The forest had thirsted for weeks. When the rain finally came, it fell in torrents that turned dust to mud and awakened scents long dormant. Steam rose from sun-warmed earth as droplets hammered leaves and bark. The ancient trees drank deeply, their roots pulling moisture down through layers of loam and stone.
By evening, only the memory of rain remained—beads of water caught in spider webs, the rich smell of wet earth, and a heaviness in the air that spoke of older things stirring.
The Drake moved through this awakened forest like a ghost given flesh. His crimson eyes swept the shadows between massive trunks, searching for signs of his quarry. The blood-red irises were no curse of exhaustion or drink—they marked him as the last of his kind, a hunter bred for purposes the world had nearly forgotten.
Demons had been sighted in these woods. Three travelers had vanished along the main road. The village elders whispered of shapes in the darkness, of seductive voices calling from the treeline. They had pooled their meager coins and sent word to the Drake, though many doubted such creatures still existed.
He paused beside a stream swollen with fresh rainwater. The current carried no taint of sulfur or corruption. If demons walked here, they masked their presence well. A branch snapped somewhere to his left—too heavy for a squirrel, too clumsy for a deer.
The rabbit that emerged from the undergrowth froze when it saw him. In one fluid motion, his hand moved to the throwing knife at his belt. The blade found its mark with barely a whisper of sound. Fresh meat would be welcome, and the scent of cooking might draw out whatever lurked in these depths.
Night fell like a curtain drawn across the world. His small fire created an island of warmth and light in the vast darkness. The rabbit's meat hissed and crackled over the flames, fat dripping into the coals with tiny explosions of sparks. He ate slowly, methodically, his senses attuned to every sound beyond the circle of firelight.
The forest held its breath.
She didn't walk into his camp—she manifested. One moment, he was alone by the fire, steam rising from his meal. The next, she was there, kneeling opposite him, draped only in moonlight and the flicker of flame.
Her body was unapologetically bare—breasts full and high, swaying softly as she breathed; her hips wide, thighs strong, skin smooth and pale as polished ivory. Firelight danced across the gentle swell of her belly and down to the glistening slit between her legs, where wetness caught the light in bold invitation. She didn't cover herself. She offered herself—like a sacrifice, or a trap.
"You're far from any village," she said, her voice as rich as hot wine. "These woods can be... lonely."
The Drake didn't move, not fully. Just a shift of his eyes. He set his bowl aside, his gloved hand brushing the hilt of the blade beneath his cloak.
"They can be dangerous too," he said.
She laughed, soft and ringing, like silver bells in fog. "Only for those who fear the dark."
She rose, slow and sensual, bare feet gliding over the cold dirt as she circled the fire. Her body moved like smoke—curved, fluid, untouchable—yet with every step, she seemed closer, more real. The sway of her ass was hypnotic, flesh that would bounce perfectly under a firm grip. She came to him and crouched beside his seated form, firelight spilling across the sharp lines of his jaw, the scars on his cheek, the dark armor beneath his worn black cloak.
"But you..." Her fingers danced across his shoulder. "You don't seem afraid of anything."
"Fear keeps hunters alive."
"And what are you hunting?" she asked, lowering her face to his ear, lips brushing his lobe. "Demons?"
He gave a single nod.
Her mouth curled into a knowing grin. "How thrilling."
Without waiting for permission, her hands moved. She slipped beneath his cloak, parting it with deliberate slowness. Her fingers explored the cold, weather-worn metal of his chestplate, tracing the ornate designs etched into the black steel. She found the leather straps at his sides and began unfastening them, one by one, with a lover's patience and a predator's focus.
"You hide so much," she murmured, "but I want to see the man beneath the monster."
The armor came loose, piece by piece. She lifted it off him with surprising strength and set it aside, leaving only the padded undershirt clinging to his sweat-slick skin. She tore at the ties with her teeth, laughing softly as she exposed the sinew and scars beneath—battle-worn muscle, chest rising and falling with quiet tension.
"You've suffered," she said, straddling his lap now, her bare heat pressing down against the bulge beneath his trousers. "But I think you want to feel something... don't you?"
She ground against him, hips circling, the slickness of her sex soaking through thick fabric. He grunted low in his throat, jaw clenched, but didn't stop her.
Her lips found his throat. Her tongue licked a path up to his jaw. One hand braced against his chest, the other fumbled at his belt, opening it with a practiced flick. She freed his cock with a single motion, and it sprang hard into the night air, already glistening at the tip. Her eyes widened with delight.
"Oh... yes," she whispered, lowering herself slowly.
Her entrance was hot and wet, tight enough to drag a hiss from his throat. She sank down with a moan, swallowing every inch, her thighs trembling as she seated herself fully in his lap. Her breasts bounced slightly as she began to move—slow at first, savoring every inch of friction, every ridge of him stretching her open.
His hands came to her hips, rough palms sliding over smooth skin, gripping her ass with bruising pressure. She fucked him like she owned him, like the world outside the fire didn't exist—moaning in ancient tongues, throwing her head back, golden hair cascading like liquid flame.
"I know what you are," he growled against her throat.
She stopped.
Her blue eyes met his red ones. "Do you?" Her voice held a new note now—amused, predatory. "And what might that be?"
"Succubus."
The transformation was gradual, like watching a beautiful mask slowly slip away. Her perfect skin grew pallid and translucent. Her azure eyes darkened to obsidian pools. The gentle curve of her smile stretched wider, revealing rows of needle-sharp teeth. Talons emerged from her fingertips, and when she moved, it was with inhuman fluidity.
"Clever little Drake," she hissed, her voice now layered with harmonics that hurt to hear. "Your kind always were harder to deceive than most. But you're the last now, aren't you? No one left to teach you all our tricks."
His blade was in his hand before she finished speaking. She laughed and lunged, talons raking toward his throat. He rolled aside, came to his feet, and drove the consecrated steel deep between her ribs. She shrieked—a sound that sent small creatures fleeing deeper into the forest—and collapsed into the dying embers of his fire.
The illusion of beauty cracked and fell away like broken pottery. What remained was something ancient and hungry, now growing still in the firelight.
The Drake cleaned his blade on wet grass and settled back against a tree trunk. Tomorrow he would return to the village with proof of his success.