Chapter Twelve

Qadaire

The castle was far from quiet. His friends flew through the busted windows, bothering him for details. He shooed them away and retreated to the bedroom.

He sat on the edge of the bed where the covers were slung back and her scent remained. His cock twitched, and on the next inhale, it was stiff as a rod. He could still feel the warmth of her skin under his palms, the softness of her hair. Her wet cunt clenching around him. He turned his head toward the pillow, where her scent was the strongest, and dragged in another shaky breath.

He couldn’t take it. He grabbed the pillow and held it under his nose while undoing his pants and leaning back on one hand. He clung to the fluffy, mouthwatering thing and gripped himself for the first time in ages.

“Cassandra,” he breathed, his fist rising and falling, her scent permeating his senses. Another inhale and he was ready to burst. He leaned forward and spilled his seed all over the floor. The stream lasted longer than he’d expected. To his dismay, his balls filled again the next time he breathed in, still clutching the pillow across his chest.

His cock remained full-staff even after his breathing calmed. All of his senses were heightened, from arousal or his first release in centuries, he wasn’t sure. When the scent of the pillow assaulted him again, he groaned as his cock began to leak without him touching it. He tried to will it down, but it only ached, his sack a heavy burden.

“Nine fucking rings!”

He was forced to palm himself again. At this rate, he would burst the poor human should they ever join. At the mental image of her body leaking thick white come around his cock, he came all over the floor again, the stream as thick and long as the first.

Panting, he moaned into the soft fabric before placing it back at the head of the bed.

Was he so lonely that he’d fall for the first person he spoke to in centuries? What was it about her that had him warbling like a hatchling in love? He had no idea what it meant to love anyone, let alone a human. Now that he knew the magical scent of her desire, the hell-blessed taste of it, how would he refrain from sucking on her greedily every time she was near?

How would he know if she felt the same? Why else would she let him see her unravel like that? Didn’t it mean something that she’d let her guard down for him?

How was he going to face her now?

Desperate for a distraction, he threw himself into their work. Once the chalkboards were covered in white numbers and symbols, new vials were created and tested, and all four of his hands were cramped, he flew out the broken window.

Glowing yellow eyes of nocturnal creatures dappled the forest. The buck was still pulsing through his veins, but a good hunt always brought his spirits up, even if he was only hunting for berries and small creatures for his friends.

The flock was already bedded down. He told one of his plan to forage and arranged a spot to drop what he found. On his hunt, he came across a stunning emerald hair comb studded with expensive jewels and flourishes. It was enchanting and deserved a worthy home. He tucked it in his pocket.

Within a few hours, he’d built a decent stash of crabapples, frogs, bats, fruits, plants. The wicker basket was full when he replaced the lid after his last trip. He flew back through the window, his fangs deep in a frog’s hide, which he tossed out behind his shoulder. He wiped an arm across his mouth and stalked over to the pup, who was curled around himself on a blindingly red armchair. Qadaire scratched behind Zero’s ears with two hands, one resting on the wooden arm of the chair, the other peeling back the pup’s eyelid for insight on his health. There was a prominent red streak leaking from the pupil to the edge of the grayish whites.

“Where is your counterpart, hmm, little one?” He smoothed the pup’s eyelid down and scratched with fervor to make up for his intrusion. “She and I have a date.”

A slobbery tongue flopped from the pup’s mouth. Qadaire stood. He wasn’t keen on the idea of slobber on his feathers.

With nothing else to do and too much pent-up energy, he decided to shower. Other than Wi-Fi—which was maintained by a teenager who was easily glamored—he had set up his own irrigation, plumbing, wind turbine, and the like, so he had all of life’s simple pleasures. He enjoyed the luxuries of modern utilities much more than the primitive ways his old master had lived, even based on modern technologies of the time. Vampires had an interesting way of believing themselves above such things—at least, they used to. He couldn’t speak for it now. Perhaps they were all fat and lazy, sitting at their boxes, watching humans enact plays and such.

It was a large enough bath that, if he didn’t have these blasted wings, it would easily fit him and a guest. With his wings tucked as tightly against himself as possible, he scrubbed his body and wondered about the people Cassandra had been with. His skin was gray, but it hugged his toned body tightly. He worked out regularly during the moments between breakthroughs and board games, and chasing down prey and soaring the skies kept his muscles tight, too. If they weren’t forced together to find a cure, would she think him a worthy partner for a tryst?

He was nothing like her former lovers. He glared down at his stiffening cock, which had awakened the moment he’d thought of her.

The memory of her taste, the way her sweet dew danced on his tastebuds, tore a groan from his throat, followed by a hitched warble. He leaned against the shower wall with his upper fists and gripped his length with his lower right. She’d bathed in this bathroom. Water falling from this very shower head had trickled down her bare body. How lucky those drops were, to follow the smooth curve of her hip, to be trapped between her thighs.

How would it feel to have her satiny fingers on him? If he’d allowed her to touch his cock, her hands would have been softer than velvet, he just knew it. He slid his fist up to the tip of his cock, sweeping his thumb over the bottom of his raised head.

“Cassandra.”

His vivid imagination and the still-foreign sensations made his whole body shiver, the spots where his feathers protruded from his skin prickling beneath the surface. His bump filled with lubricant that dripped over the base of his cock and along the shaft. He stilled his hand, wanting to stay in this visualization for as long as possible, though he was already close to losing it.

Once the tingling subsided and his bump paused its leaking, he breathed in and lightly tugged the skin of his cock down, caressing it all the way to the base of his shaft. He swiped his thumb at the spot where his bump’s lubricant had collected. This time, on the upward pass, he brought his lower left hand to his balls, which were engorged as though he were deep inside the warm cunt that his fingers remembered so well.

Hard as he wanted to keep delaying, to stall in the fantasy where her eager hands were exploring his cock and not his own, there was no way he could hold on much longer. He pressed his thumb between his balls as he moved his fist back up and traced his thumb under the lip, then back. A breath later and he sprayed the shower wall with thick white streams.

He rested his forehead beneath the shower and let the water drench his back. A frisson of shame climbed his spine. Cassandra hadn’t asked for his big, brutish body to be imagining her in his arms, her hands on his abnormal body, pleasuring him.

Still, the relief was immeasurable. Like his body had been begging for this for centuries, all of his pent-up come weighing down not just his body but also his soul. If he was ever given another opportunity to worship her, to make her feel this same sweet relief, he would deny himself a hundred more years just to give her that again.

After rinsing his seed off the wall and rewashing himself, he stepped from the noise of the shower and listened closely, expecting to hear her somewhere in the castle. Nothing. He dressed and went to the nearest window. He’d been sure she would return tonight. That’s how it had sounded. Had he scared her away? Did she regret what they’d shared? She’d said yes. She’d encouraged him. Was he so out of practice that it’d been the worst orgasm she’d ever had, and now she wanted distance from him?

“She wouldn’t leave Zero.” He ran a hand through his damp head feathers. The crows would be up soon. Surely one would be awake enough right now to be roused. He had to check on her, in case something had gone wrong. Lab experiments went south sometimes. Cars malfunctioned. He didn’t want her to be a statistic. “She may be in trouble.”

On the roof, the nightly cuddle puddle was in full swing. It wouldn’t start breaking up for another hour, approximately ninety minutes from dawn. Qadaire woke a male, who begrudgingly agreed to help. His stirring accidentally woke the crow snuggled against the first, who settled on Qadaire’s shoulder.

“Thank you, friend,” Qadaire called as the bird flew away in the direction of Dr. Billing’s lab.

After a short while, Qadaire checked their progress. The glass tower loomed closer. The crow rose sat on her windowsill as a pinkish-orange light lit the building from the other side.

Cassandra was deep in conversation with someone he recognized from his time spent watching her. A friend of hers. They were discussing something over a pile of notes. The conversation went on for a while, and Qadaire began to feel antsy. He thrummed his fingers on the table.

“Why is she working with them and not here, where we’ve already made progress?” His fists curled uselessly at his sides. “I did drive her away, then.”

What had done it? The sight of him feeding from the buck? His four deformed arms pinning her to the wall, surrounding her with ashen skin? His unpracticed fingers buried in the sweet warmth of her sex?

He held the connection longer than the crow approved of, but he couldn’t tear away. The other human gave signs they were about to leave. Cassandra reached for their wrist. She pulled them close against her body in a warm embrace, little streaks on her cheeks glistening. The other human brushed the glossy black hair from her forehead and kissed her there. When the embrace broke, the person left.

Qadaire had no reason to feel his black blood souring in his veins. He had no reason to feel so rejected. He knew there was nothing between him and Cass, and that this person was her close friend. In all honesty, he would’ve been jealous of the microscope if it’d kissed her goodbye.

“It was hardly a hug.” They only had two arms. How could they possibly hold her close enough?

She would leave soon. She was always in a rush to and from work for Zero. She pulled out a chair, a notepad, and a gel pen.

“Tap the glass,” he ordered, but the crow’s head tilted to and fro in defiance. “Do it.”

Their beak pecked the glass once, twice, thrice. Cassandra looked up, down, and did a double take. The pen in her hand went slack, then slammed against the paper as she stood abruptly.

“Is that you? Q?” She pushed away from the desk and carefully rounded the corners of her setup. “Are you spying on me?”

“Spying!” he exclaimed, though she wouldn’t hear him. “Of course not!”

“Shoo! You have Zero, dude. Obviously, I’m coming back.” She trilled her fingers against the window. The crow careened into the sky. “Shoo!”

The crow was far away before he could command it otherwise.

“Spying,” he spat. He preened his arm feathers in frustration. “The gall!”

But you were spying, weren’t you?

Qadaire shook the crow off his shoulder with a glare.

“Fine.” He ran a hand through his head feathers and tangled tresses of hair. Regardless of his intention, if she felt violated, then he was in the wrong.

There would be consequences to this mistake. He could kick her out, pretend he did nothing wrong. He could charm her, win her favor. The loss of her presence and the invalidating of her feelings were unthinkable.

“How in the nine rings might I redeem myself now?”

Serenade her.

He turned to the pair of sleepy mates who now perched on the table. “Serenade her.”

You’re courting her, no? She has accepted your advances. A serenade is necessary for a successful courtship.

Qadaire tapped his chin. Was he courting her? He was, wasn’t he? She had accepted his advances thus far.

She would be expecting more from him now. He regarded the couple as they nuzzled each other, seemingly unable to help themselves. He wanted that for himself, with Cassandra. He could feel the phantom of her curves in the palms of his hands now.

“She loves music.” An idea took flight. “Surely there’s something here I can use.”

He searched the palace for instruments but only came up with the hollow metal rings and columns that’d been popular in the old days. When at last he found a few discarded harps, he rejoiced and went straight to the shop, laptop in tow.

He’d never found a subject he couldn’t conquer. If it was a serenade Cassandra required, he would learn to emulate this Jimi god of hers.