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More time passed. Time that slipped through his fingers, sifting like sand.

Days.

A week. Two perhaps.

He gathered what he could. Money, clothes, food. A smattering of supplies for an escape. He'd not yet decided if that's what he wanted. Doubt beset him at every corner. He kept a wide berth of the rest of his family, and those who served them.

He had things in hiding: his supplies, his notes...all stashed back at the house.

“God-damn it!" Michael was seconds away from hurling his phone across the street. Thirty-seven attempts to call his dad, after finally rustling his work number from his employers. “That's it," he said, dismayed, “I'm leaving."

The street was sparsely populated, with a few pedestrians heading about their business. He looked around, worried he'd been acting oddly in public. No-one noticed. No-one would with the luck he had recently. Uma's calling roused him worse and worse, each day growing in intensity. Jacob, Cynthia, Donnie, they were swept up — lost to their own devices. But he could resist. So he resisted.

Michael sighed as the foot traffic settled.

Nearby, a car horn sounded. Its source turned from the road to the kerb, pulling in and catching Michael's attention. As the window rolled down he saw Kianna's face. She stared him down, eyes sparkling — the tell-tale signs of manipulation obvious in her intent.

“Want answers? Get in!"

Michael blew her off. “No way. I'm done with you! Done, y'hear!?"

Kianna let her engine sit, rumbling. “How 'bout a way forward?"

“You mean a way out?"

She looked at him knowingly. Seeing as he wasn't getting anything from her Michael relented. The door swung open once she knew of his acceptance.

“In. Now."

* * *

What followed was an incredibly uncomfortable car journey. Michael leaned against the door, riding shotgun, hoping through some unknown means he might melt through the car and run back home. Regret claimed him. Why did I agree to this?

Clutching his phone in his pocket, he felt the need for answers outweigh his fear. He had already started down that path, studying what he could. Pages and pages of photographed documents filled the device's memory. But a living, breathing source of information? That was enough to allay him.

Mom.

His chest lurched.

Mother.

Her pull was growing, stronger and stronger every day. Michael could see things when he closed his eyes — warmth, desire, calling to him. Making a slave of him. He had to fight it!

“Gah!"

Kianna tilted her head in his direction. “Something wrong?"

“No," he shrugged, squashing into the corner away from her, “nothing."

“Nothing, huh? Like I believe that."

“Yeah, well...believe what you want. I don't care."

“Oh Mikey, that's the problem. You should care. And I think you do care, but don't want to admit it to me. Does that sound right?"

Her pointed words aggravated him. He grumbled in anger.

“What kind of mood has come over you, hmm? Grumpy, pissy...you want to lash out but you can't let sin win." Guiding the car around a sharp bend, her features lit up. “Oh I get it: you're hiding from them! Aww, do you stay in your room all day and mope?"

“I'll deal with my family my own way."

“A crap way. Mikey...you hopped into my car of your own volition, and now you're putting up a wall between us. Don't you think that's a tiny bit rude?"

“No," he gruffly replied, “you're not my friend, no matter how much of an act you put on."

“Okay," she said, her voice losing its comely quality, “if that's what you want, I'll be strictly business." Kianna sent a wink his way, though he paid it no heed.

“How long 'til we get there?"

“Another ten minutes."

“You will tell me about the curse, right?"

“Of course."

“I want to know what's happening to my family." To me...

The car pulled in to the driveway of Delmonde House. The looming structure filled Michael's vision, bringing disturbing memories to the fore. They stopped, outside the front door, engine humming. Kianna unbuckled her seatbelt. “Ready to head inside? Or are you chicken?"

“Stop treating me like I'm a child!"

She pouted. “You're no fun."

“This isn't supposed to be fun, this is supposed to help."

She rested her arm on the seat, and met his reluctant gaze.

A pregnant pause ensued, leaving them to stare, until Kianna broke the silence: “Donnie and Cynthia...they're smitten! It's so cute, doncha think?"

“Why are you bringing that up now?" he asked, weary of her wiles.

“Ignoring what's going on around you won't help you learn."

“I'm not ignoring...I just don't wanna remind myself that—"

“That they're fucking?"

He gulped.

“Don't be such a prude, Mikey. You know what the curse feeds on; if you want answers you'll have to tackle some tough topics. Topics close to home — intimately so."

You could cut the air with a knife, so thick was the tension that hung between them. Her oddly-coloured eyes drew him closer, and closer...his capture stalled only by the gasping cough of the car's engine as it died. Kianna looked away and sighed as she took the keys. Two clicks in rapid succession escorted the pair out of the vehicle, pursued by two sharp thuds as they slammed shut the doors.

Michael stood beside the car for a moment, watching her walk to the front door. Delmonde House...place of witchcraft...

The voice of the librarian echoed. Blending with the crunch of gravel as he shuffled in-place.

You're a grown man, with a man's needs. Uma's next, shrouding him in fuzzy feeling. I showed you a way of expressing our love that matched those needs.

Maybe it's not so bad, he thought, maybe I'll just go home an—

No! Get answers!

“Yes, answers," he muttered quietly. Michael left the car and went to Kianna's side. The front door swung open, creaking loudly. She looked at him. “Y'know, I think you're hiding something from me," she lowered her gaze accusingly, “it's not just the family that's sinning — you've done it too."

Michael didn't answer. He simply met her eyes and resisted.

“We'll find out all about that shortly," she said, slapping his rear and funnelling him into the hallway. He struck back, grabbing the frame of the door, and glowering at his assailant. Kianna wore her cheekiness with pride. “If you want to find out, you'll put up with more than a slap on the ass," she giggled, “that is...if you're willing to stay awhile, and...keep me company?"

Not a word.

“Orrrr...you run along back to Uma and see if she has any interest in massaging the guilt that's running rampant inside you — yes, I can sense it! And yes, it is an unnatural ability...but then again, you've seen you're fair share of unnatural haven't you? Mother and brother, so big and strong—"

“Just tell me what you wanted to tell me!"

* * *

Michael leafed through the pages of a book, one of several paraded around by Kianna, some penned by her own hand (though, in those cases they were less a book and more a ring-bound grimoire filled with incomprehensible scribbles).

“Can't blame me for bad handwriting," she joked, hovering behind him.

“Some pictures would've helped."

“Terrible at art. So sorry!"

Great. “I'd like to leave now."

“What!? Why?"

“Because you're acting like this is some kinda game. Take some of this shit seriously!"

“Are you...lecturing me on the unknown?" she asked, incredulous. “Remind me: who is it who wants to know the truth? Not me, that's for sure."

Michael forced himself to listen. “Then lay it out nice and simple. Pretend I've no knowledge of what's going on."

Kianna drew up a chair for him, plonking his ungrateful ass squarely in its embrace. She ran her hands together, hard at work thinking.

“There's more to our world than mere material—" she began, a storytelling flourish woven into her voice.

“Get to the relevant part," Michael interjected, “skip the 'long long ago' shit."

“Alright," she spat. “There's a...power sleeping inside of us. One that lies in everybody. One that needs a certain environment to grow. For many people it might as well not exist, so small and meek that presence is. For others, however, when fed it becomes a well of power that can be drawn from. It draws something from us too, but that's only fair. A price must be paid for everything in life."

“I'm gonna stop you right there, 'cause you're veering dangerously back into what I warned you not to do!" Seeing her frustrated brought a smidgen of joy to Michael, the one perk of being back in her presence. “I know what causes this...curse to awaken. Sin."

“Ah, you've paid attention."

“Look: I don't know where to start, so I'll let you in on what I've seen, and what I think." His former notion of approaching blind was gone, there was just too much opportunity for Kianna to spin a fanciful, distracting tale. A few sentences were enough to convince him of that.

“Ever since Donnie got hurt, things've gotten weird. Ever since we moved house, mom's been different. Dad's gone — can't get a hold of him, so God knows what he's seen! Jacob...the less said about Jacob the better, but I can't let that get in the way. He's having sex with mom. And Donnie? Cynthia? They're in bed together too."

Kianna listened as Michael stumbled over his speech.

“So what I think, after doing some digging, is that you've caused this. All the weird shit that started with my family is your fault." He stopped, waiting for her to respond.

Kianna rubbed her arm. “You've got most of it — the parts I've caused that is. But that's half the story. I was just the person who introduced a locus to the affair between mother and son, they were already thoroughly in each other's arms."

What? “Are you saying that Jacob had been with mom before? That he'd—"

“Oh yes," she revelled in the upset she caused. That'll teach him to bitch at me.

“That's not true."

“Yes, it is. C'mon, you can't have missed the change in attitude? Did Uma act differently to the mom you knew? Even a little? Did she ever let her guard slip, and for one beautifully desperate moment betray her innermost thoughts? A glance, a word phrased strangely?"

Michael held his tongue. Beneath a neutral exterior he fumed. She was distracted. But it was 'cause of Donnie, after the incident...no, before...she was like that before she heard about my brother...

“Let's say I accept that, for some reason, my mom and my brother started an affair together — let's say that, yeah? Was that your doing?"

“Innocent on those charges I'm glad to say."

“But you could sense something between them?"

“It's one of my talents."

“Talents provided to you by your—"

“Pact."

“Pact..."

“I think it's a fitting name, don't you?"

“And you took advantage of that...sin to what, exactly? Possess them?"

“Urgh! Every person! Every single person! Gods, how am I to cope? No, there's no possession involved here. What you see is who they are. They real person, only in touch with their inner demon."

“Yeah, you use that word like I'm supposed to know what you're talking about. You don't mean 'demon' as in 'demon', right? It's a metaphor, yeah?"

She scratched her cheek. “Kinda."

Michael threw up his arms in defeat. “See! Not a straight answer, that's why I regret coming here."

“No-no-no! That's not it! You don't understand — you aren't opening yourself to the knowledge."

“Fine, okay, Jesus! I'll stop interrupting."

“Good. There dwells a demon in all of us. A creature, as much a part of you as your conscience or your consciousness — dare I say soul? A creature of sin, that consumes the anguish we cause, to ourselves and others. Whenever you lie, or cheat, or steal, or worse...it gets a little stronger, a little brighter. That's what I am able to tap into, what I've given as a gift to your whole family! Can you believe it? A gift! And they scorn me! Uma's forsaken tongue has convinced them to turn away from me."

“Yeah, you really hate my mom."

“No shit! I gave her a taste of my power, and she's drunk on it. But it's not like I expect you to agree with me — you love her. No matter what's been happening you still see her as mother. That's the downside of letting it spread. It takes you when you want it...and boy does it feel good to take it."

She continued: “I offered to help Uma, and she agreed. I gave her a locus. Know what that is?"

“No. Something magic I guess."

“Correct. It's an object that becomes a fixation. A 'place' to keep your...demon. You project your feelings onto it, pouring whatever negative emotions ail you into it. Eventually, after a lot of...ahem_..._pouring, it focuses that emotion, that power, into a form more easily accessible to someone looking for help."

“Help?"

“Could be anything. A wish, a need, anything. Things start to go your way. Its power begins to affect the real world. Your mom knows this, she's seen it happen."

Donnie...!

“Oh my God, that's why Donnie recovered! That's why there's not even a scratch on him after the attack — mental or physical."

“Perceptive boy. Uma must be so proud to have at least someone with brains equalling hers in the family."

“So you gave her an object which she used to fix him!"

She nodded enthusiastically. “Mm-hmm, then came time to pay the piper."

“Pay?"

“You don't just invoke that sort of power without compensation. What did I say: there's a price." She snapped her fingers. “Keep up sweetheart, because I ain't stopping for slow learners."

Michael watched her approach, dress swaying gently as her legs moved. She finally sat down, choosing a chair on the same side of the table he inhabited. Nudging close, speaking in a whisper...

“A wage of sin."

Wage of sin. The phrase struck him. So familiar, yet he'd never heard the words before. Michael's head hurt. A sharp, piercing pain scratched at his temples. The room darkened, and he felt out-of-breath.

“That's how it works. You give and you get. You make pact with your demon, and in return you prepare a meal so ravishing it can't help but bend the laws of reality to get at it. Your mother's locus must have been so tasty by the time it took her."

“Took her..."

“No, not in that sense silly," she brushed his hair, “your mom's still there, horny and power-hungry yes, but it's her. There's no Devil, no evil spirit that's taken hold of her...just herself, uninhibited."

That's confirms some of my suspicions, Michael thought, but not all.

“Say I don't believe you," he muttered, her face inches from his, “say I think she's not the same person. How do you convince me otherwise?"

“Is an alcoholic that same person before and after a drink?"

“I don't know."

“Then I can't answer that. Sorry honey, I'm biased." Her breath blew across his face. “I had my 'awakening' a long time ago. It's been so long that I've forgotten what I used to be like, but then again, isn't that life?"

Her eyes glowed. Their purple pageantry played a show for him. Michael relaxed. He felt his worries disappear. Maybe she's right, his mind told him, maybe there's no changing who they've become. There'll always be scars. Only question is how much of them is the scar, and how much is the person.

Sanity returned to him. Shaking his head, he blurted loudy: “how can it be stopped!? There must be some way to."

Kianna was taken aback by his question. “Funny," she said, “never once crossed my mind to stop. Black magic is a fickle mistress, even when you think you have control..."

“Please tell me there's something I can do to reverse what's happened."

Kianna pulled back. Rubbing her eyes, she straightened her posture and sighed. “That's something I don't even know is possible."

“Are you fucking kidding me!?"

“Mikey, do you honestly think I'd give up what I have now? Considering how engrossed Uma is with her new self is it that much of a stretch to think I'm the same?"

“N-no."

“If you spent weeks reading these," she said, slapping the pile of paper that represented many years of research, “you might find a way out. If. That's a big if."

“'If' nothing. I want outta this madness!"

“Michael, really...do you act like this all the time? I'm giving you what you want and you're acting like a whiny bitch."

“No," he raised his arm, “I'm not. I'm the person trying to make sense of this bullshit. You're the bitch! You've done nothing but demand, demand, demand! Demand mom pay attention to you, demand my brother and sister stay with you (in your clutches? Yeah right!), demand I humour you right now...and you have the nerve to call me a bitch!?"

Kianna inched back. “Wow. You really laid me bare." She looked away, glancing at her surroundings. “Perhaps I'm going about this the wrong way, Mikey," she said, returning his questioning look with eager fervour, “perhaps. I do get carried away..."

“You can start by helping me stop the curse. Consider it 'making amends'."

“Stop? I can't do that. It's just not in my nature to."

“Bitch."

She took his cuss in her stride. “Yeah, know what? I am a bitch. I want what you don't. Unlike your single-minded hot-blooded anger, though, I can recognise when a change of plans is required." Her breathy speech caroused his senses, restoring the silent tension that mere moments ago simmered in the air. “Mikey. Listen to me." Kianna brushed his knee. A shiver ran down his spine. “The curse, as you call it, feels...amazing. When you open your heart and soul to it there's no going back. It's like the best sex you've ever had, times a thousand. There's a reason all religions preach against sin — it's too good to turn away from."

Michael pushed her aside, rising from his seat. As he walked across the room, he spied a number of books still perched on their shelves — old, worm-eaten scraps. They compared favourably to the ones in the town library. Same worn inlay: gold leaf pressed in thin strips along the spine, cover text long faded. “These," he said, gesturing, “you haven't shown me these."

“Are my notes not enough?" she asked innocently.

Michael lowered his head. His response was a curt 'no'.

“Then what is?"

“Delmonde House," he said, a coarse rattle in his voice, “this place. I've looked it up."

He sensed Kianna smile behind him. The silence of the moment proved so absolute as to transform the slightest squicky movement into a roaring chorus of flesh in motion.

“The first recorded family to own this land, least as records go — French trappers — suffered a gruesome end. Murder. Patricide, filicide...I don't know the right term to describe it. People at time saw witchcraft in the act. Blood magic, I heard it called."

“Michael! I'm proud of you. You went and did your due diligence." Kianna left the table and sauntered over to him. He felt her arm coil around his.

“I kept reading. Looking for who took ownership after the Delmondes. They were a hard act to follow — and all I got for my hours of research was a catalogue of people who took one look at the place and high-tailed it outta the territory."

“...and the trail went cold," she sighed, “that's why you should let me help. I'm full of knowledge you can pump out of me..."

Michael ignored her flirting. Another mind trick of hers to sway him.

Time passed as he stared deeply and intently at the arrayed books. Kianna stood by him all the while.

“If we take the traditional concept of sin, and translate it in terms of your pact, we get a list of things that can feed my family's curse. The obvious one is incest. Thanks to you I now know it was going on longer than I thought between mom and Jacob. That's the deed that damned everybody."

Kianna ran a finger down his back. Another shiver wracked his body. Michael stiffened his jaw and held his tongue.

“Are you sure you're not forgetting someone? For a guy who wants to stop the badness, there's a lotta warmth radiating from your core when I mention naughty things."

“Naughty things...?"

“Sex. Fucking. Or most devious of all: incest."

True, he did feel a strange interest when the topic was broached, but how much of that was curiosity as opposed to the creeping infection that spread through his mind since his night with Uma was unknown. She had to know...Kianna wasn't stupid.

“Remember — I can sense that sorta thing."

“What was your sin?" Michael asked, turning to his host.

“Uhh, sorry?"

He asked again.

“Why do you want to know?"

His voice grew firmer. “I want to know what sin you committed to make your pact. The others got there through sex, we know that, but you? You seem more in control; calmer, steadier..."

“My sin's always been a part of me. Was never a goody-two-shoes in my childhood, and that continued throughout my life. Afraid mine was a slow burn, gradually feeding the beast within, until once upon a time I found out how to unlock my potential. "

“I'd like specifics."

“No, you wouldn't." She left him standing to return to the table. Placing her hands firmly on its wooden surface she leaned forward, bending over the furniture. She kept her attention on the mess of notes she'd given him, but secretly she bore other intentions.

“C'mon, Kianna. It's either that or I'm leaving, and you'll never be able to bring my mom back to you."

She angled her hips, pushing her shapely rear up and out. Michael watched it strain under her dress, threatening to hike up her thighs and reveal her treasure. “Go on," she moaned, casting her gaze over her shoulder at the young man, who swallowed nervously. She slipped her feet out of the flat shoes she'd been wearing, and stroked her calf with one of the freed limbs.

Blood flushed to Michael's cheeks. He watched her idly rub her foot against her leg, the richness of her complexion becoming the focal point of his view, obscuring all else. Like she'd been given a fine dusting of cocoa power that'd settled into her skin — a gorgeous tan, the perfect mix of light and dark.

“I can feel your heart throb, from all the way over here," she said, “you want to get on my good side — convince me I can work with you." Her back arched, and knee bent, raising her foot higher.

“I—"

“Come, sit beside me."

Nervously, he began to approach. “We can help each other. I can teach you, you can convince your mom to take my advice. Win-win?"

“Wuh-win...win..."

Her beckoning had the desired effect. Michael followed her back to the table. Guided by his seducer, he plopped his butt down in the chair she'd provided.

“I want to show you something," said the sultry seductress caressing him, slowly enveloping him in her tender touch.

“What?"

Kianna produced an old-fashioned fob watch, its patterned surface marred by signs of rust.

“Know what this is?"

Michael coughed. “It's a watch."

“Not just a watch," she purred, “the reason I'm me..."

“You mean, it's your—"

“Locus," she finished his sentence, eager to move past words and towards something...else. “Yes, this was my resonant emotional locus — the vessel I used to make my pact."

She slid across his lap, her bare legs slipping past his thighs, ending with her straddling him. Michael swore under his breath. A stirring sensation developed between his legs, as her encouragement left his body wanting.

“Still intact, many years since." She smiled, and Michael smiled in response, albeit weakly. “That's what I mean by knowing what's up. Bet your mother's trashed hers. Or lost it...she doesn't appreciate what got her this far."

Michael, mesmerised, uttered few words. “This..."

“This was the key that unlocked my inner demon. Don't worry," she said, fending off his encroaching fingers, seeking to touch the relic, “it's inert now. You may catch a fright from residual energy trapped inside, but for all intents and purposes it's an ordinary watch."

“And mom's?" he asked, “what did you give her that started this?"

“A necklace — a little metal pendant I had in my possession for a while. Thought it made a good candidate for fixation, and whaddya know? It did! It's thanks to beauties like this," she dangled her watch from its chain, rocking it like a pendulum in front of him, “that your mom and I wield the powers of our demonskin."

“Demonskin?"

Kianna glowered at him, her stare beating down his defenses. “Truth to power. Real power."

She whispered, her breath tickling his neck: “what no amount of money can ever buy."

Michael retreated into the chair, his back squashed against it. Kianna brought herself forward, curling her arms around his neck, face-to-face with the young man. His mind was scattered, addled by the emotions she stoked. Lust. Desire. His male instincts wedded him to the notion they should mate — take her and make her scream. He fought it. The watch dangled in the air, drawing him away from her intensity.

How...old is that? he wondered, seeing the rough surface of the object up close and personal. The meagre distraction it afforded him let his mind fill with nonsense questions. But that one in particular bugged him. How old was the watch? It looked worn; the years hadn't been kind to its outer casing. It stood at odds with the attractive woman currently throwing herself on him — she bore the vestiges of youth, fresh and resplendent, in contrast to the decrepit nature of the watch.

How...old are you?

He wanted to ask her. Desperately. But the mind plays tricks. Delays and obfuscates between thought and action. A glance at her face brought his rebellion to a standstill. No more did he want to ask pointed questions, not when he looked upon her inviting features.

The wrong question emerged: “does everyone's eyes turn purple?"

Kianna burst into giggles. She stroked his face. “Mmm-hmm, it's a mark of the pact." Moving closer, she whispered: “that's not all that changes in our appearance."

“I know."

“No, you don't, silly boy...you've seen nothing but a mask..."

He blinked. For (barely) an instant he swore her skin was ruined — pockmarked with thousands of subtle lines, criss-crossing, breaking up the consistency of her skin like volcanic earth. But the image disappeared as quickly as it had been conjured.

The minds plays tricks. Surely...

“Enough talk," she said, springing into action. Kianna tossed the watch onto the table, and gave him her full attention. Her hair fell down from her shoulders in front, summoning goosebumps from Michael as it brushed him. He inched forward, forgetting his place, while she did the same. Kianna engaged in a deep, longing kiss.

His trousers tightened. Under a damp onslaught — lips tussling — he grew hungrier and hungrier. Kianna's advance had the desired effect. He reached out and touched her sides, laying his palms on her midsection, thumbs pressing her belly. Her dress was plain, but soft — and thin enough to feel the contours of her figure. Smooth curves meeting and pooling into pockets of cuddle-worthy fat. She wasn't as broad or brimming with muscle as his mom, not after her transformation. Instead, he discovered the body of a woman very close to his age; the well-founded shape of a woman in her early twenties who knew how to keep fit.

But he didn't think she was in her twenties...not for a long time...

“Mmmpff!" Kianna stopped their kiss. “Knew you were getting bored of talking," she remarked, lifting his chin, “I was so over explaining shit to you, Mikey. There's only so much a girl's mouth can handle before she needs some R&R."

She dove in again, embroiling her lips with his. Their kiss became rougher, with more grabbing of other parts in furtive bursts of excitement. Michael moaned as she ran a finger across his groin, dragging across his clothed member with methodical wickedness. His stiffness was fast approaching the point of agony. And her eyes — those darling eyes — begun to glow.

I want this, so bad. His state of mind was clouded, infiltrated by a deeper lust, bubbling up from an unknown part of him.

Kianna hoisted her dress, exposing her legs even further. Tanned flesh flanked Michael, lightly squeezing his hips. She used her weight to press down on his groin, issuing a challenge to the turgid organ-in-hiding. He gasped. She let him breathe for a second. He looked at her with unhealthy need. “I want to fuck you."

“You're so eager baby..."

“I need to fuck you!"

Watching his gasp for air, his lungs starved after another drawn-out kiss, she chuckled. “You do, don't you?"

It was her touch...her feel...her taste...it was everything! Every bit of her sumptuous form gave him a surging erection — he supplied ample kisses, passionately nipping at her neck, salting his tongue with her sweat as it emerged from her pores. She tasted divine. There was no comparison, bar his mother — but she was far from his thoughts.

Kianna took his hand and lowered it between her legs, where she'd lifted her dress clear. A moist heat soaked his digits, revealing her lack of modesty. Michael groaned. His dick poked the material of his underwear, probing the fabric defences for a way out. He fondled the warm cleft she'd offered him, blindly feeling out the soft flesh of her pussy. “Like that?" she asked, humping his fingers. “I'm wet just for you."

She rose, enough to give her space to unzip his fly. She slithered in and grabbed hold of his hardness, navigating a way out for his cock. Bringing it into the open, she took a second to admire his eagerness. “Oh my...you're so hard!"

Michael failed to respond. A prisoner of rampaging lust.

She straddled him again, this time angling his cock upright. Her damp nether-lips kissed his tip, suckling on the rosy-red mushroom whilst spreading her own juice all over his penis. Her warmth pervaded even as he lay outside her, the tingle of her spice as it ran in rivulets down his cock attesting to that.

With impeccable patience, she played coy with her body. Refusing him access until he was good and ready — literally begging for her velvet touch.

“Urghh!" Michael flubbed helplessly. He was at her mercy. Pangs of desire shot through him each time he was almost submerged. Kianna had been worming her way into his mind since he entered her car, and part of him rued his stupidity. Thought we were gonna avoid her at all costs! it scolded him, now look at you...craving every inch of her...

I can fight this.

No, you can't.

Yes I can!

Oh really? What's happening right now?

Michael watched as his hips bucked, trying to force his aching length inside. Kianna jumped away whenever he tried to push past the first half-inch. “Naughty-naughty!" she teased, her lower lips eternally out-of-reach.

“AH!"

Betrayed by his own body, Michael sank into a mire of wordless acceptance. This was going to happen, no matter what he tried.

Kianna, fed up with keeping him thirsty, positioned his cock-head once more at her entrance. In a sudden motion, she slammed down, swallowing him whole. Michael lunged forward, sputtering.

“T-tuh-TIGHT!"

“Much tighter than mommy dearest, yes?"

He nodded, eyes and mouth shut, the sound of rapid breathing punctuating the passionate silence.

Kianna growled and moved her hips. “Mmm...I save myself for occasions like this. What's a witch to do all on her lonesome but master the gifts she's unlocked? You like that, huh? Like how I squeeze you...my tightness...rippling along your cock!?"

Michael stuttered.

“Aww, you're so cute when you struggle!"

Her walls contained him. Surrounded him. His whole being felt sucked into her pussy. Her vice-like grip never wavered, never faltered, never once relaxed, keeping the pressure at an unimaginable high.

“I honed my body...kept my talents strong...for those like you..."

“L-like me?"

He didn't get any more of an answer than a slight rise and fall, pumping against his hips.

She kissed him again. Passion inflamed the senses. Her lips were soaked and slopping, their saliva mixing together. Her taste was intoxicating...as overpowering as that night with Uma.

Like...mom.

Again! Why did he think of his mom...this was Kianna's hour.

He couldn't keep his head clear any longer. Whatever remnants of sanity that'd governed his actions had been momentarily vanquished.

Kianna started to move, this time repeating her lift and descent, running the length of his cock. Michael pumped his hips, jerkily meeting her motions with his counter. His cock slid between the tight passage, prying open her narrow insides as her musculature strove to squeeze him. She fucked him where he sat, fully-clothed, rushing to meet the ecstasy of their coupling, as if it were easily lost if they tarried.

Demonskin. A fitting name for what he saw. A succubus, stealing him from others and claiming him. He could feel it too — the magic. Kianna's powers flexed, flowing from her, influencing him. Her eyes glowed, once faint but now strong. Her skin secreted sweat designed to awaken fervent desire if it so much as tickled his tongue. Pheromones unprecedented. And he'd shared a good deal more fluids with Kianna than necessary. His body ached, yearning to pummel the minx riding his cock. Exhaustion was stayed through force of will, as his drive to hammer her intensified.

“Yes...YES!" moaned Kianna, rocking the chair as she fucked him. Its legs hopped from the ground and slammed down, carried by every back-and-forth motion of the rutting pair. “YES!!!" she screamed, unnatural tones filled the room.

One thought surfaced in an ocean of bliss: mom.

Mom...

This feels so...

His subconscious weighed the act of sex with the night of passion with his mother. Which was better? Who would he choose? He felt torn, ensnared by demonic influence on two fronts: Uma and Kianna. Blood from both sides of his family.

Acutely cognizant of what Kianna and his mother were capable of, he tried to steady his frayed mind. Kianna's cries blocked him, stalling any coming to his senses. At least for now. He had more than one demon luring him astray...

“You don't know how good it feels, to wear the demonskin..."

Kianna huffed, maintaining a steady rhythm. Each plunge of his cock inside her drove her wild. She coaxed more energy from him with her words: “...I can steal a man's soul with a glance...take them as my servants! And your mom...ah...she's even more powerful...thanks to me...thanks to— ah—ME!"

She roared, deafening her captive lover.

“I can give you the same! Just tell me your sin! I can feel it, covering you! Your whole body reeks of it!"

Michael cried out. She was so soft, yet so tight...snugly fitting his cock like a sleeve...wet and desperate for him to keep thrusting. His arms travelled under her dress, one hand resting on her belly, feeling it jiggle as the small amount of fat shook from each bounce. The other flew upwards, checking for a bra — not finding any covering he grabbed hold of her pert breasts. Kianna smiled knowingly. This had been planned — seduction some time in the making.

“Tell me," she moaned, “tell me what happened between you. I sense it, sense her unwelcome presence over MY handsome lover...I don't wanna guess...tell me...ah..."

“Nnnnggghh!!!" Michael wheezed as she jumped his bones. Rolling, undulating in his lap. He sought out her breasts, fondling each mound with care, touching each rock-hard nub in turn. A squeal escaped her lips. He continued. Another musical cry. He was beginning to assert himself.

From her breast, there glowed light. Warm, comforting light, spreading from her chest, her heart...

Michael blinked. When his eyes shut the light remained, filling his vision; it shimmered before him, a baleful orange burn. It swelled and shrank with the beat of their lovemaking. Kianna put a hand on her chest, and the light was gone...

He wondered what he saw, amid the heated thrusts of their hypnotic embrace.

Kianna gasped when he hilted himself, forcing his cock as far as possible. Reaching desperately for the kiss of her womb, driven by his primitive side. Mate. Mate...MATE! His subconscious screamed at him to take her, pound her...spread his love inside her. Just like he did with mom...

MOM!

Michael bolted upright, colliding with her bosom and sinking in-between her pert mounds. The fabric of Kianna's dress scratched his cheeks, and a small button stamped its imprint on his forehead. A piece of him mended.

Mom...

He held her close, tightly circling around her waist as they remained motionless. Shivering. He felt close. She did too. But they didn't cum yet. No, there was time left to milk the moment dry.

He pictured Uma. She was sitting on him, in place of her rival. Her ample curves surrounding him. Comforting him. Her demonskin singeing his nerves at each and every point of contact between bare flesh. Yes...that's what he felt that night — a writhing, wriggling glory. So good.

This brief respite came and went. Kianna idly stroked him, touching shoulder and spine in a sensual, practised manner. Michael lost himself in thoughts of Uma, in his own private world.

Breathing. Slow breathing.

Then heat, from a mysterious source. Not Kianna, or his own body, but beyond.

“Look, Michael," she cooed, breaking his trance, “look!"

His gaze followed Kianna's gesturing, coming to rest on his left. Now he glowed with light — burgeoning, blazing bright. “See the light of your soul coming through," she informed him. He froze, astonishment seizing his faculties. When he'd seen Kianna emit a strange radiance he assumed it was her magic, her 'demonskin' giving her the power to do so. But now, his own faint beacon told him something else, something worse...that he was open to the curse...now more than ever!

She reached out and touched his chest, caressing his pec, seeking out the glow his heart released. They hadn't returned to sex, not with them enraptured with otherworldly light — Michael's cock rested snugly inside her, Kianna accepting the hard shaft, massaging it throughout their moment of divinity.

“Do you know what this means?"

Michael shook his head. Beads of sweat dripped from his brow, the marker of his exertion.

“Sin, Mikey. The sin you're guilty of is enough to open you to the great beyond."

“No, no I don't want that," he replied.

“Not yet perhaps, but soon...it will be unstoppable..."

“Is it the curse? Am I infected?"

“Infected, hah!" She wiggled her hips, causing him to gasp as her felt her flesh constrict around him. “That would be how you see it, yeah...but no, I think your demon sups from more than one cup."

She leaned forward, bringing him into a hug. “I know what you did now — it's obvious. You and Uma...why Mikey, you're just like your big brother."

“Stop—!"

“Or what?" Kianna clenched her pussy to great effect, straining the poor teen's member even more. “You'll pull out? Don't think so, you like it far too much. Just look at that," she rubbed his chest, stoking the mystical fire within, “is that a sign that you've had enough?"

His head bowed. “No," Michael reluctantly admitted, the light fading as a shred of normalcy returned to the room. Kianna resumed her bucking, cycling her hips, ready to ride the last minutes of their sex to its fullest.

“I've said it before, but I know more than Uma. I know better. How are you going to deal with the sin bubbling inside? Run home to mommy? Or stay and let me help you. I asked Donnie to do that for me, but it seems he's lost interest. You see? Uma has that effect on people — those I turn to sin she barely lifts a finger and they're hers. It will awaken, Michael, your sin will transform you like the rest. Are you gonna let it happen without preparation? Are you that stupid to fall like the others?"

“I—"

“Don't bother answering with words, Mikey. Let your feelings flow...let them speak for you..."

Michael moved his hands to her hips once again, digging into the softness of her exposed waist with abandon. His chest stung. His legs weighed him down as he thrust. Above him the succubus he knew as cousin rocked his world. She offered him the chance to become hers. To learn the ways of sin. A tempting offer, one he struggled to comprehend.

I want...

Try as he might, he couldn't shake the image of his mother, usurped by the quivering seductress on top of him. Uma. His mom. Fallen to the curse. Clad in demonskin...

Kianna wailed, her voice carrying through the whole house. A resonant choir of secondary voices matched her cry, shaking the very foundations of the building. The chair creaked loudly, almost shattering under the assault of two adult humans fucking.

I want...

Nearer and nearer his climax came, cresting the wave that surged his way. He was close, and the longer their rut went, the more he felt empty inside.

I want...

He regained control of his body, ruining the spell Kianna cast upon him. Her influence dissipated as he felt her strength weaken, tired from their lovemaking. He wasn't any better — muscles drained, clothes soaked with sweat. Panting and purring in tune with his demonic captor.

A smile crossed his lips. A wicked tilt spreading from corner to corner.

Kianna had failed.

Oh, she'd tried to play him. Take him home. Show him a piece of the puzzle, offering answers to his hand-wringing worry. He'd been an idiot. A fool to listen to her. And now here he was, beneath her, pumping his hips to squeeze the last ounce of pleasure from their encounter.

He found courage where it had been lost...

Kianna had failed. Her spell was no more. She'd lost control of the situation. He was certain. “Mom's too powerful...more than you ever anticipated," he declared, secure in his delivery, “you didn't have plan if she got stronger, did you?"

Kianna tried to ignore his remark, but he kept pushing: “you've lost everything to her. I'm your last gasp at reclaiming your position. That right, isn't it? I can see it...just like you can see my sin I can read your pain, your arrogant fury like an open book!"

“Give it a rest Mikey — taunting won't help you now."

He grunted. “Oh, it will..." With a burst of speed he catapulted himself from the chair, scooping Kianna as he flew to his feet. Barrelling across the room, he slammed her into the far wall, ramming her into the hard surface while his hips did their duty. Kianna squealed as he pounded her, the upper hand lost.

“What do you say to that, huh? Got any more...ah...smart-ass lines?"

She tried another tack in desperation: “listen...mm-aah! Mikey...listen...join with me, and we can grow together — just like Uma wants, but you'll be in control..."

Michael increased the tempo, working overtime to conquer her. Tugging and tearing at her gown, he obliterated Kianna's dress, scattering the damaged halves to either side as she recoiled, naked. “D-do you really want to play second fiddle to Jacob?" she pleaded, in a last-ditch attempt to recruit him.

This enraged him. An audible snarl cowed Kianna. How dare this bitch talk about his brother that way! No, he told himself, why do I care? Not my business if he's fucking mom...

Why I am getting so angry?

You know, the sinful shard of his soul reminded him, you know exactly why.

I'm jealous—

You want mom...you want to be inside her again...showing her how much you love her...

Gah! Stop it!

Michael fell forward as his orgasm arrived. Kianna's roaring brought him to thundering peak. The room rattled, and in the periphery of his vision he saw the battle of influence rage. Whipped smoky tendrils, wisps of black cloud hiding in the corner of his sight — they swirled and entwined with each other, spinning in contest.

“RRRAAAAARRRGGGHHH!!!" he bellowed, his own voice starting to resemble Kianna's deeply demonic call. New powers awoke — the start of his new life as a prince among mortals.

He wasn't ready...no, not ready at all! The curse...it was supposed to be resisted!

His eruption rocked every inch of his body. A molten jet tickled his cock from base to top, pulsing as he curled around her, capturing her frame in his. Kianna tried to push back, but was rebuked by his newfound strength. It was too late for her, she'd blown her last chance at being in charge...Michael saw her as an obstacle to be overcome, not a reliable ally as she'd wished. Her nerves sparked, sending waves of pleasure, as her body climaxed in sympathy with the groaning male; her nectar coated his manhood.

She felt a hunger, never before seen in all her years. A hunger that gnawed at her the moment the first splash of cum touched her silken flesh: the hunger of defeat. Submission. Her figure toiled to bring her pleasure 'midst the increasing despair. Broken, angry...she did little to fight off Michael's embrace.

He was dominant now. He was in charge.

Their climax dissipated. Kianna exhaled, her mind frazzled after a toe-curling orgasm. She grabbed the air around her, sinking her digits into the bulwark of battered muscle Michael presented to the clawing succubus. Her pussy throbbed, her afterglow sizzling...

Michael felt a tug on his arm, drawing him back to her clutches. “Again! Again..." she gasped, frantically holding him close.

“No!" he declared, forcing them to part with new strength. Surprise kept her retaliation at bay.

Eventually she collected herself, and tried again: “fuck me." Purple eyes glowed as she worked her magic, intending to ensnare him.

Michael laughed. His mirth came bitterly to her ears. “Not gonna work, is it?" he chuckled, “I know you're gonna keep trying, Kianna...trying to hypnotise me..."

“I—want you! I need you...we can still—"

“Can we?" He groaned as his penis slipped from her tightness. A slick splatter of male essence spoiled on the floor. With a grunt he pushed her aside, pulling his pants up. Fully clothed, he turned and walked from the mess he'd left her to stew in. Kianna balanced against the wall, her bottom half sore and sated — pleasure and pain perversely blended into an eye-watering sensation.

“Please," she whispered.

“I'm not staying." Michael checked the woman behind him, a curt glance over the shoulder all she was entitled to. “Not after this. You're crazy, you know that? Think you can fuck your way into people's lives, eh?"

“It works."

“I've no doubt it does." He moved to the table, examining her notes. “But I want...something else...I want..."

To stop?

No...yes...

I don't know.

No further words graced her presence as Michael stared at the assorted documents. Ink leapt from the pages and danced in his vision, teasing him with knowledge of the curse. A pained expression emerged. He wanted this to end. He did...but why was is so hard to think that...to say it even...

Whispers, not from Kianna, but elsewhere, began to seep into his thoughts. He flushed red as they spoke of delights unforeseen. Of sin. Sin.

It's inside me. Burning in my soul. I can feel it.

My demon.

Michael shouted, beating his chest in a vain attempt to stay the hurt. Kianna watched from afar, retreating into her own world, a peaceful world — where her plans succeeded. Would be a while before she dared venture back to reality. Tired. Drained...she could fall asleep where she lay.

Her conqueror threw his arms around, tossing pages off the table in an impotent rage. “You've been nothing but useless!" he roared, “NOTHING! I've learned nothing from you other than what mom's already shown! She's more equipped to teach me than you!" He swallowed his tongue after that remark, a wave of dread filling him. Where the fuck did that come from?

Don't be stupid. You know exactly where.

Whispers. Voices in the walls. They kept talking. Endless, barely-audible whispering.

Tormented by the voices, the noise...the incessant talking, Michael stormed from the room. Before he left, he took one last look at Kianna, fucked to exhaustion, eyeing him with tortured need, and spat: “I made a mistake coming here. I won't make the same ever again."

He stepped through the door, but something caught him. The voices, they—

Wage of sin.

Wage of sin — what a strange phrase, what a haunting triplet. Those words held a comfort to them, a familiarity, like he'd heard them all his life. Not a shred of truth to its frequency, yet it stopped him, stopped his anger, and his confusion, replacing it with...

...nothing. No surging emotion. Just a taste of something greater.

My sin, it's calling to me.

Wants me to come home.

She's waiting for me.

Michael closed his eyes. His surroundings dissolved into the aether, transporting him into pitch-blackness that went on forever. He opened his eyes. Four lights glowed, far in the distance. His family.

They're waiting for me.

A blink, and it was gone. He finally found the strength to breathe after a solid minute of pause.

I can save them.

Looking around, he tried to pinpoint the source of the whispers. They were strongest at the table. He inched back into the room, and found it...

The watch.

Snatching it from the table, he glowered at Kianna one last time. “I'm taking this, and leaving. Try to stop me, bitch!"

Through the hall he marched, fist clenched tightly around the fob watch. Her car keys were next. Plucked from their peg by the front door. Michael strode towards the automobile, an air of confidence spurring him on.

Door. Seat. Ignition. Three seconds later he was spinning in a sharp turn out of her driveway. Gravel sprayed the stone steps of the house. He was going home.

* * *

The dripping of the kitchen tap made enough noise to wake Kianna from her daze. Her arm extended in front, fingers curling, pointed at nothing. “Wait," she muttered, her jaw slow to move.

“W-wait..."

* * *

On the road, Michael maintained a high speed wherever legal. A long stretch of straight road approached, and he merged into the light traffic. A splitting headache scoured him, hot pokers stabbing his skull. The sounds of the engine masked the faint whispering. Every signpost and road marker bore the phrase: wage of sin.

“Agh!" He stamped his foot on the dusty floor. Indicating, he turned off, onto the roadside, where the car came to a shuddering halt. His head dropped, whacking the steering wheel.

What am I doing?

Home. He wanted home. What he'd do there was up to fate. He just wanted to go...home.

Mom.

He could almost taste her skin, her gorgeous figure. The feel of her snuggled close in post-coital glory.

C'mon Mikey, focus. Focus!

He grabbed the watch from his pocket. Holding it in front of him, he spent awhile studying the antique. Such a small thing, unimportant. And this is what she said made her demon-kind, he pondered.

An eerie quiet covered the car. Michael felt drowsy.

Black tendrils emerged from the watch. They hovered a hair's breadth from his face.

A flash of black — and they struck.

* * *

Michael's blurred vision slowly improved. But he wasn't in the car anymore. His surroundings flickered with the glow of candlelight, with a small oil lantern perched on the opposite side of the room he found himself in.

Where am I?

Darkness filled the room. Darkness of another making than the sheer absence of light. A smoky cloud swirled around him, and it was difficult to see through. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. No cry for help — or indeed, no cry at all.

This isn't right. I need to get home. I have to.

He rose, the cloud swirling around him. The lights morphed, and blazed, into newer forms. The room reshaped. Gone were the candles, and the old-fashioned lantern. In their place were neon lights, illuminating the room in a deep blue. Flashes of brightness caught him unawares, and the smoke did little to shield his eyes. Music — loud music — was present.

This isn't real. This must be a dream.

Oh shit...I haven't crashed the car have I!?

Is this death?

He was only half-right. Death was present, but not in any form he was familiar with. Indeed, not something he was cowed by but something he could feel. Something channelled through him.

Where am I?

The veil crept back, revealing more and more of the scene in front of him. He recoiled.

What the fuck?

Flesh. Bodies. A writhing pile. An orgy without end.

The room shook. He took a step towards the centre of the action. A woman moaned. A man gasped for air. Naked bodies bound each other in a knot of lust.

He moved away from where he woke, and discovered his height was different. Not taller — shorter than most around him. Several participants stood to the side, eyeing him with longing, drawn to him. Men, and some women.

Who are these people?

He took another step, his feet touching the cold floor. The rapid change in temperature threw him, and he looked down.

What the—?

Two mounds obscured his vision. Breasts. Ripe, firm breasts.

Michael reached over to touch them. A red-stained hand responded to his command, jet-black talons spiking out from his fingertips.

Panic set in.

He stepped away. The mass of sex before him continued to writhe, and moan, paying no heed to the strange in their midst.

Someone called out a name. Not his...no, but he answered as if it were.

A woman. She led a man by the hand. They circled 'round the orgy, naked as the rest of them. Michael stood motionless as they walked towards him. He tried to ignore what was wrong with his body.

They arrived. The woman knelt. Genuflected. A rush of pride flowed over him. They were right to bow before him. The man lowered his head, eyes fixed on his body — his curves. Michael felt the sting of his lust as he salivated over him.

Soon, the woman was back on her feet, and she extended her arm to him. Michael took it, seeing his own flesh transformed. A reddish-black texture coated the skin on his forearm, mottled with what looked like scales, but were merely the intersecting mass of orange-glowing lines that he'd seen before. But where? His mind drew blanks.

Caught up in the dream, he followed the woman as she placed his hand on her bosom, her soft breast a welcome sensation to the beleaguered soul. He squeezed. She moaned. “Mistress..." he heard her say, in a quiet, respectful tone.

Michael then moved to the man. A strong specimen. Handsome, athletic, bearing the hallmarks of good breeding. “You have done well," he said, the words coming naturally.

“Thank you, Mistress."

The neon lighting blared. The music screamed, a chorus of electronic voices chanting as the moment drew near. Michael licked his lips, feeling a strange tongue caress his rough flesh. Saliva dribbled from his mouth, seeping from the corners and running down his cheeks. The drip of his mouth's water ran down the tingling mammaries that jutted from his chest, hitting the floor after falling from those peaks. At his feet, clawed much the same as his hands, he heard the ground burn, dissolving as his spit touched it.

The orgy continued. Their madness assured, his extended arm rested on the man's chest. His companion looked on, a mix of fear and awe in her gaze. Michael felt an energy in him, something otherworldly besides his appearance. It built up inside him, waiting for use. The man stared at him, a dull, glassy look in his eyes.

He pulled him nearer. The woman assisted. Whether he knew she was restraining the man or propping him up didn't matter, all Michael wanted to know was the taste...the delicious taste...

His body quivered. Deep inside he felt a wave of anticipation. The wave coursed through him, alerting him to another fact of his anatomy — no dick. He was flat, a plump pair of vaginal lips in its place. That didn't bother him, as the hunger grew, pushing all other concerns from his mind.

He would taste... life.

Beneath her hand, his chest started to glow. The man gasped as the light took him, spilling past Michael's demonic grasp and catching on his chest and stomach. His heart shone, the light of his soul warm to the touch. Michael felt other eyes on him; some of those not currently trapped in the festering mound of sin observed with intent. He too was curious. Where would this vision go next? What would it reveal to him?

Michael's answer followed: a sudden jerky motion and his palm seared the flesh of the man, burning the skin 'neath exotic violet-tinted flame. The golden light shimmered, and he drank. The well of life made for a fine meal as he sucked and sucked, stripping his victim of his essence. His attendant held him in place as Michael devoured his soul. Thick strands of energy rippled and wrapped around his arm, flowing up to his own chest. Absorbed to feed his demon-self.

The dream became more vivid, it's life-like qualities scaring him. He wanted to leave, but was stuck mid-act of feeding. The man's appearance soured. His body withered. Limbs thinned, eyes faded, lips desiccated. The last light left him, swallowed greedily as Michael experienced an orgasmic rush.

Oh God!

His body shifted. With renewed life he saw his form shape into something darker, more fearsome. The prick of his sharp teeth stabbed his tongue as it rolled in his mouth. His...breasts...firmed, nipples hardening. From below a moistness formed. Claws solidified, skin toughened. Two protrusions weighed down on his back, just below the shoulder. Leathery to the touch.

“Ah!"

The dried-up corpse hit the floor, skin scorched and smoking.

“Does that please you, Mistress?" asked the woman.

Michael found himself smiling. “It does." He glanced at the pile of bodies fucking in the centre of the room, wanting so badly to dive into the fray and consume...devour them all — no! His larder was stocked well. Michael could afford to let his servants have a bit of fun.

His attendant left him to wander among the crowd. Many smiled and bowed as he passed, clawed feet clacking on the hard floor. A swish next to his ear — then another, as he walked. He reached a mirror, resting against the wall, servants clearing a path for his approach.

However, it was not the sight of leathery skin, a winged shadow, or yellowed eyes that shocked him. No, it was the overwhelming sense of familiarity. That, beyond this succubus' visage, he knew that face.

Who he had played the part of in this manifestation...

“Kianna!"

* * *

Michael bolted upright in his seat, abrasing his neck on the seatbelt as it rubbed bare skin. “Fuck!" he exclaimed, his whole body dripping with sweat. “Fuck...FUCK!"

He slapped his face. Yep, definitely awake now.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck...

What the fuck just happened!?

He'd seen part of her past. A vague, discordant sense of recollection passed him by. Yes, that was Kianna I saw.

Realising the watch was still held in his hand, he took the cursed object and smashed it against the console, striking part of the hard finish. With fresh strength it was destroyed, and Michael never doubted the source of his vigour. The curse.

She's right — it's taking me too. I don't know how long I have left.

The remnants of the watch fell from his grip, a broken mess of fine gears. It held unwelcome memories. Memories he would prefer not to see. Kianna was more than a nuisance, she was dangerous! What did she unleash within his family!?

Can I stop it? he asked himself honestly.

...

Do I want to?

The sweet taste of sex lingered on his lips, on his soul, drenching him in envy and yearning. Time had passed in the car since falling into the dream...Kianna's dream.

There was a distinct allure to the curse, to making his pact and wearing the demonskin. It ravaged his conscience, all the while he cried out for his mother's touch. Kianna was no comparison, he judged that after the fact of their encounter. No, far sweeter was his mother's words and womb, and the path to them.

I need to stop...no! I can't!

Need to know how it feels...how...

I...I can't...