Anon, a luxi imp, hadnât planned on scouting for souls when he agreed to a favor for his housemate. Heâd put in an honest nightâs work at the brothel he called home for the past century. He was overextended and his body had cycled through more energy and fluids than it was really capable of.
Like any brothel worth its reputation, the Mansion was busy at night but mostly lifeless during the day. The sunâs warmth and light hardly pierced the quiet but luxurious gloom of the houseâs top left wing corridor where Anon lay fitfully in a pained, semi-conscious state.
The housemate, an imp he didnât particularly like and definitely didnât trust, announced her presence at his door on a bright Friday afternoon while he was dozing. Heâd come up out of a deep sleep only an hour before, and was still appalled that he kept slipping into a light slumber. He hadnât needed real sleep in centuries and hadnât dozed in decades.
The gulaâs name was Thenia and she stood hunched outside his door as if cold or in pain while the Steward wailed, rattled and generally disturbed the peace until the luxi imp within finally woke up with a roar of irritation she could hear from her side of the door.
âThat will do Steward, you may go.â Her voice was raspy and low, but the entity heard the command over the ruckus it was causing. Though invisible and mostly intangible, Thenia felt the cool glide of the Stewardâs presence do an icy dance across her skin before it silently streamed down the hallway amid a clatter of rattling doors and tinkling chandeliers.
The door in front of her swung open to reveal a fair skinned young man with a creamy complexion, dark eyes and jet black hair shaved close to his scalp. His expression was fierce, and though he wasnât particularly tall, he was stocky enough to carry out the threat promised in his face. His skin was clammy and a sour smell wafted out behind from the room.
âWhat the he- Thenia?â
He was upset, understandably so in the elder impâs opinion, so she inched her way into the room with hobbled steps accentuated by a wince she couldnât hide. She didnât have the time to worry about downplaying every little vulnerability and she knew he would probably slam the door in her face if he had too much time to think about it.
Anon shut the door, giving Thenia a worried glance she didnât catch before he slowly went into his bathroom, carefully hiding the dual agony of a slow ache spreading through his bones under skin on fire with over-stimulated nerves. He kept his pace calm, glad that gulaâs didnât actually have the particularly sensitive hearing their fictional vampire counterparts were known for. His heart banged through his chest, worsening when the bathroom door closed on Theniaâs tense profile.
Anon didnât have to pee, nor did he have morning breath. Only new or abnormally solitary imps even bothered with a toilet because they didnât have to worry about the burdens of digestion under normal circumstances. He was just scared.
He was in pain, milked so far past his capabilities the night before that heâd almost lost consciousness when the demon did. Heâd dragged himself to his room, to his bed and then went to sleep, of all things. He was not used to experiencing pain without pleasure to bind it.
And yet, Thenia looked worse than he felt.
His skin felt cooked and stretched over his bloated insides. Theniaâs looked brittle and sunken. He was stuffed full of the demonic excrement his master Martha and herâŠ.friend had shoved into him the night before. Thenia looked empty and hungry. They rode him again and again, bringing forth the energy heâd taken from a mortal, cycling it through him into themselves and pouring in more of their own waste in its place. They rode him until dawn drove them to unconsciousness. He didnât know what happened between Thenia and her master the night before.
It was the first time heâd been pushed that far and though theyâd cooed and grunted and praised him for doing a good job, Theniaâs presence did not bode well. Anon looked at his small bathroom, the huge black tub and sink, the soft blood-red velvet coverings making the candlelight shift and imagined the room could just swallow him in its comforting darkness.
He opened the door instead, resolving to stay in control no matter what came out of Theniaâs mouth. Anon sat on his bed, neglecting the posturing and posing that he would have displayed for any other imp. Anon had no idea why, but Thenia was not remotely interested in him, nor using him to better her position as imps usually did, so showing off his body would be a waste of time. Letâs get this over with.
âSo. How can I help the Mansionâs most elder imp today?â
Thenia scowled and rolled her eyes at Anon, surprising him with the casual dismissal of her status.
âI need your help.â
Anonâs mouth gaped a moment before he caught himself and tried - too late - to put a neutral expression on his face.
âWhy should I help you?â He was curious about what he could possibly help her with, but Anon was not an enemy nor a crony of Theniaâs. Sheâd helped or hurt every imp that stayed at the mansion for any length time over the century heâd been there, except him. He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at her, not even pretending to be relaxed. She made him uneasy and all he wanted was for her to leave so he could doze again.
Crap.
Heâd fully expected to shut down until later that night when he could expel the massive muck within him into a talisman for a mortal heâd been carefully seducing for almost six months. Doing anything else that required more of him than laying in his bed and staying as still as possible was laughable.
âI need you to go to Jaylaâs in Monarch Square and purchase a bag of Indigo Heights coffee for me, 5lbs at least.â
Anon let out a hoarse cackle that made Thenia jump when it it erupted from his chest. He didnât have time to regret the flare of pain from the sudden movement before the elder imp stood and flopped right back down in a quick, desperate fail that had a sobering effect.
âI do apologize Lady, but I donât think I can help you as I cannot even access the Navitas right now. Martha and that ira demon did quite a number on me last night. Wrath is even worse than gluttony.â
Thenia pursed her lips and looked at him carefully, before quietly and simply stating, âI know.â
Anon considered her response and, despite the fire he felt every time his flesh rubbed, he jumped up in disbelief when his confusion cleared.
âWhat! Youâre asking me to drive! To the Eastside, with all those cobblestone streets? Like a meatsack mortal? For some coffee? Youâre not serious.â
Thenia hadnât moved once she failed to stand up and Anon only noticed the slight shake of her tiny frame because she had to work to draw a breath.
âYes, I am. If you were ridden as hard as you say last night, you shouldnât even be able to walk.â She paused, taking a moment to breathe before continuing. âA trip across town wonât kill you. Unfortunately, I canât say the same for myself.â
Anon barely heard the whispered words amidst the rustle of Theniaâs robe sliding off of her shoulders. She didnât bother to explain the disturbing web of darkened veins against the pale dryness of her skin. Anon understand instantly why the gula could not get the coffee herself.
Just as Reth had been rode, so had she. Cataluxi was hard to bear, but Catagula was worse. Her master needed to consume blood and Thenia had the bad luck to be of a gula bloodline - a supernatural, decidedly non-human being with a natural affinity for channeling massive energy through the act of consuming. Gluttony and luxury begotten of suffering was the spice of life for Mr. Monroe and he raised hell as only a demon of such things could when he did not wake up to his favorite brew. Anon could see a set of bites, one on Theniaâs wrist and one barely visible on the underside of her other arm. They were black, cauterized looking pits in her flesh surrounded by purpling bruises.
âWho was it? That Mr. Monroe shared you with?â Thenia had been with him for a long time.
He listened to the rasp of her voice between her chapped lips as she recounted a night that was very different and yet very similar to his own. Thenia was almost drained of her own blood before she was forced to gorge on her master and hisâŠ.friend.
âIt doesnât matter. Heâs the one that has my essence. And I have his.â
And there it is. The thing that would drive someone of Theniaâs power and status to ask a lesser imp for help. She was no longer getting all of her essence back during the tithes.
Anon acknowledged the weight of such a secret. Theniaâs body would continue but her essential self would be consumed. It would be Mr. Monroe peeking out if her eyes and his will directing the course of all her ventures. It might bode well, heâd had the patience and control to keep from consuming Thenia for centuries.
She nodded and spoke aloud what he didnât need to ask.
âGoing out into the sun would probably kill me right now. At least until the energy cycles out. If it cycles out.âï»żï»żï»żï»żï»żï»ż
âHmm.â Though the remainder of his own never-truly-distant mortality gripped him, Anonâs response revealed nothing of his thoughts as he went and opened the door. She didnât appear surprised when he gave a slow nod of agreement; Anonâs willingness to push himself to the limit for the sake of reward was not only well known, it was generally assumed to be why he was such a successful imp.
âI guess it would be worth a little discomfort to be owed a favor by one such as you.â ï»żï»ż
Thenia smirked before slowly standing up. She proceeded to edge her way back into the corridor, with a parting remark that squashed the satisfaction blossoming in Anon. âYouâll probably blow it on a night of mediocre fun with a mortal anyway, but Iâll repay regardless. Just call it in and if it is within my power, itâs yours.â
Anon watched the darkened doorway for a long moment before going to find the loosest clothing he owned. Since he was stuck traveling on the physical plane, Anon had to make the rare trip through the basement to get the Mansionâs small underground car lot. The neighborhood was nice, but even Martha couldnât charm their neighbors well enough to ignore a half dozen cars of varying degrees of luxury.
He slowed when he got to the basement door, taking in the paneling of the houseâs lower levels, the stained wood turning the dimness of into something somber. Anon didnât have to come down here often and he forgot how the Mansion seemed to be much bigger inside than should be allowed from the outside.
He shuffled painfully to the small lift that took him down into the Mansionâs garage and selected a small black sports car that was spotlessly clean and dust free despite the long periods of time without use. He eased down the path and out into the bright afternoon light before flying down the quiet, neat streets of Maychester, hoping it would be easier to maneuver through the chaos of mortal traffic with something small and fast.
#urban fantasy #erotica #auria coachman #erotic fiction #indie author #fiction #black authors
