Sirens and Other Daemon Lovers

“Let me,” she said. And then she was kneeling by his side, taking him into her hands, then her mouth; his cock and his balls, the very center of him, inside her.

She knew exactly how close he was to coming. So she took her mouth from him, let the rain baptize his cock, and then she straddled him, lowered herself over him, opening to him, enclosing him and yet somehow keeping herself maddeningly out of reach. He couldn’t touch the center of her. He arched his hips, held her close, thrust into her. She danced above him and he knew that it was she who controlled his every sensation. Every shudder, every moment of pleasure and release he felt because she gave it, she allowed it. She taught him a rhythm that was all her own. She was fiercer than any lover he’d ever known. She wouldn’t let him hold back. She took everything from him. It went on forever and it was over too soon. She taught him what it was to be truly lost.

After, she lay in his arms, the rain rinsing the sweat from their bodies. She was murmuring something in a language he didn’t recognize. “What?” he murmured drowsily.

“That poem again,” she said. ‘”My beloved is mine and I am his. He feedeth among the lilies. Until the day break and the shadows flee… ’”

He stroked her cheek. “There are no lilies in this garden. Just about everything else but—”

“This will do,” she said. She reached up and plucked a large, white flower from the plant behind them, then brushed it across his mouth.

Seconds later his lips began to feel chapped and then to sting. He licked them. No taste but a scent he recognized. “What the… datura?”

She nodded. “Sacred datura. I’ve always loved it.”

He pulled away from her angrily. His lips were blistering. “Did anyone ever tell you it’s toxic?”

Again, she nodded, blithely unconcerned. “Some say datura is poison. Others say, it gives you vision.”

He cupped his hands, hoping for enough rain water to rinse his mouth. It wasn’t necessary. The burning sensation stopped as a wing brushed his face.

He glanced up, confused. She was kneeling in front of him. The clouds freed the moon and in its light he saw that she had changed. The long hair was gone, her head covered in what looked like a cap of glossy black feathers and her feet curved into talons. She had no arms, but long, black wings.

“Who are you?” he asked, forcing his voice to remain steady.

“That depends on how you meet me,” she replied. “As I came to you, I’m called Lilith. But you’ve had other names for me.”

The wing brushed his face again. The feathers that covered her head became finer, thinning into silky black fur. She sat on her haunches, her arms straight in front of her, and as he watched, the edges of her body blurred and rounded. The fur covered her skin completely and she became a small, very familiar black cat.

He backed away from her, until his back was pressed against the garden gate, its wire cutting into his skin. “No,” he said. “I won’t believe that.”

The wing brushed his face, lingering over his eyes, then Seena was gone, and in her place he saw a jet black screech owl.

“Owls aren’t black,” he said, desperately trying to hold onto reality.

The owl stared at him with burning golden eyes and extended a monstrous black wing.

“No!” he screamed.

He covered his head, tried to dodge, but the owl’s wing found him, brushed his eyelids closed, and when he opened them he was no longer in the garden.

He lay on the bank of an arroyo, inches from a river of flood water that was flowing fast and cold, absorbing a cool, light rainfall. He was still naked, and he could still smell her scent all over him.

He forced himself to his feet. His head was pounding. His throat was raw. His entire body ached. Somewhere close by, a lone coyote called and the pack answered with a shrill harmony. He rubbed his throbbing temples, trying to banish a thought completely at odds with what he knew from years immersed in science: that the coyotes were calling down the rains.

The clouds and the winds were still playing games with the moon. He waited for a moment when he could see and tried to orient himself. Even at night, he could usually identify at least one of the four mountain ranges, know which way was north. Tonight rain veiled the mountains.

The coyotes sent up another round of calls. For animals who usually kept a safe distance between themselves and humans, they were much too close. He began walking along the edge of the arroyo. He’d follow the water until he recognized a landmark.

He hadn’t gotten five yards before he slowed. The moon was swathed with clouds again, and he couldn’t see it, but he sensed something directly ahead of him.