The Infernal Itch Ch 03

Chapter 3

Zarel brushed damp ginger hair from her face for what felt like the hundredth time that day and took a careful swig from her almost-empty waterskin. The baking desert sun was starting to lose its heat now as the evening came on and although the anticipated respite was welcome, the prospect of being outside the Abbey's walls with night drawing in was most certainly not. She glanced around the rest of her cohort and saw the same concern on the faces of the other five Seraph, while their three novice charges looked tired and a little scared.

Their fearless leader did not seem to share their concern, though she wondered if he really even understood the situation. He certainly didn't seem to understand where he'd led them, as he peered out shortsightedly from under a pair of thick and ancient spectacles.

"Brother Kaidus," she ventured, since it seemed no-one else was going to, "we are a long way from home now. It will start getting dark soon."

"Hmm?"

He squinted at her distractedly, his wizened and skinny form fidgeting in the ill-fitting brown robes he favoured. More of a clerk than a cleric, and well past his prime, but Kaidus could certainly walk.

"Are you getting tired?" It wasn't asked unkindly, but nor was he really offering a rest. "That library must be here somewhere. I visited it just last year."

Kaidus hadn't been out of the Abbey in three years or so the rumour among the gate guards went. He must have run out of reading material, she decided.

"It will be dangerous if we have to try to hurry back at dusk. Perhaps we could try again tomorrow?"

"Nonsense! It's right around this corner, I remember..."

They rounded the corner in question to find a street of small houses. Obviously never grand, all were in very poor shape now and several had already collapsed down into piles of rubble. Certainly there was no library here. Someone sniggered quietly.

"Ok, it must be a little further. But it's most definitely here somewhere..."

It took another hour to find the place, by which point Zarel was considering just how badly her superiors would take it if they left the senile monk to wander the city by himself. Unfortunately abandoning Kaidus to his own devices wasn't a serious option. Next she had to wait as he pottered about the abandoned scriptorium, kicking up a new cloud of dust with each scroll he touched.

The novices scurried about at his direction, selecting and wrapping ancient books and scrolls in cloth for their journey back to the Abbey. Zarel wondered idly if the books would even get read - there was a decent chance some overzealous cleric of Agraton would burn the whole lot rather than risk them introducing some terrible moral corruption that their words might contain. She caught a glimpse of one book's title, On Effective Drainage and Agriculture, and figured that one at least was probably safe from the pyre. She stifled a yawn.

"Pass me your lantern."

Tomasz had left his spot guarding the door and came to stand beside hers, a large window that was still letting in some decent light.

"It's not dark yet," she protested, but unclipped it from her pack anyway.

"I know. Just don't want him getting any ideas. Hand it over."

Zarel handed it over. Tomasz was three years her senior, with a confidence she envied and a sculpted jaw that she rather fancied. The general consensus was that he was officer material. He gave her a wink as he tucked it deep into a suspiciously clinking sack.

"Such a shame we're losing the light," Tomasz raised his voice as he nudged her in front of the window and strode back toward the door. The sack of lanterns was passed out to Clare, on watch outside.

Zarel admired her silhouette as she blocked out the evening sunlight. The Seraph armour gave her strong shoulders even more width and its decorative copper wings added their distinctive profile. Below that, the bronze armour tapered to a narrow waist and a chainmail skirt, before the shiny bronze greaves and boots that protected her legs. Add in the long haft of her sharp steel glaive and her shadow had the look of a warrior angel.

"Did no-one think to bring candles?!"

She was broken from her reverie by the complaints of Brother Kaidus, who was holding a crumbling book up to his face to squint at a faded index.

"Sorry Brother," Tomasz was standing close to him, subtly casting the text into even deeper shade. "Perhaps we could come back tomorrow with some."

"Drat..." the academic shook his head and tucked the book under his arm as if determined to continue it later. "Well, I suppose that we should probably head back. If you could start packing up..."

The novices were already ready, each bearing a satchel of salvaged tomes.

"Oh, well then..."

Proper dusk took hold when they were about halfway back, by Zarel's reckoning. The air was getting chill now as the sun surrendered its place in the sky and the clear desert night came on. The sandstone buildings on either side of the street still radiated the warmth of the day and probably would for many hours, but they walked in the centre of the road. Falling roof tiles or full blown collapses were the usual danger, but the darkened windows and doorways held a certain menace now too.

The lanterns miraculously reappeared as the last of the light faded, earning Clare a reproachful look from Brother Kaidus. The dark skinned Seraph ignored him as she lit them one by one and handed them to the other guards. Six little pools of light illuminated their group and let Zarel see where she was walking, but didn't pierce far into the gloom.

Everyone's pace had increased noticeably by the time they reached the bottom of the Abbey's steep hill. The dark and cold of the street was oppressive, with a foreboding silence that meant the echoes of their footsteps seemed to chase them across the cracked flagstones. Zarel, near the back, found she had to almost jog to keep up with the sudden hurry. It was as if they had all decided they were being chased, without a word being spoken between them.

It was in this haste that one of the novices, she thought it was Ricard but she wasn't certain, blundered right into a figure lurking in the darkness. He fell backward with a yelp, crashing down onto his backside and scattering ancient books everywhere. The figure let out a low, snarling growl. It was echoed a moment later by another, and another. They had blundered right into a trap!

"To me!"

Tomasz was the first to react, leaping forward to drag the fallen novice back to his feet and pull him back toward his peers. Zarel and the other Seraph formed a hasty line in front of Kaidus and his helpers, glaives lowered and pointed toward the snarling shapes. Oddly yellow bestial eyes reflected their lantern light back at them, but from heights of seven or eight feet tall. Their ambushers were enormous!

Light flared as Clare opened the shutters of her lantern wide, casting a brighter illumination. Zarel almost wished she hadn't.

In front of them were the hulking shapes of seven werewolves, huge furred creatures with a rough humanoid body shape but the features of wolves. Each was wearing a spiked metal collar and very little else, though some had the tattered remains of clothing hanging off them like streamers. They were clearly aroused and deep in the thrall of the Itch, she noticed with dawning horror. Three males sported angry red erections, and she could actually see the thick juices that dripped down between the females legs.

The imposing rank of lycanthropes opened up to reveal two more figures, an incongruous pair.

One was a bare chested human man with a furious scowl, he had thick black hair, an unkempt beard and the most imposing dark eyebrows. A spiked collar, too large for his neck but apparently too small to pass his heavy jaw, sat awkwardly on his shoulders. A delicate silver chain, looking far too flimsy to be practical, ran from the collar to the other figure's palm.

The other was a devil. Red bat wings, elegantly folded, cloaked a crimson skinned female form clad in an immodest black dress that did little to hide her generous breasts. A filigree of delicate black lines tattooed on that too-perfect red flesh depicted a variety of spiky runic designs that made Zarel's eyes hurt to look at. She managed to drag her gaze up to a face that was equally perfect with a sharp nose and high cheekbones, cruelty and nobility mixed in equal measure.

The devil had either caught her staring or was just feeling particularly pleased with herself, for she gave Zarel a triumphant smirk that sent a shiver down her spine.

"I am Lael. These are my pets."

There was a momentary silence as the Seraph all shuffled closer together, the sharp points of six glaives trying to track seven hulking werewolves. Nobody dared reply, or even speak to the infernal creature.

"Oh, fine." The devil let out a melodramatic sigh as if she had been expecting polite conversation. She snapped her fingers. "Pets, introduce yourselves."

The seven monsters surged forward, a tide of claws and muscle and fur that had the inexperienced Seraph backpedalling at once. Someone's weapon was grabbed and yanked, hauling him forward out of line. The unlucky Seraph was dragged toward a tawny furred and battle-scarred female with one eye and half an ear missing - she tore the glaive from his hands with a contemptuous ease that half-spun him around. A deft shove had him floored and a moment later she was on top of him. The others came on, swiftly blocking Zarel's view of whatever came next.

A grizzled grey werewolf repeated the trick, seizing Tomasz's weapon with a long and monstrously strong arm. With a defiant yell, Zarel stabbed him in the side, feeling the point rebound from unnaturally strong muscle but seeing the glaive's edge slice a long and painful looking wound regardless. The creature reeled back with a furious snarl and released its grip.

Two more darted in and made grabs but were fended off by desperate jabs. The novices were screaming and she feared something had made it past them to terrorize their charges, but she didn't have the time to look back. A red-furred werewolf smashed into Clare's side with enough force to knock her to all fours, then fell on top of her with a victorious howl, squashing her flat to the floor.

Another one got into their line and forced the remaining Seraph apart, where two more were seized as soon as their backs were exposed. Tomasz, fighting like a man possessed, somehow slipped between two foes and ran at the devil with his weapon raised and a desperate wordless shout on his lips.

Lael watched him coming impassively, moving not an inch to defend herself. Zarel saw the collared man tense, though whether to defend his captor or to try to escape she wasn't sure. Just before he got into striking distance another werewolf burst from the shadows and tackled him bodily to the floor, glaive spinning away uselessly. The pair wrestled, Tomasz against a snowy furred werewolf with a female physique but a huge white cock sprouting from between her thighs. Soon she had him pinned, a hand pushing his face into the street while she ground herself lecherously against his armoured back.

The distracting display almost cost Zarel, as she tore her eyes away just in time to slash at another lunging lycanthrope and drive them away. She backed off as fast as she could until she felt a hard stone wall at her back. Everyone else was down now and she saw some blood, though none were dead as far as she could tell.

Kaidus and the novice Ricard were unconscious. The others were pinned beneath werewolves, unable to escape. Some were still squirming and wrestling hard, others had gone still as primal prey responses kicked in.

The grey werewolf was back, the wound on its side somehow closing up already. It lunged again and this time she managed to impale it on her glaive. The force of the impact nearly knocked it from her hands, but the butt of the weapon lodged against the wall behind her and caused it to skewer deep into the creature. The werewolf let out a piteous whimper and dropped back, taking the glaive with it. At least it wouldn't be troubling her for a while.

Zarel backed into the corner between two buildings and drew the heavy bronze mace from her belt, breathing hard. Her arms felt leaden from the repeated jarring blows she had already struck, but she raised the weapon to her shoulder and prepared to defend herself against whichever enemy tried her next. None did.

The devil creature Lael was walking amongst the squirming duos of pinned human and victorious werewolf. Zarel watched as she stopped beside Tomasz, still fighting hard against the snowy white female that had him bested. The werewolf grabbed his hair as the devil approached, pulling his face up to show him to her infernal leader. Lael placed a slender crimson finger to his lips and murmured something inaudible.

Suddenly the man was still. Zarel saw his nostrils flare, then his eyes softened and the fight left him. Unresisting, he allowed the werewolf to yank his armour off him, piece by piece, until the soft tanned flesh beneath was exposed. That huge pale cock was pressed between his buttocks and the creature began to grind and hump against him, flattening him to the street again but this time not needing to hold him there.

The devil, accompanied by the chained man, wandered the aftermath of the skirmish, visiting each conquered human in turn and performing her foul magic, whatever it was. As she drew closer, Zarel could start to hear her commentary.

"Mine." She touched an already disrobed Seraph's lips and the prone man ceased his squirming. His cock, already mostly hard and coated in the thick shining juices of the werewolf he was fighting against, sprang to an iron rigidity. A moment later it was obscured by the sex of his victorious captor as she speared herself upon him, their bodies coming together with a slap. The devil moved on.

"Hmm. No, leave her." Lael pressed her fingers to the temple of a terrified blonde novice, who fell unconscious so swiftly her face bounced off the stone street with an audible smack. A disappointed werewolf moved off toward the already claimed Seraph man, plopping herself down on his face and muffling the moans of pleasure he was just beginning to voice.

"Mine." Clare let out a scream as the red-furred werewolf buried his cock in her with only the grinding of their brief wrestling match for preparation. It was replaced by a breathy moan a moment later as the devil brushed a finger over her lips, working her magic. The werewolf sank deeper with an animal grunt, bearing his fangs. Lael had been about to turn away, but the expression made her turn back and slap the creature with force enough to daze it.

"Mine. Not yours. I do not want your disgusting teeth in them." She said it loud enough for all to hear.

The werewolf whimpered submissively, then when no further punishment was forthcoming it resumed its fucking. The Seraph woman was encouraging it now, pressing back against each thrust, trying to take the huge creature to the hilt.

The devil worked her way through the group, working her magic and rendering her judgements. Zarel's five Seraph brethren were claimed for her, whatever that meant. Kaidus and the novices were released, much to the chagrin of the werewolves holding them, each slinking off to try to find its fun elsewhere. Soon Lael and her frowning accomplice reached Zarel's corner.

"Last one standing," she purred, "very noble, very heroic. I am impressed."

Zarel weighed up the mace. It felt heavy and unwieldy in her tired hand, she wasn't confident she could actually hurt the infernal with it. Still, she was defiant.

"Back! Away from me you defiler!"

Lael chuckled darkly and regarded her perfect jet black fingernails.

"And there I was, hoping you might offer yourself to me willingly..."

She reached over and unclipped the chain from the man's collar, then dragged her nails down his chest, scoring pink lines into his muscled flesh. Scratches that began to disappear moments after they formed.

"I believe I said I would throw you a bone, Marek, in exchange for your pack. This one is yours."

The man remained still, staring straight ahead. His eyes were dark with fury, Zarel could see, but he was looking past her and into space. She saw a ruggedly handsome man beneath that unkempt fringe and bushy beard, perhaps in his forties. A proud man? What deal had he made that had led to this?

The devil pressed herself against his side, soft contours moulding against his strong frame. Her wings half spread, ruby lips pressed to his ear.

"I said, take her." She squeezed his ass, dark nails biting into tight flesh. The gesture was both dominant and taunting, and it seemed to do the trick. Or perhaps he had no choice in the matter.

Marek let out a bellow of fury and indignation. Before Zarel's eyes he transformed, rugged face elongating into a snarling muzzle. Big hands grew bigger still and clenched into claws, while his legs and torso expanded, propelling him upward to a truly intimidating height. The werewolf leader was a full head taller than any of his pack and had the bulk to match, with rippling muscles covered by a thick hide of shaggy black fur. She glanced down in trepidation, but his member was still hidden by a dark furry sheath.

"Miiine~" the deep, rumbling word was the first intelligible speech any of the werewolves had made.

He reached for her with an enormous clawed hand and she brought her mace hard down on the wrist, a blow that would have maimed a human. Marek simply let out an animal grunt and took the weapon from her as if from a child.

He advanced on her and there was nowhere to go, trapped in the corner as she was. The air was suddenly full of a bestial musk, animal and alien, it made her knees weak. His furred body was radiating a palpable heat. He crowded her back against the wall, towering over her by such a margin that her face was practically buried in the soft fur that covered his stomach.

She felt him stir then, a heavy tumescent shape that first brushed against her armoured chest, then swelled up and up, past her cheek. There was a heady, salty smell that made her head swim and her cheeks burn. His whole shaft seemed to be covered in a light fuzz of that dark fur. She thought it had to be as long as her arm when it finally stopped growing.

The werewolf somehow crowded even closer until there was nothing in Zarel's world except the shaggy black fur of his belly, the unyielding wall at her back, and the huge bestial cock pressed into her face. She had to breathe, but the air was full of musk and pheromones that made her dizzy. She had to fight, but there was no overpowering him. She had to surrender and let the monster claim her, wait... no...

She struggled and squirmed, trying to slip away but finding herself truly trapped. The motion meant she rubbed up against his cock, first her cheek and then her nose and lips as she twisted and thrashed. The shaft exuded something faintly oily which clung to her face and seemed to stick in her nostrils, even as it made her heart race. She had to open her mouth to breathe, but that meant it was on her lips too, on her tongue. The oil tasted like nothing, but it warmed wherever it touched and clung there in a slippery residue. She felt her lips start to tingle.

Somehow it wasn't too bad now, Zarel found. She was just about getting enough air. Her face was getting smeared with more stuff, but it was mixing with something else. Heavy strands of pre-cum ran down the cock that was now her whole world. Some of it landed in her hair, some of it was trapped in the fur of his belly, but some made it to her lips. It was salty, heady,

strong

in a way she couldn't quite describe. She stuck out her tongue and quested for more, rising upwards to meet it as it oozed down.