Lure of Desire
Copyright© 2026 by Voloken
Chapter 2
“Where the fuck is she?!”
Raven flinched at the outburst, having been absorbed in the manuscript.
“Did she get fucking lost down there? Did you tell her I’m on a schedule?”
“Yes,” Raven answered. “I told her just like you said, Camilla.”
It hadn’t even been five minutes since Raven had called Alyssa up. She was probably just cleaning up, since it looked like she’d been working on that fucker downstairs. And she could take as long as she wanted, as far as Raven was concerned.
“Well, then why isn’t she here? I have an hour before I need to start getting ready.” Camilla was pacing around the living room table now, dressed in a bathrobe as she ‘air-dried’, which was apparently healthier for her skin and hair.
“Dunno. She said she’d be just a moment.” Raven was very, very tired, so she wasn’t about to defend anyone too hard. She just wanted to lie down and sleep for a very long time.
With a yawn, Raven turned back toward the research table. It had been dragged up to the living room as a way to centralize the translation effort. For convenience, and because Camilla didn’t trust Alyssa alone with the book. Keeping everything in a common room meant nobody got to monopolize it. Having it stay upstairs also meant it was close to the master bedroom, and the safe within it. In case of emergencies.
The living room table itself was littered with books, scraps of paper and Alyssa’s notes. Between Camilla’s truesight, Alyssa’s hunches, and guides to the language, they’d tried to translate Raven’s grandfather’s old book by themselves.
Alyssa wouldn’t allow them to use online translators or anything like that, much less actually try to hire a flesh and blood translator. She was just convinced that the government or Illuminati or the Bohemian Grove was suppressing knowledge about the country of sleep and the Paths up the mountain. Which ... maybe? But who would even be able to track them down because they were translating some old book? That just sounded ridiculous to Raven. It wasn’t like Aramaic was a particularly obscure language. As far as she knew, there were still people who spoke it.
“That’s it,” Camilla eventually declared, a tiny, but still very bright, flash erupting from her throat. “If that OCD cunt refuses to stop cleaning, I guess we’re practicing in the basement. Get the book and come on. God, what a fucking bother.”
Raven swept the heavy, leatherbound manuscript into her arms and followed Camilla as she stormed downstairs, deliberately stomping down each step. Raven couldn’t help but envy that. Well, she envied Camilla for a lot of things, but her effortless coolness was one of the biggest.
She’d gone to etiquette school or something, and her parents made sure she learned all sorts of things, like how to sew, play piano, dance, give speeches ... Plus, she was super pretty. She was the whole package, perfect.
If only Raven’s parents had given her the same opportunities. The same education. Shit, she’d settle for better genes. But no. They were idiots dead set on ruining her life so it was as shitty as theirs.
Once back on the first floor, Camilla beelined to the basement door. Raven had to use her phone light to not trip over herself in the dark, but managed to keep up.
“God,” Camilla continued to complain. “How fucking hard is it to just ... prioritize? Alyssa’s such a dumb fucking bitch that she doesn’t understand not everyone is a fucking bum like her. Some people have to have fucking jobs that make money. I should be charging you two bitches rent. And while I’m on that topic—What the fuck was that?”
“What?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
Raven did. She heard a thump, and a ... scream? It was muffled, so it was hard to tell.
“What the fuck?” Camilla hurried down to the door, flashes of light leaking out of her eyes. “What the fucking FUCK?!”
She swung the door open, revealing a chaotic scene.
Alyssa was on the ground in the middle of the room, crawling backwards toward the door and holding a bloody carving knife. Her pink hoodie was stained a deep red on the shoulder, and her face was a blood-smeared mess.
Her eyes were locked with Damien, who was, somehow, free again, and was pulling her closer to him by her ankle. His hair was as wild as his one open eye, and rivulets of blood dripped down his chin from his crimson-stained mouth. His left hand was broken with whole chunks of flesh missing. His handcuffs dangled from his right hand, the left cuff still closed, though stained red.
He crawled toward Alyssa like a man possessed, ignoring not only his mangled hand, but also his broken legs which he dragged across the floor as he pulled himself forward with his arms alone.
What the fucking fuck is right.
Camilla unleashed a torrent of power at Damien, who tried to block it with his arms to no avail. He cried out in pain as his skin boiled and blistered under Camilla’s harsh light. Raven knew well how much that hurt.
“What in the everloving FUCK is happening here?!” Camilla asked, taking another step into the room with Raven following close behind, manuscript clutched against her chest.
“Kill him!” Alyssa screamed, taking the opportunity to jerk her leg free and pull herself away. “Kill him now!”
“What?!” Camilla asked, blinking the light away in confusion. “How the fuck did this even—”
Damien didn’t hesitate for a moment. Once the light was off him, he threw himself at Alyssa, roughly wrestling her in front of him as she screamed.
Camilla tried to pin him down with another blast, but he deftly hid most of his body behind Alyssa, whose screams crescendoed into a litany of pain.
“Go, take him down!” Camilla shouted. “Raven, go!”
“The book, take the—” Raven shoved the grimoire into Camilla’s arms, who took it and pushed Raven forward.
“Don’t kill him!” Camilla ordered, and once again reined in her lights, darkening the room.
Raven dove into the room. She was tired, sore and nearly completely tapped. She needed a break. An opportunity to dream ragged dreams. But she had enough left to deal with some guy with broken legs.
Quick as lightning, Raven reached the entangled pair and lashed out at Damien’s head with a wicked kick. He dove to the ground, leaving Alyssa in the way. Raven managed to evade Alyssa’s head at the last second—almost. She clipped the other girl, sending Alyssa sprawling across the floor.
The continuing momentum of the roundhouse took Raven for a spin, and before she could face her foe again, she felt a stab of pain run up her thigh. She buckled, but instead of falling, jumped away.
Damien held Alyssa’s knife as the woman herself dazedly tried to crawl away. Warmth trickled down Raven’s left leg, and she could feel the deep, burning cut he’d left in her. He was quick, cunning and vicious. A cornered rat. If only Raven had her Beretta with her.
Camilla bathed Damien in light again, warding away any further attack and buying Raven precious seconds.
“I can’t keep doing this, disarm him—”
“Kill him! We have to kill him, he’s not fucking nor—”
“No, we need to do the ritual—”
“Fuck the ritual, he’s gonna kill—”
Raven tuned out the conversation. Damien was immobile now. If he tried to crawl away, she’d attack while his hands were busy, and with Camilla’s help, she’d keep the initiative. She just needed to wait for—
Camilla’s light wavered, then ceased. Raven lunged, kicking with as much force and speed as she could muster. He tried to soften the blow by bracing his arm against his head, but Raven was as strong as a horse and her bones were hard as stone.
She felt the crack of his bones as she made impact, allowing herself a slight smile. It faded when, less than a second later, he stabbed into the back of her foot. Jerking her leg away, she stumbled back, hopping on one leg until she fell on her ass.
“I told you!” Alyssa screamed. She had gotten up during the struggle and was now hiding somewhere Raven couldn’t see. “We have to kill him now! There’s no way we can—”
“Fuck you!” Camilla raged. “I’ve sacrificed too much! This is my best chance, and I won’t let some—Fuck it!”
Camilla shot one more furious glare at Damien, blinding him for a moment, then unceremoniously dropped the manuscript and rushed him. She had the Knife drawn, its straight, silver edge gleaming with power.
Damien tried to stop her, but with ruined legs and a shattered arm, there wasn’t much he could do against even a girl as light and untrained as Camilla. The Knife plunged into his chest with a muted thud. He fell backwards, Camilla along with him. The wound began to shine with golden light as Camilla channeled all her remaining essence through her weapon. The Painting, upon which they lay, began to glow with a vibrant blue.
Then Camilla began to chant.
Pain could be ignored. Fear could be contained. But death? Death was not so tame. I’d lost too much blood. My limbs were destroyed, my organs had started to shut down, and my brain was rattled. That knife through my ribs just happened to be the last straw.
Maybe Julien was right. Justice caught up to me after all. Maybe hiding really was just delaying the inevitable. I’d be willing to bet this wasn’t how he figured it’d happen, though. If he did ... he knew a lot more than he let on.
Magic ... bah. But what else would you call a girl who kicks like she was six times her weight class, and another who shoots lasers out of her skull?
Maybe I had already died, and this was all some long, weird dream. It felt wrong to call this an afterlife. I knew death, I’d met it in another life and escaped it. And now I could feel it where I hadn’t just moments before.
As I fell on my back with a half-naked blonde straddling me and shoving a blade into my lungs, I could feel the cold fingers of death cradle me. My sight failed. My hearing failed. I could feel nothing, taste nothing, smell nothing. There was a sort of peace in this moment just before the end.
In the stillness, a half-forgotten memory returned to me. Of a hole where there should be a house. A meadow where there should be a wood. A valley where there should be a mountain. A fancy wooden table. A man in chains across from me. He said ... something. Gibberish, or maybe words in some language I didn’t know. All I remembered about him was that he was black. Not brown like human skin, but rather like the night sky away from city lights. Like that gap between stars. He was the color of nothingness.
And now I was back in that house that wasn’t a house. Sitting at an otherwise empty table.
“All souls, no matter their source, come through my country twice,” said the woman who could not have been there, sat across from me. Her voice a purr soft as silk. “You’re a greedy one, to have come thrice now, without so much as an invitation.”
She was wet and sticky, sitting sideways across a throne of bone-white wood and crimson cushions. She wore smoke and the haze of memory, but they didn’t do much to hide her crimson body or her three pairs of bountiful breasts.
“Finding it hard to speak, little mouse?” she asked, tongue flicking out of her plump lips. “I suppose that makes sense. You’re no sleepwalker, after all. Just chum to draw in the sharks.”
Jet-black horns, large and curled backward in a semi-circle, grew from where her eyes should have been, inlaid with intricate filigree patterns. Her easy smile was sharp as she took a swig of her wooden chalice which she lazily held with a clawed hand, letting golden ichor spill from the corners of her mouth.
“You’re bad bait, though,” she said, taking a sip of her chalice. “Quite a bit of yellow; a bit of blue; a pinch of green. Mostly black, but that’s not the color this pattern calls for. I think they tried to consume the black to enliven their yellow. A bungled offering, this.”
She kicked at the air playfully and hummed. Her feet were talons, like those of a bird of prey, at the end of powerful, gray-scaled legs.
“I think they wanted to call a Glorious Shard. Probably a minor one. What was it you mortals called them...? Trumpeters? Annoying, proud and ornery creatures. I doubt it would’ve gone well, had they managed it.”
Her furred tail swung hypnotically left and right, occasionally twirling around one of the throne’s legs. Her taut stomach split open horizontally, revealing a yawning maw filled with black, dagger-like protrusions that led into a gullet swallowed by darkness no light could dispel.
“Luckily, I happened to be in the neighborhood...” Her smile widened, revealing rows upon rows of shark’s teeth. “ ... or perhaps not so luckily. Say, would you like to play a game, little mouse?”
I couldn’t speak.
“It’s fine, you don’t really have a choice.” She disappeared from view when I blinked.
When I blinked again, she was behind me, hugging my head into her soft chest. Her tail softly entwined itself with my arm, and she rested her chin on the crown of my head. I could feel her belly-mouth breathing against my bare back, licking it.
“The rules are simple. I will give you a pinch of my power. Enough that you would seem a god to your paltry kidnappers, but not infinite. Far from it. It will be quite limited. I will be accounting for every single drop.”
She caressed my face with a soft hand, inserting two clawed fingers into my mouth, forcing it open.
“You will be able to work miracles, recall lore, contest with magics beyond your understanding ... so long as you don’t run out. The moment you do, I’ll give you a little ... margin call. Do you know what that is? Look it up. It’s a wonderful concept your folk created, concerning loans. But suffice to say, you don’t want that to happen. You have nothing to offer which you haven’t already given me.”
She pressed her chalice against my lips, gently easing the golden liquid down my throat.
“But how do you win, then? A game which is better not played is not fun at all. Ah, but you will want to play. For I offer you not only power, but the opportunity to earn your own. To beg, borrow and steal your way to apotheosis. If you ever manage to collect thrice times thrice the amount of power I give you and contain it within yourself at one time, you will win the game. And I will not reap your soul. Doesn’t that sound fun, little mouse? Exciting? Oh, I look forward to gorging on the marvelous canvas you will create.”
The golden sheen of the liquid had been an illusion. It tasted red. Like blood and guts and bile. It kept pouring into my mouth as if the chalice was bottomless. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t gag. I was drowning in the red. But then I could breathe again. Chains wrapped themselves around me like a comfortable hug, and black began to choke out all other colors, even the red. And as it did, it grew darker.
“Impressive. Though you’ve never walked my country while awake, you were marked by it once upon a time. Your soul churns with the power of the Absolute, who so loves the taste of Succulent red. You might make for a good pet, if you survive. Don’t disappoint me, little mouse.”
I was no stranger to pain, but what I felt when I returned from that country with no name was beyond pain. It was backwards and inside out. The pain of mending, of reshaping. I could feel all my broken bones crack back into place and meld together.
My bruises turned into impacts and then nothing. My cuts closed as if a blade was rending my flesh in reverse. My lungs sucked in air from the hole left in them, and the dagger piercing my flesh slid out on its own. My blood snaked from everywhere it should not be back into my veins.
I wasn’t healed, no, I was... un-hurt.
And along with my body, my mind too was put back together. I remembered a couple dozen versions of what had happened just outside the bar. First, I just left the bar. Raven tried to call after me, having emerged from the alley, but I ignored her.
Then I was back in front of the bar. I started walking away, but Raven ran up to me from the alley. She tried to say something, but I shook her off and went on my way.
Then I was back in front of the bar. I heard a scream from the alley. I ignored it and went home.
Then I was back in front of the bar ... and on, and on, and on. Each time, Raven did something slightly different, but so did I. Her attacker only started showing up about halfway through the attempts. He seemed to be reset in the same way I was, so he was most likely just a victim himself.
After a dozen go-arounds, I would start collapsing to my knees, heaving whenever a new loop started. My decision-making was being affected by Raven’s many different actions, but also ... something else. The magic was wearing me down in ways I couldn’t have understood before. There was a metaphysical layer to it, where with each iteration my thoughts became a little less controlled. A little more of me slipped from under the mask.
And eventually, I ended up here. Raven, in her frustration, had upturned a me that I’d worked very hard to keep buried.
Will you show her the consequence of her incaution, little mouse?
I took a deep breath and sat up, pushing a large weight off my chest. A woman shrieked. The blonde, presumably Camilla, quickly repositioned herself. She’d been ... straddling me? Ah, right, she stabbed me.
My eyes flitted about the room. Camilla, sitting next to me, watched my face, dagger in hand. Alyssa, probably our screamer, looked horrified and was inching toward the door as if afraid moving quickly would trigger a response. Raven was on her ass, cradling her bleeding foot, with the bloody carving knife beside her.
None of them had said that. No, that voice had come from another place. Simultaneously closer and farther away.
You’re in my head. It was the horned woman from the unhouse. I knew it in my bones.
It’s quite spacious in here. She giggled. But don’t get used to it. I am a busy girl, after all. I’ll check in on you occasionally, do not worry. But do try to be entertaining.
I felt strong. Stronger than ever. I felt like I could wish for anything and make it reality. The demoness’ magic—it must be. There was an opportunity here. I could work with this.
You said that they were calling something, right? How would that work? And what are beings that ‘churn with the power of the Absolute’ called? What are they like?
Clever little mouse. The demoness tutted. Trying to weasel answers free of charge. Call upon my power, if you wish to learn. Make a wish for your heart’s desire, and it will be yours. Do be careful though, the greater the knowledge bestowed, the greater the cost. We wouldn’t want our game to end too quickly, would we?
I resisted clicking my tongue. Then I wished for knowledge and my wish was granted. Their ritual was most likely a minor rite of channeling which sought to call a Shard into a corpse for it to inhabit; the denizens of the country of sleep called those beings Absolute Shards, and mortal men called them Tyrants; they were being of control, order, restraint, and obeisance.
I felt a great drain in my supply. It was like I’d just run a mile at full tilt.
This knowledge is hidden only because mortals are blind, deaf and dumb. But it is hidden, so it is priced at a premium. You must learn not to ask dull questions, little mouse. It is your first time, however, so I’ll forgive you this once.
I smiled wickedly as I slowly rose to my feet. It was costly, but worth it. What I’d gained, I could work with.
Camilla scrambled away, out of the now dimmed pattern on the floor. Alyssa froze in place, but looked ready to bolt. Raven watched me with disbelieving eyes.
It was time for a grand performance. I could feel the demoness’ curiosity pique as I slipped into my newborn mask.
Camilla had succeeded. She had called an entity from the country of sleep into reality! Oh, how she wished she still had her sight, so she could witness the Trumpeter in all its Glory, but she’d spent all of herself in the ritual. There was hardly any light at all left behind her eyes, and certainly not enough to see true.
It was still dangerous, of course, but the book had said that the protective sigils on the Painting would prove a great obstacle for such minor entities which could inhabit a corpse. The ritual was its own failsafe, in that way, as nothing too dangerous could cross over in soul alone. It would’ve been better to have Raven and Alyssa at full strength just in case, but Camilla merely needed to ensure there was no such case.
“O Glorious One, I greet—”
A grumbling laugh, like faraway thunder growing closer, rose from the dead man’s throat. Then it stomped with inhuman strength, shattering the concrete floor beneath him and, more crucially, the Painting.
A rustle came from behind Camilla, and she turned around just in time to see Alyssa try to open the door before yelping and jerking backwards in a panic. The knob glowed white with heat and hissed like suddenly boiling water.
“There is no Glory here,” the man-faced monster said with a sneer. “There is only power. Absolute power.”
Oh no.
Alyssa’s whining sobs communicated her uselessness. Raven was frozen, watching the walking corpse with wide, admiring eyes. Neither would be helpful. The Glorious Path was supposed to supersede the Absolute Path—how had the ritual gone so wrong?!
All Camilla could count on was the Knife. It should be attuned to Glory now, and yellow-hued, though she had no way of checking at the moment. It should be able to harm the entity. Camilla hoped she wouldn’t have to find out.
“There shall be no sorrow, no regret.” The being stepped forward, bypassing whatever protections remained as though they weren’t there. “Cease your weeping, for your Master is kindly and understanding.” Its mean smile did not bear out such self-assessment. “Submit, prostrate yourselves before me, and devote yourselves to my works that you may sup on the runoff. Or be made to kneel with shattered legs. Such is your choice. Is your Master not gracious, for giving you one at all?”
The being’s presence was heavy. Camilla could feel the unnatural pressure of its power pressing against her soul. It pressed her down. It wanted her on her knees. It wanted to crush her under its heel. What could she do? How could she defeat such a thing, with so little at her disposal?
Alyssa let out a whining, despairing yowl as she tried to make herself small against the wall and cradled her burned hand against her chest. A pathetic coward, but what else could have been expected from her? Even if she had all her essence, Alyssa would’ve thrown in the towel instantly.
The monster chuckled, but before it could respond, Raven rose to her feet. Camilla foolishly let herself hope that she wasn’t as spineless as her other cohort. That turned out to be too much to hope for from Raven, of all people.
The girl immediately threw herself at the corpse’s feet. She looked all but ready to lick them.
“Master, I am yours!” Raven shouted. “Give me my wish, and I’ll give you anything—everything!”
That distracted the spirit from Camilla and Alyssa entirely. It turned to Raven and walked over to her, lightly stepping on her head and pushing her forehead against the concrete.
“Your wish...?” the being asked.
“Yes, I want—”
“I know your wish, little moth.” It ground its heel against her head, scraping her skin against the rough concrete and opening a gash on her forehead. “Your yearning reveals itself to me. You wish to be... more. More than you are. More than any believe you could be. Rise.”
As the monster removed its foot from Raven’s head, Camilla noticed that Alyssa had started inching toward the door again. If she managed to open it, a tactical retreat wasn’t out of the question.
Raven rose to a kneeling position, smiling gleefully. The traitor was completely mesmerized by the summoned spirit. While Camilla wasn’t above scrounging for power, the fact that they had summoned a being of the Absolute Path was the worst possible outcome. Its kind’s enmity toward the Sun Unsetting was among the first mysteries that she had learned when walking her path.
The spirit wiped the blood from Raven’s forehead wound with its fingers, then licked them clean. “Ragged blood from a ragged soul. Is that what you wish? Change eternal? Or do you have an image in mind? You do not yet know. This is acceptable; you are but mortal.” It gently grabbed her chin, tilting her gaze toward his face. “You need not choose now. You need not struggle any longer. I am here. I am your shelter. I am your sword. I am your Master. Believe in me. Worship me. And I’ll save you. What say you?”
Camilla’s eyes shifted to Alyssa, though she was careful not to move her head. Alyssa was at the door, turning the knob ever so slowly, ever so silently. And just like that, the door was open.
“Yes,” Raven said, bouncing on her heels, completely unable to contain her enthusiasm. “Yes! Yes! Anything, Master! Everything!”
Alyssa eased the door open, trying her best not to make any sound. Both of them knew that the piece of shit door was extremely creaky.
“Then, as your first task,” the spirit said, “capture your runaway sister.”
The corpse lifted its arm, finger pointing accusingly at Alyssa. The girl froze for a split second, but regained her senses immediately and bolted out the door before closing it behind herself.
The bitch!
Before Camilla could attempt to follow, all of the spirit’s oppressive presence crashed into her soul. Her limbs became paralyzed even as her heartbeat skyrocketed. An all-consuming fear struck her mind, blanking her thoughts as they were replaced by the conflicting needs of hiding, screaming, running, fighting and more, all at once. The best she could do was tremblingly place the Knife between herself and the corpse.
Raven was under no such compulsion. She dashed past Camilla, bashing down the door with a strong kick before hurrying up the basement stairs after Alyssa.
“It’s just us now,” the being said, approaching a shivering Camilla, whose only act of defiance left was to frown. “Little lamp, whatever shall I do with you?”
Camilla swallowed. She had to think of something, and fast.
The creature brought a hand to her face. Its fingers were rough, but the touch was gentler than she expected. With its other hand, it grabbed the blade of the Knife and squeezed, drawing blood.
“I’ve been waiting for this moment,” it whispered, drawing its borrowed body closer to hers. “For this perfect time to strike.”
Camilla shivered as it brought its face close to hers. She could feel its hot breath. If she didn’t know better, she’d mistake it for human.
“I’ve been watching you for a long time. It’s such a pity that when the time came, I was away, and you chose wrong.”
What is it doing? What does it mean?
“But no mistake is unforgivable, so long as the one who made it is sufficiently penitent.” It gently brushed the hair out of her face. “You were supposed to be mine, little lamp. I saw you first. I’ve been watching you since before you showed your potential to the world. I knew what you would become, but my enemies conspired to steal you from me. I will not allow it.”
It pulled her lips dangerously close to its own, but did not join them. Camilla breathlessly exhaled. She hadn’t expected this. Of all the things that could’ve happened, to learn that the spirit she summoned had been watching her was by far the strangest. A plan began to take shape in her mind.
“You’ve been ... watching me?”
“Watching, coveting, admiring.” It ran its fingers through her long blonde hair. “A diamond lost in mud. Still dirty, very rough. Such flaws are easily fixed, however, with careful faceting. Much more difficult is finding one worthy of such investment. Losing you would have been a grievous blow.”
By some stroke of fate, a spirit had recognized her worth and grown enamored with her. It seemed obsessed with owning her. She could work with this.
“Let me be your guiding star,” the spirit whispered sweetly. “I’m the only one who can see you. I’m the only one who can love all of you. Rely on me. Give me your desire, and I will set you free.”
She’d need to play her role perfectly. Spirits were capricious, by all accounts, and a slip here would mean death—or worse. But if this one wanted to give her power in exchange for something as paltry as her beauty and attention ... then who was she to complain? Selling love was already her business, after all. This would be her ultimate challenge.
“What say you?” it whispered, lips brushing against hers.
With a performance worthy of an Academy Award, Camilla tremblingly let go of the Knife, and the spirit allowed it to clatter onto the ground. It put a bloodied hand against the small of her back, staining her white bathrobe red, and gently pulled her closer to itself.
Rather than answer with words, she simply kissed him, passionately entwining her tongue with his own. This was her first step toward victory, and it tasted like TRIUMPH.
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