Costumed Craving...
part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12
The longest stretch of silence yet shrouded the darkened boxing gym.
Bog’s hands had left his face to lifelessly hang off his drawn-up knees. His head had fallen back against the corner pole, eyes closed, and jaw set in a grim expression; he was stone still.
As Marianne watched him, she found herself noticing that Bog rather resembled her father this way, back when she was an unruly child standing before him in the living room while he sat in his easy chair and took a long moment to calm his temper before deciding on a fitting punishment for whatever trouble she’d caused. It was as comforting as it was devastating, and she sagged as if she were eight-years-old again, awaiting her verdict.
Perhaps that was why each empty, ticking second was more unbearable than the last, and she had to say something before her thundering heartbeat crumbled her aching body to the floor.
“Do you……hate me now?” She asked in a broken whisper.
Immediately, Bog looked at her with a confused frown, as if he didn’t understand the question, and Marianne’s legs almost gave out when his gaze softened.
“No.” Bog said, gently. “No, Marianne, o’ course I dorn’t hate ye! Hell, under almost any other circumstances, hearing ye say I’m yer soulmate would be…just about the best news ever.”
He gave her a faint smile which Marianne automatically returned tenfold through her tears.
“However, I’m sure ye can understand that I’m…more than a bit overwhelmed, an’ that I’m no’ particularly happy with ye, at the moment.” Bog added, his sternness returning. “I mean, this happened against my will! It’s no’ like ye asked me if I even wanted to be a-! …An i-incubus.”
Marianne twisted her fingers in shame.
“But…then again…” he sulked, “…I guess it’s no’ really fair o’ me to take issue with a...nature or culture or whatever that’s no’ my own, is it?”
“You have the right to feel however you want to feel, Bog.”
“Well, that’s great, ‘cause I’m certainly feelin’ a lot right now.” Bog snorted. “Do ye realize I could’ve killed someone tonight?!”
The question gave Marianne pause, and a chill crept along her spine.
“Y-you mean you…you fed?”
“I think so; on Cindy.”
“Who’s Cindy?!” Marianne demanded, losing her sorrow and guilt in anger at the assaulting mental images of Bog being close enough to some mysterious woman’s lips to draw in her energy.
Bog seemed puzzled by her sudden change in tone, but was thankfully quick to realize the cause. She had, after all, told him all about that cheating scum of an ex-boyfriend of hers, so he hastened to explain:
“Cindy is a four-month-old baby; my friend, Brutus’s daughter. I was rocking her.”
As if in slow motion, he saw Marianne’s furious glare melt into deep embarrassment at her assumptions. She looked so uncomfortable and forlorn, he had to fight the urge to take her in his arms.
“…Oh.”
“I wouldn’t do that to ye, Marianne.” Bog murmured, knowing how difficult it was for her to give her trust to anybody since Roland. It was a problem he struggled with himself, with good reason it seemed.
“No, no.” Marianne whispered, waving him off and trying not to joyfully dwell on the hint that he still considered them to be in a relationship. “I’m just being stupid. That’s my fault, too. I should’ve told you sooner. What…happened; to Cindy?”
“She fell asleep.”
The succubus breathed a sigh of relief.
“Good. That’s normal!”
Her boyfriend still eyed her doubtfully.
“I swear to you, Bog, you didn’t hurt the baby.”
“No,” Bog agreed, but his mouth thinned into a dismal line, “but I could have, couldn’t?”
Marianne’s stomach turned, and the unbearable pain of her foolish cowardice flooded her system anew. What kind of an idiot was she? To let an unprepared, fledgling incubus loose on the public almost two months after the first bite? It was a miracle nothing more serious had occurred.
“Without…knowing what you were doing…..yes.” She conceded with force. “Yes, you could have, Bog.”
She expected so much to happen after her admittance: for him to curse her, to attack her, to bash his own brains in with one of her dumbbells, to break down the door and vanish into the night, never to be seen again.
Anything but what actually followed…
Bog steadily rose to his feet, and Marianne felt a feminine thrill rush through her when she heard the feral, inhuman growl in his throat.
“If this Lilin stuff is in fact, irreversible, then ye better start sellin’ it fast, Tough Girl.”









