Zac hated Mondays. Doesn't everyone?

  He sighed as he looked out the broken windows, wiping down the corner booth table with a rag that smelled faintly of rum and regret. Outside, the docks of the small seaside town were bathed in the cold light of a full moon. The air was thick with salt, the sound of waves slapping against the pylons a constant, rhythmic lullaby.

  Zac had used to dream about setting sail. Living a life of adventure with a ragtag group of pirates, stealing gold from corrupt empires, helping downtrodden locals, making friends of all shapes and sizes... finding the Uno Piece... and maybe getting to romance a bara shark fish-man who would rescue him every time he clumsily fell overboard.

  "Oh, Junbei," he sighed wistfully, wringing out the rag. "Do whale sharks have proportional reproductive organs, or are they extra large?"

  He straightened his barmaid outfit, wincing as the leopard-print thong rode up uncomfortably. It was tight, it was drafty, and the corset was murder on his ribs, but it brought in the tips. And in a town like this, tips were survival.

  Zac carried the stack of empty mugs to the bar. Behind the counter, Mac, an octopus-man with a weary expression and an eye-patch over one of his three eyes, was polishing glasses with six tentacles simultaneously.

  The bar was dark, smoky, and loud. The clientele were anthropomorphic demons of the seafaring variety—shark-men with jagged grins, crustacean brawlers with chitinous armor, and seagull-folk screeching over dice games. Some were quietly drinking in the shadows, nursing grievances along with their grog. Others were loudly singing along with the piano player in the corner, a tune about drowning and syphilis that was surprisingly catchy. In the center of the room, a fistfight had broken out over a spilled drink, but no one paid it much mind.

  "Thanks, Mac," Zac said, taking a fresh tray of drinks from one of the bartender’s slimy appendages. "This is for table four."

  Mac just nodded, sliding a foaming tankard down the bar to a thirsty walrus-man.

  Zac navigated through the crowd, dodging a flying stool and a drunken embrace. He thought about quitting. He thought about it every night. Once he made enough money, he’d buy his own ship. Or at least a ticket on one. This small seaside town was suffocating him. He watched the travelers, the sailors who came and went with the tide, and felt a pang of intense jealousy. They were so free. So uninhibited.

  Oh, how I wish I could just be free to be myself, he thought, adjusting his tray as he approached a table of hardened sailors hunched over a high-stakes card game.

  "A fresh round, gentlemen," Zac announced, his voice cutting through the din. He began placing the drinks on the scarred wood table, careful not to disturb the piles of gold coins and wickedly sharp knives scattered among the cards.

  The sailors eyed him over their hands, their gazes lingering on his exposed legs and the corset that pushed everything up and out. Zac ignored them, used to the stares. He turned to head back to the bar for the next order.

  A taloned hand shot out, grabbing him firmly by the waist.

  "Whoa!"

  Zac tripped, the empty tray clattering to the floor. He landed hard, right in the offender’s lap.

  "Hey, asshole!" Zac yelled, struggling to keep his barmaid outfit from riding up even further and exposing everything to the room. "I'm working! Hands off the merchandise unless you're paying!"

  He looked up, ready to slap the jerk who had gotten handsy.

  He froze.

  Looking down at him, a smirk playing on his beak, was Andras.

  The owl demon looked magnificent. He was dressed like a dangerous pirate captain, a tricorn hat perched rakishly on his head, a long coat with gold braiding hanging open over a loose white shirt and his trusty cutlass strapped to his hip. He was smoking a cigarillo, the ember glowing red in the dim light. His golden eyes were filled with a familiar, predatory amusement.

  Zac blinked a few times. Sexy evil owl man... wait... oh fuck, is this a dream? When did I fall asleep?

  Andras looked back at the eel-man across the table before blowing out a perfect smoke ring. "Let's make the bet a bit more interesting," he drawled, his voice like velvet over a rusty blade. "How about this: whoever wins this hand gets a dance with this little piece of ass."

  Zac looked at the eel-man and gagged a bit. The proportions were off, all neck and no chin, all teeth and no lips. Zac shuddered. Even though he was a bottom, he had standards, and the eel looked like he would give the most awful blowjobs of all time.

  "You better have a winning hand," Zac whispered up at the owl, gripping Andras's coat. "I don't think I wanna jig that sailor's hornpipe."

  Andras gave Zac a squeeze, his talons digging just slightly into the human's hip. "It's a game of luck," he murmured. "Let's see if we get lucky, little wench."

  The eel narrowed his eyes, his slimy skin glistening in the torchlight. "That human isn't worth the gold on the table."

  Zac felt a bit hurt. "I'm totally worth more than-" His voice trailed off as he actually looked at the pile. It was a dragon's ransom in gold coins and glittering jewels. "Oh... Well... fuck you still."

  Andras laughed, a smoky, wicked sound. "When I say dance, I mean getting to bend this tight little thing over in the tavern room upstairs." He waved at the bartender. "Hey, Octavius! We are borrowing your waitstaff for a bit."

  "Not this time, you dirty bird!" the octopus bartender yelled back, slamming a mug down. "That little hoe is on the clock! Who's gonna serve the drinks?"

  Andras waved a hand dismissively. "Oct, you've got plenty of arms. Don't be a lazy cunt."

  THWACK.

  A knife landed on the table, vibrating, right next to Andras's hand. Zac looked up to see the octopus ready to throw another, six tentacles armed with blades.

  "Fine, fine," Andras drawled. He reached into the pile, grabbed a particularly large, glittering gem, and tossed it casually at the enraged cephalopod. The octopus caught it with a spare tentacle, inspecting it greedily. "Don't say I never do anything for you." Andras's eyes narrowed, the gold turning cold. "Now, if you try to raise a blade against me again, you'll be a quadrapus."

  Zac giggled. "Good one. I never thought of what you'd call an octopus with four of its legs cut off."

  Andras chuckled darkly. "I meant that I'd stab him in the crotch four times."

  Zac’s chuckle slowly died as the cruel owl began laughing.

  "Hey, fowl owl," the eel hissed, pointing a webbed finger at the reduced pile. "That was part of the pot. What are you gonna put in to even it back out?"

  Andras looked up lazily from Zac, cocking his head to the side like a bird examining a worm. "Oh, yes. How about this: shut the fuck up and show your cards or I'll kill you."

  The eel looked nervous, swallowing hard.

  Andras hooted a laugh and unbuckled his scabbard, slamming his cutlass onto the table with a heavy thud. "You're right. It wouldn't be fair to not match your bet."

  The eel-man looked a bit pissed, but he grumbled, eyeing the fine steel. "That's more like it."

  The owl and the eel stared each other down, cards held tight, the air crackling with tension. The other scallywags and rogues watching went silent, sensing blood in the water. Zac, however, felt a bit bored. Without any sense of fear, the tension fell flat. He just waited to see the owl-man put down a royal flush and win the dream scenario.

  "Read 'em and weep," the eel-man laughed, slamming his cards down. "Full house. That little human is gonna hate you for dragging him into this." He stood over the table, leering at Zac. "Gonna drain him till he begs me to stop, and then I'm gonna fuck 'em."

  "Pshh," Zac laughed, rolling his eyes. "I doubt you'd get me off unless you fucked me and we both had blindfolds on."

  The eel looked furious, but then an evil grin split his toothy face. He snapped his fingers, and a blue spark arced between his webbed digits. "Ever heard of e-stim? Because your prostate is gonna get to know it real well."

  Zac swallowed hard. "Oh fuck."

  Andras laughed, a low, confident sound. "Well, too bad. You lose." He fanned his cards out on the table with a flourish. "Guess I'm gonna be milking this bitch the old-fashioned way."

  "Yeah!" Zac pumped his fist. "Suck it, loser! Now give us the gold so we can spread it out on the bed and screw on it!" He looked up at Andras, eyes shining. "You're so fucking hot and cool. I bet you shave with a bowie knife."

  The eel-man stared at the table for a second, then burst into wet, coughing laughter. "What the fuck, Andras? I had a full house!"

  Zac and Andras both looked down at the cards the owl had spread out.

  It was just two pairs.

  Andras quietly hissed, "Shit. I palmed the wrong one."

  "That soft pink hole is mine now!" the eel jeered, starting to walk around the table, unbuckling his belt. "Hey boys, gather up the goods. I'll be back in an hour. Don't think it will take much longer to make this soft thing forget his name and beg for my silver eel." He grabbed his crotch lewdly, thrusting his hips.

  Zac looked around in panic. "What?! What the fuck?!"

  The eel's anthropomorphic fishy crew began to gather the pile of winnings, cackling and slapping each other on the back. Zac looked up at Andras, expecting a plan, a trick, a hidden ace... anything. But the owl just looked annoyed.

  "Well," Andras said, reaching for his cigarillo. "Can't win 'em all."

  "Really?" Zac squeaked.

  Andras looked down, smoke curling from his beak. "Oh. Do you want me to save you or something?"

  Zac grabbed the owl's coat lapels, shaking him. "I want you to fuck me, you idiot! Not some random dream douche!"

  "Hey!" the eel shouted. "I can hear you, asshole!"

  Andras sighed, a long, weary sound. "Do you really? You seem like you'd let anyone rail you. So desperate."

  Zac clenched his fists and yelled in frustration. He grabbed Andras's sword off the table and pointed it shakily at the eel. "I'm not your prize! There is no way I'm wasting this dream getting toothy head from some rando who thinks electrocuting my prostate would be enjoyable! I'm not a cow!"

  The eel looked down at Zac with a mixture of amusement and anger. He easily backhanded Zac, the blow knocking the human to the floor with a thud.

  "Ow! You bitch, you got me with your nails!" Zac groaned, rubbing his cheek.

  "Hey, fish-face." Andras rose from his chair, his voice low. "No need to rough him up. It's not like he can defend himself."

  The eel crossed his arms, smirking. "So what? I'm gonna be pinning him down and fertilizing him in a few minutes. He's gonna get a few bruises anyways."

  Andras's feathers ruffled indignantly. "I was talking about my sword." He reached down and plucked the cutlass from Zac’s limp hand.

  Zac sighed into the floorboards. "He's such an asshole. I hate that it makes him even hotter in a rougy-asshole sort of way."

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  The eel laughed. "Fine. You can have it back. I didn't want that rusty piece of junk anyways. Too boring for a real pirate."

  The eel reached down to grab Zac when a few cards fluttered out of his sleeve and landed on the floorboards.

  Zac, Andras, and the eel all looked down at the dropped cards. A flush, a straight, and an extra ace.

  The eel looked back up at Andras, sweat beading on his slimy forehead. "Uhh... how'd those get in there?"

  Andras's feathers puffed out, doubling his size, and the shadows in the room grew noticeably darker. "You try and cheat me?"

  "Hey, you did the same thing, buddy!" the eel held his hands up defensively.

  "But I didn't win," Andras hissed.

  A couple of the eel's crew came over—a scallop-man and a sunfish-man. Zac didn't know if this was serious; an anthropomorphic scallop was just way too stupid to be real. It was literally a shell with legs.

  "So," Andras continued, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "I'll be nice. You can keep the gold. But the human is mine."

  "Fat chance of that," the eel-man sneered, seemingly more confident with his goofy crew behind him. "I won, not fair but square, and the human was only part of it because you-"

  SHINK.

  The eel's head slid off his neck and hit the floor with a wet thud.

  Andras reached down and picked up the disembodied head by its slick hair. "Cheat me again and I'll turn you into a quadrapus."

  "I think killing him is worse," Zac said, pushing himself up and dusting off his maid outfit. "But then again, I've died before. It could be worse."

  The scallop and the sunfish gurgled in outrage. The sunfish-man pulled out a strangely spinal-cord-looking whip, while the scallop-man clicked his shell aggressively, looking like a demonic pair of castanets.

  Andras looked exasperated. "Really?"

  The two fishy fighters attacked. Andras casually threw the decapitated head at the sunfish, hitting it square in the face with a wet smack. As the scallop charged, Andras used his sword to stiff-arm its shell, holding the flailing mollusk at bay.

  "Bastard!" the sunfish yelled, trying to wipe the electric eel's blood from his eyes. He cracked his bone whip, aiming for Andras's head. Andras quickly pulled back his sword, causing the scallop to fall forward.

  CRACK.

  The bone whip struck the shell with the sound of a gunshot. Andras smoothly spun around and shoved the off-balance shellfish backward, right into his partner.

  The sunfish yelled as the large scallop shell fell onto him with a sickening crunch.

  Andras looked down at the pathetic pile of seafood. "I don't have time for small fry."

  The scallop-man kicked his legs, howling from beneath his shell. "I'm gonna filter feed you to death!"

  Andras sighed in disgust. With a quick, downward chop, he severed the flailing legs.

  Zac winced. "That looked a bit painful."

  Andras turned back to Zac, lighting his smoke as the two defeated and now quite disabled pirates cried in agony. "Once their captain died, I thought they would have been wise enough to scram. I can't abhor such stupidity."

  Zac was practically drooling over the pirate owl. So violent, so detached, trying to act like he was above it all. But I know deep down he just wants a hug, Zac thought, his eyes tracing the line of Andras's coat. And maybe someone warm to thrust into. He watched Andras flick the blood off his cutlass. Mmmmm, stab me right in the rear with your pokey stick, you absolutely despicable asshole.

  Before Zac could try to make a move, Andras was yanked backward.

  He stumbled into a circle of enraged fish pirates who had seemingly materialized from the shadows, a sea dragon, a catfish-man with writhing barbels, a pufferfish blown up to the size of a beach ball, and a pulsating jellyfish-woman.

  Andras's feathers puffed out as he regained his balance in the middle of the corsairs. "You fucked up."

  The owl pirate kicked the decapitated eel head at his feet, sending it skidding across the floor. The sea dragon dodged it easily and laughed, a wet, bubbling sound.

  "You fucked with the wrong crew," it gurgled. "Now you're gonna be chum."

  However, the head kept soaring. It hit a nearby table where a gaggle of sharks were playing five-finger fillet. One of the sharks howled in pain as the sudden impact made them stab their own hand, driving the blade clean through the webbing.

  Zac watched, a bit stunned. Is he really going to fight an entire pirate crew for me? Oh, he loves me too, doesn't he? He just doesn't have the vocabulary or the emotional maturity to say it, but I can tell.

  The shark-man was yelling for the dead man who interrupted them, but as Zac watched, the other sharks at the table did not seem to be looking for the head-kicker. They were looking at the blood. They were looking quite... hungry.

  The shark demons began to vibrate, their eyes rolling back into their heads until only the whites showed. They looked feral. The other patrons in the bar slowly grew quiet, the piano player faltering mid-note.

  "You missed!" the jellyfish laughed, in a strangely jelly-ish voice… Zac didn't know what jelly sounded like, but this was definitely it: wet, squelchy, and condescending. "Now prepare to die!"

  Andras smoothly sidestepped a poisonous tentacle. "Did I miss?"

  A yell of fear ripped through the tavern. Zac looked over. The sharks were attacking their bleeding comrade. It wasn't a fight; it was a massacre. They tore into him with rows of serrated teeth, blood spraying across the room. Then, tasting blood in the water (or air), they turned outward. They began to randomly attack anyone close, overturning tables and biting anything that moved.

  The privateers surrounding Andras finally looked over, their faces losing the confidence that being part of a gang gives weak men.

  "FEEDING FRENZY! RUN!" the octopus barman yelled, ducking behind the counter.

  Before Zac could even comprehend the idea of a demonic shark attack on land, the bar erupted into absolute madness.

  Zac passively watched as the wave of carnage quickly approached. Customers were yelling and scrambling out the doors and windows, the sharks biting anything they could get their teeth on. Blood and viscera flew around like confetti at a particularly morbid parade.

  Well, I guess this is why March doesn't want drinking in his keep, Zac thought, wiping a stray drop of blood from his cheek. Some people really can't hold their alcohol. I would have thought demons would have had plenty of time to build up some sort of tolerance.

  A disembodied dorsal fin splattered onto the floor next to him with a wet thud.

  As Zac turned to tell Andras that he seemed to have upset the other bar-goers, he saw the owl blocking the pirate crew's escape. Andras stood between the fish-man gang and the door, looking quite annoyed while holding his sword out. The fishy freebooters looked absolutely terrified but unable to get past.

  "Those sharks will kill you too!" the catfish-man squelched, his barbels vibrating. "Are you insane?!"

  Andras laughed, a low, confident hoot. "I already deal with a mutt every day. Do you think some angry sea-dogs can faze me?"

  The yells and bubbling of multiple customers being bitten to death filled the air. Zac rolled his eyes. So dramatic. I can't even hear the swindler Strigiforme being all detached and cool.

  Half a torso flew by, hitting the pufferfish-man and knocking him into the sea dragon. The sea dragon howled in pain as the pufferfish’s spines sank in. The pufferfish tried to dislodge himself, but he was like velcro, the half-body and his crewmate pinned cushioned to him in a grotesque embrace.

  "Fuck this!" the jellyfish shouted, trying to run past Andras.

  Andras’s sword flashed. He easily sliced a third of the jellyfish off, causing the semi-translucent anthropomorphic invertebrate to collapse into a mushy, quivering blob. "You wanted to play, didn't you?" Andras said, his voice cold. "So let's play."

  The catfish-man looked over from trying to peel the sea dragon off the pufferfish, his eyes wide. "They'll kill you too, you moron! Everyone knows sharks can't control their bloodlust!"

  Zac glanced over. The scene was gruesome... sharks ripping apart a shrimp-man, eating the roe out of a sturgeon demon, crushing the shell of a lobster brawler like it was made of paper. A red eyed bull shark, noticing the group of living bodies foolish enough to have not evacuated yet, turned and began running toward them, jaws snapping.

  Hmmm, Zac thought, eyeing the frenzied predator. Better than the eel guy. Maybe they aren't Junbei hot, but... Zac shivered. Claspers. Just like Bune.

  The shark launched itself at the group, and not even a second later, splashes of blood flew up and soaked Zac.

  Wait, Zac thought slowly, where did Andras go? He tried to get a closer look at the pile of thrashing fish, but he couldn't see any feathers. "No, you can't die yet! You haven't even pulled my hair yet!"

  "If you like your hair pulled, I'll make sure not to."

  Zac sighed. I hate not being startled. He would have gotten me so good. He turned to see Andras standing next to him, also watching the very violent and gory shark attack.

  "I really hate getting my butt eaten and being passionately slow-fucked while we hold hands and you look into my eyes," Zac countered smoothly.

  Andras shuddered visibly. "You're such a whore. It's really quite impressive."

  Zac smiled. "So what are you going to do about it, bad boy?"

  They looked into each other's eyes, the pained shrieks of fish being eaten alive fading into background noise. Andras’s large, golden owl eyes searched Zac’s face, while Zac’s dilated pupils tried desperately to convey the sheer depth of his thirst.

  "I'll make you cry," Andras said. The tone was all wrong, though. It was less I'm a heartless demon and more... Zac tried to categorize it. Was it self-defeat? Resignation?

  Another loud, wet roar cut off zac's thought process as another shark ran at the vulnerable human in the leopard thong.

  Andras's sword swished through the air without him even looking away. A heavy thud followed as the shark fell in two distinct pieces.

  "So are you gonna march yourself up those stairs to the overnight room," Andras murmured, his gaze intense, "or am I going to have to drag you?"

  Zac was afflicted by a sudden, intense wave of anticipation and goosebumps. "When you say drag, do you mean-"

  Andras snorted. "I'm done talking."

  The demonic owl grabbed Zac by the waist. Just as another shark crash-landed where they were standing, the floor seemed to dissolve. They sank down into the shadows beneath their feet, leaving the bloodbath behind.

  The dirty tavern room materialized around them, the shadows coalescing into peeling wallpaper and a single, grime-encrusted window. Zac shook his head, feeling only a slight bit dizzy from the teleportation, and looked around.

  "Nice," he said, eyeing the rickety wooden frame in the corner. "A bed. I don't think we need anything else." He looked up at Andras with an excited smile, ignoring the muffled cries of agony filtering up through the creaky floorboards from the massacre downstairs. "So, how do you wanna do it? Now that we have a bed, you could totally mating press me until I'm-"

  Zac’s eyes went wide as the owlman suddenly kissed him. It wasn't gentle; it was a collision.

  All the muscles in Zac’s body contracted at once. His hair felt like it was standing on end, charged with static electricity. His eyes slowly closed, his brain short-circuiting as he instinctively brought his arms up to embrace the man who had, only minutes ago, tried to pimp him out over a poker game. The feathers of Andras’s coat were soft against his fingers, a stark contrast to the hard, demanding pressure of his beak-like mouth. Zac felt like he could melt right into the floorboards if not for the raging erection pinning him in place.

  "Now that you've shut the fuck up," Andras growled against his lips, pulling away abruptly.

  Before Zac could chase the sensation, the owlman spun him around and shoved him forward. "Be a good fuck-hole for me."

  Zac stumbled and fell face-first onto the mattress. It smelled like mildew, stale ale, and an old, crusty bilge pump, but Zac’s heart fluttered like a hummingbird. So fucking romantic, he thought, burying his face in the grime. Skarg didn't get a room. The harem competition is totally heating up.

  He felt a sharp, cold point at the small of his back. With a sound like tearing parchment, Andras’s talon hooked the leopard-print thong and ripped it cleanly in two. The scraps of fabric fluttered to the floor, leaving Zac bare to the cool, drafty air of the room.

  Zac turned his head to look back over his shoulder. Andras hadn't bothered to undress fully; he had only shoved his breeches down enough to free himself.

  Zac swallowed audibly. He had heard that most birds did not have penises in the typical sense—a cloacal kiss and done—but Andras, blessedly, was not most birds.

  His dick was shaped a bit like a rolled tongue, smooth, tapered, and slightly flattened... but not just any tongue. It was the tongue of the lead singer of a corny metal band that wore lots of black leather and monochrome face paint. It was dark, substantial, and intimidatingly big.

  "Eyes front," Andras hooted softly. He shoved Zac’s face back down into the mattress, his heavy hand pressing the human's cheek into the bedding. "Try not to scream too much, little virgin. We don't want those idiots downstairs thinking they get to join the fun."

  Zac opened his mouth to retort that screaming would only happen if the owl was putting in the effort, but the words died in his throat.

  He felt it.

  Zac went limp, his body shuddering violently as Andras forced his way in. It was a fluid, relentless pressure. It hurt—hell yes, it hurt—but it also felt so, so fucking amazing. The shape was alien but perfect, filling him in a way that felt entirely different from the wendigo. The texture was incredibly slick, sliding past his resistance with terrifying ease.

  He couldn't remember what it felt like when Skarg had fucked him in the snow, but if it was anything like this... if it had this same electric, nerve-frying intensity... he understood why he had been so upset about forgetting the sensation when he woke up.

  "Holy shit," Zac moaned into the mattress, his fingers clawing at the sheets. "Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit..."

  SMACK.

  Andras’s free hand connected with Zac’s ass cheek, a stinging, possessive spank that echoed in the small room.

  "Nothing holy about it, you hole," the owl snarled. He reached down, his talons tangling in Zac’s hair, and yanked his head back, forcing Zac’s back to arch and driving himself deeper.

  Zac let out a broken, high-pitched moan of absolute pleasure, his eyes rolling back. "Unholy shit... unholy shit!"

  Andras chuckled darkly, the vibration resonating through Zac's skull. "You're awful at dirty talk. Why don't you just shut up while I fuck you?"

  Zac attempted to nod, his movement restricted by the vice-like grip on his hair. "Yes... sir," he gasped.

  His legs began to wobble as Andras started thrusting in earnest. Each time the owl's feathery hips met Zac's ass, it felt like some hidden, sensitive button inside his body was being pressed. And every time it was pressed, Zac wanted nothing more than to have it mashed down harder. It was like some bit of him had been smushed his entire life, and the owl was finally relieving a pressure he never knew existed. It was the feeling of finally unclenching a hand that had been held in a fist for twenty years.

  This wasn't the instant, overwhelming explosion of pleasure that Skarg had forced upon him. This was more like sinking into a scalding hot tub on a freezing day. Yes, it was a bit painful, a bit shocking, but right next to the pain lived the most intoxicating sensation Zac had ever felt outside of that one time he had accidentally accepted a sip from a stranger's water bottle at a rave in Miami.

  As Zac’s hand reached down, desperate for friction, Andras spanked him again, hard.

  "Don't you dare," the owl growled greedily, pinning Zac’s wrist to the mattress. "You're my prize. This isn't about you."

  Zac just whimpered and closed his eyes, his hips instinctively rocking back to meet the owl's thrusts. His brain felt like mashed potatoes. His ass felt like mashed potatoes. It was so fucking perfect.

  A minute passed. Two minutes. Three.

  Zac was panting, sweat slicking his skin and soaking into the dingy sheets. Oh, it was so good, but he was running out of steam. His core muscles were screaming.

  "Don't you dare loosen up before I'm done," the owl said headily. Andras's cruel, detached tone was gone, replaced by a deep, needy drawl that made Zac's toes curl.

  Zac’s legs quivered violently, but he held on.

  Andras's breaths grew heavy and erratic. Suddenly, he threw his head back and hooted in triumph, a wild, primal sound.

  Zac felt a flood of warmth, a torrent of release, and the owl pushed into him further than before, pressing his lean hips hard against Zac's ass, grinding in a way that threatened to shatter him.

  Zac groaned, his body tensing for his own release. "I'm gonna... I'm gonna-"

  He suddenly felt empty.

  "Hey," Zac murmured, reaching back blindly. "Hey, you don't have to pull out..."

  Zac blinked his eyes open.

  He saw the small, sterile stone room he had woken up in earlier that day. The bureau. The narrow bed. The slit window with its eternal red glow.

  Zac slowly closed his eyes again, a deep frown etching itself onto his face. The warmth was gone. The pressure was gone. The memory of the sensation evaporated like mist in the sun.

  "I hate Hell so much," he whispered into his pillow.