So.
Here’s what happened.
I got kidnapped.
Again.
This ti by a local wizard with a beard like a molting squirrel and robes that slled like mildew and midlife crisis. Called himself Maltheus the Malevolent or sothing equally try-hard. I was asleep. One minute I’m dreaming of being fed grapes by shirtless twins nad Korr and Karr, next I wake up bound to a ritual stone with incense in my nose and itchy rope marks on my thighs.
"Behold!" he cried to an audience of nobody, "the virgin vessel!"
I almost choked laughing.
Virgin. Vessel. Gods give patience and a better gag reflex.
I didn’t say anything, though. Because I was curious. And also because he stuffed my mouth with rose petals. Literally. Do I look like a sacrificial centerpiece? Don’t answer that.
Anyway, he's mumbling incantations, waving around a crooked staff carved with things that looked suspiciously like penises, and drawing chalk runes in the shape of bad decisions. The wind picks up. Lightning flashes. Standard summoning foreplay.
Then—boom.
Smoke. Stench. Big dramatic poof. And out of the circle steps a seven-foot-tall red-skinned demon with four horns, golden eyes, and pecs that could crack walnuts.
Gregory.
We locked eyes.
There was a beat.
Then we both said, at the exact sa ti:
"You?!"
Wizard Maltheus blinked, visibly confused.
I spat out the petals. “You still owe a a goatf.”
Gregory just sighed, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and muttered, “That was three contracts ago. You said you forgave .”
I narrowed my eyes. “I forgave the goat thing. I didn’t forgive the thing with the fire whip and the misplaced branding.”
“It was an accident!”
“You spelled my na wrong!”
“It was a sigil!”
“I had to explain to a priestess why my butt said ‘Sayla, property of Grogy’.”
“Fine,” he said, holding up his claws. “Let’s not do this now.”
I rolled my eyes. “Too late. We’re doing this.”
Maltheus, now pale and trembling, pointed at Gregory. “W-what is the aning of this?! She’s supposed to be a virgin!”
Gregory gave him a long, pitying look. “You summoned , you amateur. You really think I run on virgin blood? I run on debts. Soul contracts. Broken oaths. Also, Tuesdays I do corporate punishnts.”
“I—I offered her!” Maltheus wailed.
Gregory turned to . “You good?”
I shrugged. “Bit itchy. He shaved my legs.”
“I did not!” Maltheus shrieked.
“Magically,” I clarified, deadpan. “While chanting.”
“Oh gods.” Gregory groaned. “He’s one of those.”
Before I could ask what those ant, Gregory grabbed the wizard by the collar and lifted him off the ground like a misbehaving cat. “Okay, first of all—virgin sacrifices are a myth. Second, consent matters. Third, this girl once convinced a satyr that she was a fertility goddess and drained his wallet dry.”
Maltheus stared at . I winked.
“And fourth,” Gregory growled, “you brought here without a proper offering. You’re lucky she’s cute.”
“Still owe a goat,” I muttered.
“I’ll get you two,” he snapped. “With bells.”
“Fancy.”
He tossed Maltheus into a shrub, snapped his fingers, and the ritual circle went up in smoke. The ropes vanished. My dress still didn’t materialize, but hey. Progress.
Gregory turned to . “You want a ride back or should I portal you?”
I stretched. “Got any of those soulwine cherries you used to bribe with?”
He blinked. “You rember that?”
“I rember everything.”
He grinned. “Even the horns?”
“Oh especially the horns.”
Behind us, Maltheus scread sothing about revenge and eternal fire.
We ignored him.
Gregory raised an eyebrow ridge—if demons even had eyebrows, his certainly did the job—then gave a look that was half smirk, half leer, and all mory.
"Are you in a hurry?" I asked, voice low, already undoing the strap on my shoulder.
He tilted his head. "Ti’s a mortal disease. I’m asymptomatic."
Gods, I hated how much I liked that answer.
“There’s a shrubbery,” I said, pointing past the cracked altar to a cozy thicket bathed in dappled moonlight. “Fairly comfy. Got moss. Privacy. Decent acoustics.”
He looked toward it, then at the twitching wreck of a man behind us. "What about him?"
“Petrify him,” I said casually. “Or lt him. Whatever’s less paperwork.”
Gregory flexed one clawed hand, lazy and elegant. Maltheus yelped.
“I don’t mind if he watches,” the demon said, baring sharp teeth in sothing just this side of charming.
“Neither do I,” I purred, walking past him with an extra sway in my hips.
That was enough.
Maltheus let out a high-pitched shriek and bolted into the trees like his balls were on fire and his dignity owed him money.
We watched him go.
Gregory snorted. “Mortals.”
I grabbed his hand. “Yeah, yeah. Co on, brimstone boy.”
And we walked, side by side, toward the waiting shrubbery.
He slled like ash and sin. I slled like petty vengeance and cheap perfu. The night slled like trouble.
Perfect.
Behind us, the ritual circle fizzled out.
Ahead of us, mossy sins awaited.
Ti to reconnect.
In the biblical sense.
***
The moss was damp.
So was I.
My thighs were slick with sweat and sin, and Gregory’s arm was slung over my belly like a particularly smug python. His tail was twitching lazily in the ferns, still radiating afterglow. Sowhere nearby, a frog croaked in envy.
Stars winked through the canopy above us. My nipples were pebble-hard from the night air, but I was too satisfied to care. Or move. Or reach for my smalls, which were currently decorating a shrub like so sort of pagan bunting.
Gregory exhaled a long, happy plu of brimstone and turned his head toward .
“When,” he rumbled, “are you going to let make an honest woman of you?”
I snorted. “Gregory the Far-Fetched, are you still on that old scroll?”
He grinned, fangs glinting. “Gregory the Faithful.”
“To what, sin?”
“To you.”
“Ugh.” I rolled over, propping myself up on one elbow, breasts swaying dangerously close to blasphemy. “You don’t want an honest woman, Gregory. You want a broodmare.”
He didn’t deny it.
Instead, he looked up at the stars like they owed him a prophecy. “Think about it. You and . Breeding a clutch of beautiful half-demons. Imagine the potential. Wings. Fire. Your hips.”
“My hips are not designed for clutches,” I deadpanned. “Or hooves. Or horns. Or tail spurs.”
“Minor obstacles.”
“Gregory, one of your orgasms nearly snapped my pelvis. I’m not pushing out a coven.”
He grinned, unrepentant. “They could be the next generation of champions. The scourge of tyrants. Bane of paladins. The lovers of lore and whores alike.”
I gave him a sideways smile, lazy and fond. “They’d be horny little bastards, that’s what they’d be. Just like their parents.”
He grinned wider. “Nature finds a way.”
“Yeah, to embarrass us.”
I reached for my underthings, still tangled around a fern.
“You don’t want dostic bliss, Gregory. You want to see what a mongrel like does to your demon family tree.”
He raised an eyebrow. “It’d set it on fire. Gloriously.”
“And then file for alimony.”
“Would you wear a ring if I forged it from the bones of a saint?”
“Only if I could pawn it afterward.”
“Romantic.”
I leaned down, kissed his forehead, and whispered, “Don’t tempt , Gregory. I might say yes one day.”
His eyes glowed.
Then I added, “But only after nopause.”
He groaned. I laughed.
Sowhere in the trees, the wizard scread again.
Still running.
Still naked.
Best night I’ve had in weeks.
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