Page 8 of On the Menu

“Trust me. I know things. I know that. It’s like... A banquet of energy,” Stray moved close to her, nostrils working, mouth watering. So close to giving the game away. “There’s a sweet inner light that shines straight out of you, beautiful. Stop doubting.”

“But—”

“You said I’m the ‘daddy’?” Stray knew all the sexual slang there was, and now he saw a blush creeping into her cheeks. He wrapped his hands tightly around her wrists and steered her to the checkout, his body close behind hers, almost dying again when the curve of her lean but shapely ass brushed his crotch. “Be a good girl and listen to me. You are beautiful and brilliant. Say it.”

“I’m beautiful. Brilliant,” she whispered, cheeks as dark as the wine Stray wanted to slather across her breasts and lick dry.

Her scent was making him dizzy with hunger, but also with want.

I want to be near her. Be closer to her. To make her happy. “Say, ‘I deserve to be happy with a man who will cherish me and want the best things for me.’

“Stray, I—”

“Say it, please, and then let’s go home and learn how to make pumpkin pie, and drink wine, and find out what music we both like.”

“I deserve to be happy with a man who cherishes me and wants the best things for me. I deserve someone like you.”

Stray stopped moving, and the cart jerked to a halt into her belly. Cara gasped, and he wrapped his arms around her tight, unwilling to let go.

This one is mine.

Chapter Two: Dreams

Bruce came. Late. Stray watched him lean on the door. Leer. Get in her space.

He watched Cara, covered in orange pumpkin puree and wearing a dough-covered, butter-smeared apron, shrink—and then rise like a phoenix when Bruce the Beardy entered the living room of Cara’s little townhouse.

“You ran off the other night,” he chuckled. “Did you get jealous, sweetheart?”

In the kitchen, Stray felt himself losing control. Shadowy wings and the grotesque coils of a hungry incubus started to unravel in his mortal skin. “Mocking her,” he hissed.

Cara shrugged and sauntered to the corner where she’d tossed his sneakers and bag.

Yes, baby, show him those long, gorgeous legs he’s missing, Stray silently cheered.

“I saw you flirting with other girls. A man that I date should only want my attention. Should only have eyes for me.”

Bruce had the gall to laugh, a loud, braying fart of a laugh. “What? Who the fuck told you that? Like men don’t notice women with big tits? Of course we do! It’s biology. We might love our little pancake-assed wives, but we’re always going to appreciate the pretty ones.”

“The pretty ones? Ah.” Stray stepped out of the shadows, barely containing his other form. He slid his arms possessively around Cara’s waist and let brimstone and rage fill his eyes as they bored into Bruce’s. “The pretty ones. Not the glorious beauties. Not the sophisticated, elegant queens who own the night, and move like cats, and have laughs like music. No, God forbid we choose all that when we could look at a pair of plump breasts for five minutes.”

“Bruce? This is Stray. The kind of man who appreciates the whole package more than a few little parts.” Cara preened against him, head rubbing his jaw.

“Not so little,” Bruce grumbled, grabbing his stuff.

Stray had no idea what was flowing through him, but it was hot and dark, and it roared like a sudden hurricane wind, pushing Bruce and his baggage straight out the door and off the little porch, landing him on his ass on the hood of his car in the driveway.

Cara gasped as the wind slammed the door shut. “Wh-what was...?”

“Freak wind, huh?” Stray said carelessly. “That pie is so good, Cara. Do we have any whipped cream?”

He hovered in the mortal realm, sleeping rough in Pine Ridge, a creature of the shadows and woods. Tonight, he hovered in Cara’s room. A shadow whom she’d already kissed goodnight. A dark figure who had already drunk two glasses of wine, eaten half a pie, and listened to hours of music, remembering old songs, finding new ones, and dancing in Cara’s living room, her bare feet stepping on his booted ones.

Her happiness surrounded him like a drugged fog, and he couldn’t wait any longer.

A little sip while she slept.

A soft burrow into her sleeping mind, to give her the best orgasmic, erotic dreams she’d ever experienced—and just to take a nip of her soul.