Monster hunters are a necessary evil in a world plagued with tears to hell and other forsaken realms. Matt is one such hunter, as hated and feared as the monsters he slays. However, after burying his best friend, the man he loved, Matt returns to his rooms to find an unwanted visitor, an emaciated incubus, intruding on his home.
Trapped and starved for eons, Sylvan finally manages to escape his indifferent captor and flee hell. In his hunger, he is drawn toward the loneliness emanating from a single human, Matt. Despite Sylvan’s hideous, wasted appearance, this man cares for Sylvan and fearlessly allows him to feed.
Though natural enemies, Matt and Sylvan are drawn to one another through loneliness and desperation. However, when Sylvan’s captor comes to collect him, Matt realizes how much he is willing to risk to save this demon.
For the first time in a long time, Matt slept soundly and woke without crippling guilt weighing heavy on his blighted soul. He stretched his arm, expecting to find Sylvan snuggled against him, but the other side of his bed was empty.
Judging by the light filling the room with subdued orange beams it was close to dusk. Matt levered himself up onto his elbows and found Sylvan’s glorious naked ass presented to him. He was beautiful, his body almost completely restored, he harbored an ethereal perfection, his skin smooth and flawless, maintaining both the fullness of youth, but the musculature and definition of manhood. His hair, coal black, shone and shimmered like dark fire in the sun’s waning light.
“What are you doing over there? Come back to bed.”
Sylvan remained silent. The line of his back was tense. His head was bent, looking down at something in his hands.
“Sylvan?”
Sylvan twitched and turned. His golden eyes caught the sun, glistening. Fear distorted his features.
“What is it?” Matt said as he tore the sheets away and stood.
Sylvan flinched and took a step back from him. He dropped whatever he’d been holding. Matt looked down and saw his silver emblem shining up at him, giving away his identity.
“You’re a hunter,” Sylvan said, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Yes.”
Sylvan took another step back.
“I’m not going to hurt you. Please Sylvan.” He raised his arms in supplication, but Sylvan’s fear was so clear, trembling through his body as he slowly retreated to the far wall, Matt felt powerless to do anything to reassure him. “Sylvan,” he pleaded when Sylvan’s eyes darted around the room, looking for an escape. His image began to flicker, his facial features shifting, never settling. He was panicking. He wasn’t fully healed, but he was trying to use his power. Matt’s fear spiked but he said calmly, “Sylvan, I could have killed you the moment I saw you in here, but I didn’t and I won’t, I promise you.”
Sylvan’s chest was heaving, his irises blown wide, but he wasn’t looking at Matt. He clutched the sides of his head and harsh whimpers escaped his lips. He fell to his knees and began to scream.
Horror clenched Matt’s guts. He went to Sylvan. He fell to his knees and held the demon’s shoulders. Sylvan’s eyes were screwed tight, his jaw spread wide, flashing elongated fangs which had not been there before. This wasn’t only panic. He was in pain.
“Sylvan!”
But Matt couldn’t reach him. His agonized screams reverberated around the room, impossibly loud. No chance the rest of the house couldn’t hear it. He fell forward, pressing his forehead to the ground. The flesh of his back began to shift, bones moving under the skin. It tore, ripping apart as white bone broke through the surface. Sylvan’s screams cut off, replaced by suffocated whimpers. Black nails grew to curled talons, scraping gouges into the floorboards. Matching horns sprouted from his forehead, scratching the floor until they twisted back. The white bones protruding from his back were soon wrapped in leathery flesh, stretching and flexing between each new branch of bone and cartilage.
Sylvan was displaying his true form, but it was hurting him. Matt was no expert on incubus physiology. He could only surmise Sylvan’s recent and prolonged starvation made the transformation difficult and painful.
Sylvan made another screech as one wing halted in its expansion, the bones malformed, the black flesh fitted too tight to let it stretch. Sylvan tried to open it, but the wing refused. It and Sylvan were shuddering. Sweat wet his naked skin. With one last painful moan, he fell onto his side, clutching his torso, breathing hard.
“Sylvan!” Matt was at his side, reaching out to him. A clawed hand swiped at him. “Shit!” Matt recoiled, snatching his arm back. Blood welled from four deep grooves and spilled in warm trickles down to his elbow.
Sylvan’s eyes, molten, liquid gold, shone once more with fear, but also that strong will of defiance. The whites of his eyes were stained black like pools of ink. Pained tears spilled down his cheeks. His lips were pulled back in a predator’s smile, flashing those dangerous teeth inside his soft, yielding mouth.
Matt stared, caught his breath against the pain throbbing through his arm and said as calmly as he could, “Sylvan, listen to me, please. I am not going to hurt you.”
“You, hunters,” Sylvan growled. “You kill my kin.”
