Zac found himself being led by Bune back into the winding corridors of the keep. The nightly entertainment seemed to have thoroughly dampened the spirits of the demons. They had all gone broody and quiet, which Zac didn't mind because they all looked incredibly hot when they were broody and quiet, but it did lead to him being unceremoniously hauled out from under the dining table by his ankle just as he was about to reach Marchosias’s unsuspecting lap. Bedtime, Bune had declared.

  “Just because they sent in LeBron to kick your team’s ass doesn’t mean the war’s lost, right?” Zac asked curiously, trying to keep up with the butler’s brisk pace. “That was just a skirmish. Why would they cart some big shot over just to fight the leather doggy daddy?”

  “Do not call President Glasya-Labolas that, Avatar,” Bune’s Left Head corrected gently.

  The Right Head still seemed agitated, its voice much faster than usual. “There will be a meeting about this, I am sure! To think they would actually break the rules after all this time! I didn’t even know they were metaphysically able to break rules!”

  Zac struggled to keep his bearings in the maze-like keep. Every turn looked the same. “I didn’t think war had rules,” he said. “I mean, humans like to pretend there are rules, but it’s more just like, ‘Hey, we agree not to ruin huge swaths of land for everyone forever, pinky swear.’”

  “Of course there are rules!” Bune’s Left Head said, leading Zac up another grand, spiraling staircase. “If there were no rules, then the war would have ended long ago.”

  His other head nodded. “How else would it be eternal if not for some guidelines? It would be chaos. Unsustainable.”

  Zac tried to consider this, to wrap his head around the concept of a regulated forever-war. But then Bune’s butt was directly at his eye level as they ascended the stairs. The dragon’s tail was thick and powerful, yes, but somehow, he still had buns. Defined, muscular buns that strained against the fabric of his trousers with every step. ‘Nice,’ Zac thought, his philosophical train of thought completely derailing. ‘Very nice.’

  “…and that’s where you will come in,” Bune finished, his voice echoing slightly in the stairwell.

  Zac snapped back to attention. “I mean, if you insist,” he murmured, staring intently at the aforementioned buns. “But if I’m coming in, you’re coming in too.”

  Bune stopped at the top of the stairs and looked back, an odd expression on both of his faces. “You must be tired after such a busy day being hounded by those ruffians. It is making you delirious.”

  The butler stopped at a random, unmarked door and pushed it open, revealing a small, spartan room. It had a bed and a bureau, just like the one he’d changed in earlier, but Zac was sure this wasn’t the same place. The window was on the wrong wall.

  Before he could protest, he felt a sudden, hot breath on his neck. Bune had leaned in from behind, and both heads were sniffing him with an unnerving intensity. Zac shuddered, a jolt of something that wasn't fear running down his spine.

  “Still pure,” the Left Head whispered, the sound a low, possessive rumble.

  “Pristine condition,” the Right Head agreed, a hint of reverence in its voice.

  They both sighed in unison, a twin plume of satisfied smoke, before standing tall again.

  “Please enter, Zachary,” the Left Head said, his voice once again the formal butler. “Rest well. I will make sure the door is locked.”

  Zac looked left. He looked right. He looked back at Bune. “Wait, no, that’s okay. I was just gonna take a walk around for a bit after I get settled in, you know, stretch my legs.”

  His mind was racing. He was trying to retrace his steps, trying to form a mental map back to the dining hall, back to where he’d last seen Marchosias. He just knew the wolf demon needed some hot and sloppy consoling after watching his war team get rocked.

  He could see it now. Marchosias would be there, frustrated and grouchy, staring at a map. Zac would walk up and rub his back gently, saying something like, ‘Don’t let it get you down, champ. We’ll get ‘em next time.’ March would look up slowly with those intense, ‘I’m so a dom top’ eyes and say, ‘If they only listened to me, we would have won.’ And Zac would coo and say, ‘Those losers don’t get how big your military brain is and how totally kick-ass at positions and shit you are. If you gave me an order, I’d follow it.’

  Then Marchosias would lean in, his voice a low growl. ‘Even if I ordered you to fall in love with me?’

  Zac would bat his eyes, give a coy laugh, and lean into the wolf’s embrace. ‘Maybe if you show me how you win your next war-off.’

  And Marchosias would get all alpha at the challenge and growl that he will win the war for Zac’s heart, and then he would finally, finally kiss him…

  Bune coughed, a dry, polite sound that shattered the fantasy. “Avatar? Are you going to go to sleep?”

  Zac opened his eyes. He had been hugging himself and swaying gently on the spot. He quickly dropped his arms. “Oh. Right. Uh, but why can’t I leave again? What if I have to pee?”

  Bune sighed. “If you need to use the facilities, you may ring the bell on the nightstand. I will come to escort you. But otherwise, it is safest for you to be… protected.”

  The Right Head nodded vigorously. “Like a shark cage! This room has been designed with necromantic wards and temporal locks. It should keep even Andras from entering and… defiling you.”

  Zac, who had wandered a few steps into the room to confirm that, yes, it was definitely a different room, spun around. “Hey-!”

  It was too late.

  “Rest well, Avatar,” Bune said, his two heads giving a formal, unified bow. The heavy wooden door clicked shut with a sound of absolute finality. A series of heavy thunks followed as multiple bolts, both physical and magical, slid into place.

  Zac stared at the door for a second, processing. Then he dashed forward, yanking uselessly on the iron handle. It didn’t budge.

  “Let me out!” he yelled, rattling the door. “You can’t do this to me! I need to see what eagle dick looks like! Halphas said he was into being objectified! That’s not against the rules! That’s just being a good wingman!”

  There was no answer. Only the oppressive, indifferent silence of the keep.

  Zac rattled the handle one last time, a desperate, hopeless gesture. He slumped, his forehead resting against the cool, unyielding wood. The reality of his situation, the gilded cage Marchosias had described, was no longer a metaphor. It was a literal, locked room.

  He slid down the door until he was sitting on the floor, a prisoner in his own very specific, very frustrating hell.

  Zac finally peeled himself off the floor, his grand protest having achieved nothing but sore knuckles. He let out a long, theatrical sigh and took a proper look around his new prison cell.

  It was sparse. A heavy wooden bureau stood against one wall, its drawers filled with a few more identical sets of the simple black robes he was wearing. Against the other wall was a narrow bed with grey sheets and a single, surprisingly flat pillow. Zac nodded to himself. ‘Basically the same as my old apartment. It’s just lacking a few of my… ‘creature comforts.’ The ones that help a guy relax before bed. Or in the morning. Or after a particularly stressful encounter with the cashier at the gas station down the street who always judged him for buying three drinks and a single, sad hot dog at 2 AM.’

  He stretched, his back popping in a dozen satisfying places. His hand brushed against something small and hard in the pocket of his robe.

  He pulled it out. The crystal bottle of Celestial Silk - Mane & Tail Rejuvenator glowed with a soft, golden light in the dim room.

  An evil, slow-spreading grin stretched across Zac’s face.

  “Well,” he whispered to the empty room, turning the bottle over in his hands. “If I can’t get the real thing tonight, that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy a bit of… high-end lubricant.” He held the bottle up as if toasting the absent lion. “Thanks, Nock. I’m sure you already know I’ll make it up to you. Generously.”

  He unscrewed the ornate cap and poured a small, golden dollop into his palm. It was thick, silky, and smelled divine. He tested the viscosity between his thumb and forefinger. “Hmm,” he mused critically. “Better than coconut oil, but not quite as good as the real deal. Let’s just hope it doesn’t dry out too fast, or Nock might be mad I used the whole bottle.”

  With a giddy giggle, his previous despair completely forgotten, Zac jumped onto the bed. He was finally, blessedly alone. He was locked in, yes, but that also meant no interruptions. He could finally, properly enjoy thinking about his new roommates. The feel of Skarg’s fur. The sound of Andras’s voice. The sight of Halphas’s forearms. The thought of Marchosias’s… everything.

  He lay back, the bottle of conditioner clutched in one hand, ready for a long and satisfying meditation session.

  His head hit the pillow.

  The only thought that entered his mind was: ‘Oh… oh… ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh… so comfy.’

  The sheer, bone-deep exhaustion of the past twenty-four hours hit him like a physical blow. The adrenaline he didn't know he was running on vanished. The tension, the lust, the existential dread… it all evaporated.

  He was asleep in seconds.

  The bottle of Nock’s prized mane conditioner, forgotten and unused, slipped from his limp fingers and rolled silently onto the floor, its golden contents glinting mockingly in the gloom.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  …

  Zac was wandering through a storm. Icy wind howled, whipping his thin black robes against his legs. Snow, thick and heavy, dragged at his ankles, biting at his exposed skin with a thousand tiny teeth. Around him, a forest of thin, twisted birch trees clawed at the grey sky, their branches like skeletal fingers.

  “Hmm,” he muttered, shivering. “This isn’t Marchosias’s bachelor pad. Am I dreaming again?” He pulled the robes tighter around himself. “Why am I so cold? Are dreams always this cold and I just forgot? This is terrible ambiance.”

  He trudged through the deep snow, looking around at the whiteout. There was nothing in any direction but more snow and more twisted, horrible trees.

  Then, a bellow ripped through the blizzard. It was a deep, guttural sound, a roar of primal hunger that vibrated in Zac’s bones.

  Zac froze. His head snapped around, eyes wide, trying to pierce the swirling snow.

  “Wait,” he whispered, a slow grin spreading across his face. “This is the chase dream again. The one with the murder-deer. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. I’m lucid! I got in the same dream again and Skarg is here!”

  He listened, cupping a hand to his ear. The bellow echoed again, closer this time, from his left. Without a second of hesitation, he started running directly toward the sound. He bumped into a few trees, his shoulder aching from the impact, but he barely noticed. His mind was set on one singular, glorious objective.

  Skarg appeared through the blizzard, a colossal, magnificent silhouette of frost and muscle. He threw his head back and howled at Zac, a sound meant to instill primal terror.

  “RUN, LITTLE HUMAN! THE HUNT HAS BEGUN!”

  Zac ran.

  Much to Skarg’s surprise, the human ran right at him, a look of ecstatic determination on his face.

  Zac slowed as he got close, his eyes dropping. “Oh, he’s so naked right now,” he breathed, his own breath pluming in the frigid air. “How the hell does he stay so plump when it’s so cold out?”

  He stopped directly in front of the wendigo, blew hot air into his cupped hands, and then held them out toward Skarg’s crotch as if it were a roaring campfire.

  “What in the hell are you doing?” Skarg asked, more confused than angry. He took an instinctual step back.

  “Shut up,” Zac said, stepping forward again to maintain hand-warming proximity. “Why aren’t you hard? In my fantasies, you’re usually all… you know.” He made a vague, enthusiastic gesture. “Neigh neigh, motherfucker, or something. Big dick monster energy.”

  “What?” Skarg stammered, looking genuinely baffled. The human was supposed to be running for his life, not critiquing the presentation of his genitalia. “What are you-”

  “I said shhh, my sexy dream beast,” Zac interrupted, looking up at him with a predatory grin. “We have all night, and you’re nice and warm. We’re not wasting it on cardio this time.”

  Skarg took a larger step away from Zac, clearing his throat with a cough that sounded like an avalanche starting. “This… this isn’t a dream, Avatar. We are… talking. In your head.”

  Zac looked up from Skarg’s semi-flaccid firewood, his grin faltering.

  “Huh?”

  Skarg furrowed his brow, the motion causing a small shower of frost to fall from his antlers. “It’s hard to explain,” he rumbled, clearly struggling with the concept. “But demons can… enter dreams. Cause nightmares.”

  Zac nodded eagerly. ‘This is a wet dream, not a nightmare,’ he thought, ‘but continue. You have my full attention.’

  “If the Captain will not let me have your body,” Skarg continued, his icy blue eyes raking over Zac’s form, a slow, possessive appraisal, “then I will still have your… mind.”

  Zac fell to his knees in the snow, his hands clasped together in supplication. “YES! YES! YES!” he cried, looking up at the wendigo with tear-filled eyes. “Take it! It’s yours! Do horrible, unspeakable things to my psyche!”

  Skarg looked down at the kneeling human, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face. This was more like it.

  “You know,” Zac began to sob, his voice thick with emotion, “I thought I was cursed or something. Living in the 21st century, with so many advancements in biotech and genetics… I was sure someone was going to figure out how to make a wolfman by now. But no. Just stupid, hairless humans as far as the eye can see.”

  Skarg’s grin faltered. He looked down at the weeping human with a flicker of something that might have been pity.

  “I would even have settled for a lifelike robot bull-man,” Zac continued, his voice cracking. “Or maybe a ram-man. Yeah, that would have been okay too. I would have even dressed up a human robot in a sexy fox outfit and strapped on one of my-”

  “ZAC!” Skarg’s growl cut through the oversharing like a thunderclap. “I am giving you to the count of ten. To run.”

  Zac looked up, his face a mess of self-loathing snot and tears. He quickly began wiping it away with the back of his hand. “Really?” he sniffled. “You mean it? A real chase?”

  “And when I catch you,” Skarg’s eyes hardened, the predatory glint returning with a vengeance, “you’re going to scream for me. Whether you want to or not.”

  Zac stumbled to his feet, a renewed sense of purpose shining in his eyes. “You promise?”

  “One.”

  Skarg began to count, his voice a low, rumbling threat. As he did, Zac noticed something. The wendigo was becoming aroused. His earlier state, impressive as it was, was apparently just the prelude. The thrill of the hunt, the promise of the catch, was having a very visible, very significant effect.

  Zac’s eyes bulged. ‘Holy shit,’ he thought, his brain short-circuiting. ‘He’s a grower. Not a shower. He’s a grower and a shower. He’s a goddamn greenhouse.’

  “Two.”

  Zac scrambled away, his movements slow and clumsy in the deep snow. He kept looking back over his shoulder at his soon-to-be hunter, at the magnificent, terrifying promise of what was to come, a giddy, terrified laugh bubbling in his chest. This was so much better than the real world.

  Zac stumbled through the twisted birch trees, Skarg’s mournful hunting howl echoing through the blizzard behind him. Every instinct he didn’t have told him to run faster, to hide, to survive. A part of him, the logical, horny part, just wanted to stop and find a comfortable-looking snowdrift to lie on and wait for the inevitable. But if the hot caribou man liked to chase, then Zac could do that much for him. He owed him for the show.

  The sound of crashing branches and thundering hooves grew closer with alarming speed. Zac didn't have time to look back. A massive, furry body slammed into him from behind, and the world became a blur of white snow and dark fur.

  He was tackled into a deep snowbank, the breath driven from his lungs in a sharp gasp. He landed face-down, Skarg’s immense weight pressing him into the powder. Instinct took over, and he began to flail, struggling against the antlered demon, but his movements were useless. A heavy forearm pressed down on the small of his back, pinning him completely.

  The weight was immense, possessive, thrilling.

  “You talk a lot, little whore,” Skarg rumbled, his voice a hot wave against Zac’s ear. The wendigo’s breath smelled of musk, pine, and something ancient and wild. “But you are lucky. Since I know you are a virgin, I will not completely break you tonight. Consider this… a preview.”

  “Break me,” Zac gasped, struggling uselessly against the demon’s hold, the words muffled by the snow. “Break me until I beg for more.”

  Ha. Skarg’s head moved away from Zac’s ear. “Oh, you’ll beg.”

  Zac felt a large, clawed hand grip the hem of his robe. With a single, powerful tug, the fabric was pulled up, exposing his lower back and ass to the biting cold. His muscles tensed involuntarily, goosebumps rising on his skin. Above him, he heard Skarg let out a low, guttural rumble of pure, animal hunger.

  Zac, face down in the snow, felt the wendigo’s warm breath on his butt cheeks. His eyes went wide. He tried to push his rear up, arching his back, trying to get closer to the caribou’s maw, but he was still pinned firmly to the ground.

  A wet, warm sensation hit his cheeks. Zac choked back a gasp as a generous amount of spit cascaded down, slick and hot against his cold skin.

  ‘Such a gentleman,’ Zac thought, a wave of blissful anticipation washing over him. ‘I would have enjoyed it if he rimmed me a bit first, but beggars can’t be choosers. At least he’s not going in dry.’

  He braced himself, every nerve ending on high alert, ready for the glorious, dream-fulfilling impact.

  Zac felt Skarg shift his immense weight. A moment later, something impossibly hot and solid flopped onto his thigh and butt cheek.

  Zac nearly bit his tongue off. ‘Oh, fuck. It’s big. It’s really, really big.’

  He desperately tried to crane his neck, to look back at the caribou demon meat extravaganza that was now spreading the small pool of saliva between his cheeks. The sheer size of it was breathtaking, a promise of pain and pleasure that made his head spin.

  Instantly, all the fight went out of him. He went limp, every muscle in his body relaxing. That feeling… that glorious, heavy, insistent pressure against him… it was so close to…

  Skarg laughed, a low, triumphant rumble. “Prey instinctively know when it’s useless to fight,” he growled, misinterpreting Zac’s surrender completely. “I’m going to use you now, little human. I’m going to take what’s mine.”

  Zac let out a quiet moan as Skarg began to slowly, deliberately push himself in. It was a tight fit, a glorious, stretching pressure that was everything he’d ever dreamed of. Zac was still trying to grind backward onto the caribou’s cock, but it was no use. Skarg had him pinned, a living mountain of muscle holding him in place. Zac was now just a warm location for Skarg’s prodding, and he was here for it. He was so, so here for it.

  ‘All these years,’ his mind reeled blissfully, ‘and this is it. I’m finally getting it. From a hot demonic military officer in a wild, dubious-consent roleplay with full scenario immersion and a winter-wonderland set. This is the peak. This is my Everest.’

  He closed his eyes, a grin spreading across his face, and decided to play along. He let out a faked, breathy whimper. “Oh… you’re so big… I don’t think I can take it…”

  Skarg bellowed, a sound of pure, masculine triumph, and ground forward another agonizing inch. “I told you you’d take it! Not so funny now, is it, little virgin? You’ll think twice before teasing us, won’t you?”

  “Oh yeah,” Zac said enthusiastically, his voice full of genuine awe. “That big dick is definitely turning me into a good boy.”

  Skarg stopped. The rhythmic pressure ceased.

  Zac’s eyes snapped open. He looked around in the snow. “Uh,” he said quickly, trying to recover the mood. “I mean… I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have teased you! You’re so strong! Please don’t hurt me!”

  There was a pause. Then, Skarg slowly began grinding forward again, sinking deeper.

  “That’s right, you little slut,” the wendigo growled, his voice thick with lust. “And now… you’re gonna pay.”

  Zac smartly stayed quiet, other than the occasional whimper of “fuck” and “so big” and “please.” These, he noted, seemed to stroke the demon’s ego beautifully as Skarg slowly, relentlessly worked him open. Zac was glad his vocabulary didn’t need to be large; his mind was setting off fireworks. Even with this just being the warm-up, he was already on a knife’s edge. He probably would have gone over already if his arms weren’t pinned, preventing him from touching himself.

  The demonic deer cock was just perfect. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel it, every incredible inch. It was smooth and tapered. When it first entered, it was almost deceptively small, and for a split second, Zac had been worried. But then it just kept going, getting thicker and thicker the further it made its way inside, a logical impossibility, a geometric marvel of pleasure. He sighed as he finally felt something wider press firmly against his entrance, presumably seating the demon completely within him.

  “Oh no,” Zac said dreamily, trying to wiggle his butt back and forth against the immovable object. “You’re all the way in me. Please… please don’t be too rough.”

  Skarg laughed again, a deep, triumphant sound. “Don’t think you’re getting away that easy,” he growled. “I’m getting balls-deep in you, you fuck-hole.”

  “Uhh,” Zac tried to turn his head, the logic-obsessed part of his brain briefly taking over. “Balls-deep doesn’t actually mean you get your balls in me. It’s a metaphor for-”

  Splat. More hot spit landed on his ass.

  “Shut up,” Skarg spat.

  “Aren’t you already in?” Zac winced as Skarg tried to press even deeper, the pressure becoming immense.

  “That’s the medial ring,” Skarg growled. He leaned over Zac, one massive arm wrapping around his chest, pulling him into a loose headlock bear hug that was both terrifying and incredibly intimate. “Now for the main event.”

  “But you’re not equine,” Zac whimpered as he felt a warm, sliding pressure deep inside him, a feeling like stretching a muscle that had been sore for years, like the clean, satisfying sensation of peeling dried glue off your skin. It was a feeling that unlocked a part of him he never knew existed, rewiring his entire nervous system. His back arched, and his leg began to shudder uncontrollably.

  Pop.

  Skarg groaned, a deep, guttural sound of release, and surged forward another few inches.

  Zac’s eyes went wide.

  The sensation of the medial ring pushing past something deep inside him was everything. Zac saw stars. Zac saw God. Zac saw the Devil, and the Devil had just reached into his soul and milked his prostate with a single, expert twist.

  His body convulsed. A wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure crashed over him, so intense it bordered on pain. He shuddered and seized, a wordless scream trapped in his throat. ‘Oh, it felt so good. It felt so fucking good. Yes. Don’t ever fucking stop. Don’t…’

  ‘…stop?’

  Zac blinked his eyes open.

  He looked around. The blizzard was gone. The twisted trees were gone. Skarg was gone.

  He was in his room. The cold, sterile quiet pressed in on his ears. He was tangled in the single, rough sheet on the demonically comfortable bed, his body slick with sweat and other fluids.

  Wait…

  Wait.

  WAIT, FU-