath and screamed as loud as he could, “YELENA!!!”
Only the thunder and the pounding of the waves answered him. He looked around frantically, taking a few steps left, hesitating, then a few steps right. He stumbled as some rocks went out from beneath him and went painfully to his knees. He cried out, then moaned in sick fear. He felt shaky and raw with panic.
Whatever he’d been doing, wherever he was now, none of it mattered, because he was alone. Because he didn’t know where she was.
He shot to his feet and again screamed at the top of his lungs. “YELENA!!!”
Still nothing. John spent another few minutes looking around frantically, his mind half-fried, running on instinct and emotion as he desperately sought the woman he loved, the person who mattered the most to him in this world or any other, the demoness he would die for, he would do anything for. But he couldn’t see her.
He was alone.
“Please,” he moaned, hugging himself tightly. “Oh please don’t be gone. Please...”
He looked up as the lightning flared again and through the curtain of rain that fell, spied a simple structure not too far away. Like a ship dropping anchor in treacherous waters, that gave him something to hold onto. Seeing that structure awoke in him a very basic, very primal urge: to be inside, out of the cold and the dark and the rain. And that simple urge anchored him, brought him back down a few levels, and some of his panic bled off. He had to find Yelena, but first he had to get his bearings, check himself over.
Surely, he was wounded. He couldn’t tell because what parts of him weren’t numb from the cold all hurt in overlapping waves of miserable suffering. Groaning and shuddering, teeth chattering, he set off, marching towards the simple structure. It looked like little more than a shack. Probably a fisherman’s shack, he thought, given how close he was to the ocean. Although it was maybe a hundred feet away, it seemed to take ages to get there. He kept looking around, hoping to see that familiar form, praying to see Yelena coming towards him. He would give anything to see her just then. But he saw nothing.
John reached the shack. It had a door and it was partially open. He pushed his way in through it. The single-room building looked long abandoned. Already, as he stepped inside, his mind was telling him to do things. Light a fire. Find some dry clothes. Find a weapon. Make sure the building was secure-
He hadn’t made sure it was secure.
Right as he thought that, something leaped at him with a growl and crashed into him. He screamed, new primal urges taking over as a wiry figure covered in wet fur got atop him. He struggled, fought, bucked hard enough to throw the figure off of him. What was attacking him!? He got atop the figure. A hand came up and he screamed as claws raked his cheek. He grabbed the hand by the wrist and forced it back down, then did the same with the second hand. He was stronger than whoever it was, at least.
Lightning flashed again, and in that instant he saw a felis woman staring up at him, her eyes wide and wild with fury and fear. He hesitated. She looked...familiar.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“Get off me!” she snapped.
“Are you going to stop fucking attacking me?!” John snapped back. “Because you struck first!”
She hesitated, a few seconds played out, and then he felt her relax slightly. “Yes. I’m sorry,” she replied.
Carefully, he released her wrists and then slowly got up off of her. John got to his feet and then offered her a hand when it seemed obvious that she wasn’t going to continue the fight. She looked at his hand for a moment, then took it and let him help her up. He shivered and looked around as he remembered how cold he was.
“We need to start a fire,” the felis murmured.
“I...” he hesitated, looked out through the door he’d come in through. “I need to go. There’s someone I have to find.” He took a step towards the exit.
“Wait,” the felis said, and he hesitated, looking back at her. “It’s too dangerous out there right now. It’s pouring rain in the middle of the night and we have no idea where we are or what could be out there. We’re injured and weak. We’re easy pickings for even a few wolves. We need to stay here, make a fire, get some rest.”
She sounded reasonable, and her voice, surprisingly calm as it was, instilled a sense of logic in him that began to calm his fractured and terrified mind. A part of him, a strong part of him, wanted to march out there in the rain and scream for Yelena for as long as it took. But another part of him reluctantly admitted that this woman was right, and he wouldn’t do any good to Yelena if he got himself killed out there.
And fuck, at this point, he realized, if he had managed to survive, then certainly she had, because she was far more capable than he was.
“Yeah,” he said finally, “you’re right.”
He looked around the little shack. It was a miserable place to spend the night, but it at least had a bed and the roof wasn’t leaking too bad. It still had its windows, too, and they were mostly intact. He looked down at a little brazier in the middle of the room. It was full of ashes.
“We’ll need wood,” he said. “And it’ll be hard to find dry wood around here...”
“I know some magic,” the woman said, “if we can find wood, I can dry it and burn it.” She looked out through the front door and sighed. He knew how she felt, he sure wasn’t relishing the thought of going back out there. “We should get this over with. And stick together.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, then hesitated. “I’m John.”
“Layla,” she said.
“Were you on the ship?” he asked as they headed back outside. The rain seemed to have slackened, though only a little. Maybe it was his imagination.
“Yes. I saw you around with a woman...a redhead elf...is that who you’re looking for?”
“Yelena. Yeah,” he replied.
She began to say something else, but a flash of lightning and boom of thunder cut her off. He waited to see if she’d keep talking, but instead she just pointed. He followed her finger and saw some driftwood not too far away. He went for it, shivering worse than ever now. Now that he had the goal of building a fire, he found himself desperate for one and colder than ever. He reached down and grabbed the piece of driftwood, then looked around and spied another one a few feet away. He stumbled over and grabbed it.
The act of gathering wood to burn helped bring his body and his mind back to him. Everything was feeling distant and numb, but it was slowly coming back. Still though, a confusion seemed to lay over him, almost like he was waking up in the middle of the night while drunk, trying to figure out where he was and what was going on. He glanced over his shoulder at Layla, who was gathering up wood as well. At least he wasn’t alone. But...he looked all around himself once again. Where was Yelena?
He couldn’t shake the terrifying thought that something had happened to her, that she was injured or...dead. It was possible. No, he thought angrily, vehemently. No, she’s fine. Maybe not fine, apparently there’d been a shipwreck, but she was a survivor more than anything. She would survive, and he’d find her tomorrow, as soon as he woke up. He still wanted to go looking for her, but knew that it was a bad idea. Everything hurt or was numb, and he was dizzy and confused. John saw another piece of wood and grabbed it, making eight. His arms were getting full and, after a few seconds, he decided he’d found enough.
Turning around, he hurried back to the shack, where Layla was waiting in the doorway, watching out for him. He tried to remember what he’d observed about her, because he had seen her on the ship, but he couldn’t remember a thing. He rejoined her and they both headed inside. John dumped his wood in the brazier, then moved back over to the door and closed it, then locked it as firmly as he could. Then he moved over to the nearest window and saw about securing it some more. As he pulled the tattered curtains into place a bit more firmly, he felt a wave of wonderfully comforting warmth at his back. He turned around.
Layla was releasing renewing waves of white magic over the collection of wood he’d dumped in the brazier. Well, at least she seemed pretty competent. Just based on the little he’d encountered while fighting her, he thought that if they were to fight again, she’d give him a real run for his coin. He was definitely stronger than her, but strength wasn’t everything. She was quick. She glanced up as she finished drying the wood.
“Are you injured?” she asked.
“I don’t think so, not seriously,” he murmured, looking down at himself. His clothing was ripped and soaked.
“Why didn’t you use your weapon, during our skirmish?” she asked.
He looked down again and blinked in surprise. His sword, his midnight black blade, was still in its scabbard on his hip. “I didn’t even realize I still had it with me.”
“Lucky for me,” she replied. “You’re...very strong,” she murmured. He looked back up at her. She was staring at the wood before her, focusing on it really. It sounded like it pained her to admit that. Well, that made sense. She was clearly pretty fierce, no doubt an adventurer like him. Everything about her was a testament to the notion. In some ways, she reminded him of Bianca. He wondered, suddenly, what the demon-hunting felis was up to nowadays.
“It almost didn’t save me. You’re extremely fast,” he replied, continuing his job of securing the windows as much as he could.
His cheek still hurt, and bled slightly.
“I’ve spent a long time honing myself,” Layla murmured.
“I know the feeling,” John replied.
As he finished securing another window, there was an orange-yellow burst of light. He looked back at her. She stood before the brazier now, warming her hands. He studied her. She was in incredible shape, her form thin and lithe and athletic. She wore very little, really just a small shirt to cover her breasts, (which, he saw as he walked over to the final window and got a view of her front side, were very, very obvious in the soaking wet fabric), and a loose skirt that did little more than cover her ass and crotch. He imagined she wore it for a maximum range of motion, relying on speed rather than armor.
He felt an unexpectedly powerful burst of lust slam into him as he stared at her lithe form. Gods, she was in great shape, and she was so attractive. Her fur was a beautifully patterned orange and yellow.
His heart leaped as she looked at him suddenly. Her slit-pupil yellow eyes caught the fire, reflecting it. “Are we secure?” she asked.
“As secure as we’re going to get,” he replied, finishing with the final window and then moving over to the fire.
“I know a few basic alarm spells. I’ll set them by the windows and the door. If anything tries to get in, we’ll at least know about it,” she replied, and moved away from the fire. While she worked her magic and he warmed himself, (which he was partially regretting, as all of his body parts which had grown numb were now becoming warm again, and bringing with them new waves of pain), he looked around the cabin. There was hardly anything to work with. A broken desk, a dresser missing several drawers, a smashed table, a chair that looked so old and weathered that it likely wouldn’t support even an elf, and, interestingly, a bed that was pretty much intact. He’d slept in worse, he figured, studying it. Though if they intended to share it, it would be a tight fit…
He looked at her again.
Layla was facing away from him, and he could see the swell of her well-maintained, firm ass pushing against the skirt she wore, which was also soaking wet and clung to her body. Again, he felt a shockingly powerful bolt of lust slam into him, and he found himself desiring her more than he had desired most for a long time. He fought to control himself. Now was hardly the time to fuck. And, Gods, Yelena was still out there, and he wanted to get to her so badly. But he couldn’t. He was stuck in this shack, aching all over, his head hurting worse than a hangover, with no supplies but his soaking wet clothes and his blade.
At least Layla knew magic.
Hopefully she knew healing magic. He was still working on learning more magic. This was one of those times where knowing more magic would be really fucking useful. John groaned quietly as it felt like his entire body throbbed, but even that couldn’t keep the intense lust from his mind. Maybe it was just a reaction to the sheer insanity of the situation, now that he was somewhere theoretically safe, and the worst of it had passed.
What had even fucking happened? He still couldn’t remember. Everything was a confused mess and he just wanted to sleep. Well, he just wanted to go find Yelena, but he couldn’t, so next on the list was just pass the fuck out and not have to be awake and deal with this shit for awhile.
“I can heal you,” Layla said. “Probably not everything, but I can do a decent job.”
“I’d appreciate it,” he murmured.
She went about the room laying her magical traps, and as she did, he felt a painful jab of fear and misery as he was reminded of Yelena doing the same whenever they slept in a dangerous place. Gods, what he wouldn’t give just to know she was okay!
As she finished up, Layla came over to stand by him before the fire.
“Think the smoke will be a problem?” he murmured.
“No, there’s enough holes in the roof that we’ll be fine,” she replied. “Here, hold still. I’m going to put my hands on you, okay?”
“Okay,” he replied.
She reached out and laid her hands on his chest. The contact made his heart flutter and his stomach churn with desire.
Technically, he could have sex with her, if she was open to it. He was in an open relationship…
Was it right? Would that piss Yelena off? He didn’t think so, he was really fucking stressed out, and sex was pretty much the number one thing that helped him relax.
All of his thoughts ceased as Layla released a wave of magic over him, and he was filled with a deeply comforting warmth. He felt the pain all over his body lessen, though not disappear, not completely. But it was a damn sight better than what it had been.
“There,” she said.
“Thank you, I really appreciate it,” he replied.
“We should work together,” she said, and then she took off her shirt, freeing her high, firm breasts. They bounced as they came out of her small shirt and this time the lust hit him so hard that he nearly lost his breath. “And we should dry our clothes by the fire,” she said, nodding to an old but serviceable laundry line that hung from the ceiling.
“Uh...y-yeah,” he replied, and took off his shirt. She hung her shirt up, then did the same with her skirt. Oh Gods, he could see her vagina and it looked so good. He wrung his shirt out on the floor and hung it up, then repeated the process with his pants, his undershorts, and his socks. He had to dump seawater from his boots. He hung up all his clothes and set his boots before the fire, and, after a moment’s consideration, set his blade on the floor, beside the bed. “I’m not, uh, sure what you want to do about sleeping arrangements...” he murmured, turning around to face her.
Layla stood in front of the fire, facing him, the fire back-lighting her and only adding to the fierce appearance she was presenting. She stared at him with wide, wild eyes, her tail lashing furiously behind her, and he felt caught in her gaze. There was no mistaking the lust in her eyes. He began to say something, but she practically leaped across the shack and shoved him back onto the bed. As her body touched his and they fell into the bed together, he reacted almost on instinct. His lust overtook him, overwhelmed his mind now that she had shown her utter willingness to fuck him. She got atop him and kissed him hard on the mouth, pushing her rough felis tongue in and desperately, almost furiously seeking his own.
He moved it forward and as soon as they touched, they twined and twisted together, and her taste flooded his mouth. He tasted her natural taste, mixed with smoke and seawater, and felt her damp, furry body pushing against his own. They both ran their hands over each other as they made out passionately. His hands found the swell of her firm, fit ass and he groped and squeezed it. Without thinking, one hand went up to the base of her tail, wrapped around it, and gave it a small squeeze. She let out a loud moan and went temporarily rigid, and he wondered if that had been a bad move. A woman’s tail, had she one, was usually a very intimate thing to touch.
But it seemed to only invigorate her more.
Layla reached down between them and gripped his steel-hard cock. She ran her hand up and down it for a moment, as though enjoying the simple act of touching it, and then she raised herself up, aimed it at her pussy, and lowered herself.
Both of them let out loud, low moans of primal pleasure as they began fornicating and the first burst of rapture from initial penetration hit them both. She took his entire length into herself, and oh was she wet. Good fucking Gods was she wet. And tight! Layla grabbed his shoulders as she finished settling into place atop him, then growled and began to ride him. He groaned loudly, the pleasure hitting him in waves. Parts of him hurt, ached with suffering from his time in the ocean, but he didn’t give one fuck about that.
Layla consumed his attention.
She seemed to tower above him in the flickering firelight and the close atmosphere of the tiny shack. Nude and furry and raw, she looked like a being of lust or a warrior felis deity come down for a night of wild sex with a mortal. Her firm, high breasts bounced beautifully in unison with the rest of her as she furiously rode his cock, fucking herself with it, shoving it into her pussy again and again. She growled and groaned, and no words were passed between them as they screwed like rutting animals, almost mindless in their ferocious, savage fuck session. All the thoughts were pushed soundly out of John’s head as Layla screwed him, putting her powerful hips and thighs to use. His pain seemed to fade away as she moved against him.
He reached up and groped her breasts for several moments, loving the feel of them in his grasp, loving the firm fitness of her body. Then he ran his hands down her sides to her hips. He grabbed them, digging his fingertips in, and began thrusting madly up into her. Layla let out a loud cry of rapture as he did this, shoving his cock even deeper into her, and she began going harder and faster. Beneath them, the bed creaked and groaned, and he wondered briefly if it would break. And didn’t care if it did. After another moment, his hands found her ass once more, and then her tail. This time when he wrapped his fingers around its base and squeezed, she let out a groan somewhere deep in her throat and began to orgasm almost immediately.
He cried out, this time in pain, as her claws came out and dug into his shoulders, but she didn’t seem to notice. She was lost in her orgasm, and soon, so was he. Her orgasm triggered his own and in an instant they were both coming hard, coming together, and he was shooting his seed into her, pumping her sweet felis vagina full of it. The stuff left him in hard spurts as he felt her own hot sex juices escaping her pussy, getting all over him. They both moaned and cried out and panted and grunted and shouted as they came together.
And then it was over, suddenly, and she collapsed against him.
He remembered them both panting furiously, getting their breaths back, and then he remembered a powerful wave of sleepiness washing over him. He shifted, and so did she, so that they were laying beside each other, and then the lethargy pulled him down into the dark waters of sleep, like a powerful undertow, and he knew no more.