Chapter 2: Secret Garden

Fortunately, the strange absence of traffic and pedestrians had quickly abated, Ryan finding the usual bustle of the city almost as soon as he had left his block. He had been starting to feel as if he had been cast, alone, into some deserted alternate reality. There was anonymity in a crowd, safety. He felt certain that his pursuers would not summon demons in the middle of a crowded street.

Still, he was on edge. His eyes darted about nervously, wary of anyone who might be wearing a police uniform. He heard the sound of sirens when he was waiting at a red light, his heart pounding in his chest as his hand crept towards his rucksack where the gun was hidden. He released a long sigh of relief as an ambulance passed him by, off to some unrelated accident in the city no doubt.

He knew the route to the forest well, he had traveled it many times before, and after a short drive he was pulling up on the outskirts of the woodland. There were a few parking lots scattered about nearby, but he didn’t want to draw any attention to himself. Someone pulling up at a national park past midnight was unlikely to have honorable motives. It was common knowledge that junkies and homeless people liked to frequent the forests, but it seemed that the presence of the Seirim had driven most of them out. Ironically, being infested with demons had made the park safer than it had been in decades, the myths and rare sightings spooking the vagrants and drug pushers.

Ryan drove his car up onto an embankment, turning off the engine and stepping out. He did his best to cover it with fallen leaves and sticks, trying to conceal its silver gleam from any passers-by. It wasn’t so much that he was worried about it being stolen, more that he feared it would draw his enemies to him. If they knew where he lived, then they would probably recognize his car too. If they were as deeply embedded in the police force as they seemed to be, then they might even have his license plates on file.

Satisfied that his vehicle would be fairly hard to spot from the road, he set off into the treeline. There was an eerie quality to these woods now, and Ryan had to wonder if it was a placebo effect or if the presence of the Seirim tribe really was altering the environment. It seemed greener, lusher than the last time he had visited. There was more moss on the trees, more vines creeping along the ground and more colorful flowers sprouting everywhere that he looked. Even at night, the air was full of insects. Giant moths and fireflies floated about on the breeze, coalescing nearby as if to welcome him to their domain. He heard the hoot of an owl, looking up into one of the trees as he passed and seeing a pair of reflective eyes tracking him from a high branch.

He knew where he was going, he just had to follow the marks on the tree trunks that he had carved there himself a few weeks prior. There were sigils all over the place, all part of his scheme to feed new energy to Azazel and to free the Seirim from their bonds of servitude.

Ryan fiddled with the black ring on his finger, wondering if Nahash was safe and when she might manifest again. When Haures had been slain, the demon had burst into a smear of smoky ink, just like when Nahash had been temporarily dissipated by the shotgun blast. He was confident that she would return, but how much of her energy had she expended during the fight?

A strange mist seemed to hang over the ground in a thick blanket as he neared the clearing where he knew the Seirim tribe to reside. It was the heart of the forest, where all of the magickal energy collected. The fog grew thicker, seeming to form an opaque barrier. Was this how they kept unwanted intruders out?

It parted suddenly as if reacting to his presence, a sort of tunnel forming in the mist. He stepped through it, feeling a little apprehensive. He was on good terms with the Satyrs that inhabited the forest, but Nahash had always been with him on prior visits, she had always been able to curtail the wilder proclivities of her sisters. Even in Nahash’s presence, they had made attempts to seduce him. The demons fed on the sexual energy of the mortals that they lured, enticing them with drink and revelry.

As Ryan stepped into the clearing, the mist disappeared, leaving a crisp, clear sky above his head that was dotted with bright stars. The forest here had changed dramatically since the last time he had seen it. The bare earth where he had drawn the summoning circle with salt was now covered in lush, green grass that rose to his knees. There were flowering weeds everywhere, foxgloves and daisies, ivy and bright purple thistles. The trees were coated in creepers that were also blooming with brightly colored flowers, forming an almost solid wall that ringed the newly formed meadow. There were thorns and bushes too, the barrier looked quite impenetrable to wandering hikers and curious mystery hunters.

He turned to look behind him, seeing that the mist had been shrouding a kind of tunnel of foliage that served as the entrance. He hadn’t even noticed on his way in, it had all been rendered invisible by the rolling fog.

When he turned around again, there was a gaggle of Seirim standing in front of him, their amber eyes staring intently as they jostled for space. He did his best to hide his surprise. He felt naked without Nahash, vulnerable. But as long as he kept his wits about him, these creatures wouldn’t cause him any problems. They were friendly and well-meaning if a little rowdy.

“Ryan!” the one at the head of the pack exclaimed, batting her long lashes at him. “You’ve come to visit!”

“Ryan is back!” her sisters chorused, peering over one another to get a look at him. They very much resembled Nahash, nude save for their white wool, their heads crowned with twisted horns whose shape and number were as unique as a fingerprint. They seemed to sense his dour mood, cocking their heads at him.

“Where is Nahash?” one of them asked, the others muttering and whispering as they echoed the sentiment.

“I ... don’t know,” he admitted. “Something attacked us, a demon, and she disappeared. Azazel saved me, but I haven’t seen Nahash for hours. She hasn’t reformed yet.”

Immediately the Seirim closed in around him, the buxom creatures boxing him in and reaching out to stroke him with their clawed hands. They ran their fingers through his hair, patted his back, resting their hands on his shoulders as they cooed sympathetically.

“Poor Ryan, poor Ryan,” they muttered in concert. They took him by the arms, guiding him over towards the center of the clearing. Where a moment ago there had been a meadow of green grass, now there was a roaring bonfire, as if it had been conjured through some sleight of hand trick. He felt its warmth as he neared it, the crackling flames sending their glowing embers floating up into the sky. The group of Satyrs sat him down on a nest of plush pillows a short distance from the stones that ringed it, dry and comfortable despite the dew and condensation that wet the grass. A couple of them sat beside him, their longs legs trailing off into the foliage, treating him as if he were distraught and inconsolable.

In reality, he wasn’t. The immediate danger had passed, and although he was worried about Nahash, he was confident that it was just a matter of time before she materialized again.

He had to keep his wits about him, these Seirim could be mischievous and tricky if one allowed themselves to be led around by the nose. One of them emerged from the group holding a steaming mug between her hands, as much a bowl as a cup, made from some kind of resin or clay.

“Drink this,” she said, “it will warm you.”

The sisters that were sat to either side of him were rubbing his back and shoulders as if trying to stave off a cold that wasn’t really there. It was a cool night, but the temperature wasn’t nearly low enough to be bothersome.

“Poor Ryan has been left without his bride,” the one to his left said, “we must comfort him until she returns.”

They placed the bowl of warm liquid in his hands, he could feel its heat through the clay. He gave it a tentative sniff, noting the presence of various herbs and spices.

“What is this?” he asked skeptically, “soup?”

“Yes, aren’t you cold?” one of them replied. It was more of a suggestion than a question, and Ryan began to feel a little drowsy. He had been with Nahash long enough to pick up on the sensation of having his mind messed with, the Seirim were attempting to influence his senses.

He began to shiver, the temperature seeming to plummet until he could see his breath misting, sparkling frost covering the blades of grass that surrounded him. The warmth of the fire seemed to fade as if it was receding away from him. It wasn’t real of course, it was all the Seirim’s doing, and he willed his eyes to look past this mirage.

The frost faded like a blind spot in his eyes, one of the Seirim that was draping her long arm across his shoulders grumbling in disappointment.

“Relax Ryan, be at ease. Won’t you let us comfort you?”

There was another wave of dizziness as the demons pooled their powers, the vision and the sensation of cold growing clearer and stronger. Icicles clung to the branches of the trees that ringed the clearing, the once roaring bonfire now nothing but a pile of ash and cinders, the chill air stabbing at his exposed skin like tiny knives. He leaned towards the nearest Seirim instinctively, trying to escape the cold, and she took him in her arms.

Much as Nahash liked to do, she sank her fingers into his hair and pulled his face into the soft wool of her chest, just above her generous bust. She stroked softly, cooing, her warmth and softness hypnotizing. She smelled so good, earthy and fruity as if she had used the berries and flowers of their forest enclave to create a sweet perfume. It was intoxicating, Ryan breathing in lungfuls of the scent as her fur tickled his nose.

The second Seirim pressed against him from behind, her large breasts squashing against his back, the supple flesh cascading over his shoulders as she joined her sister in their embrace. The air was frigid, and the warm bodies of the Satyrs were his only refuge. He rubbed his cheeks against the delicate fur as he his face sank into it, so deep and welcoming. More of the demons crowded him on the plush cushions, warm, inviting bodies shielding him from the cold.

They were so kind, so concerned for his well-being, doting him on him as he felt smooth skin and feathery wool envelop him. It seemed as if the entire tribe had joined him on the cushions, the warmth that they radiated making him sleepy and compliant. One of them was stroking his hair while another massaged his shoulders, kneading the stress out of his muscles as he leaned back against her.

There were a dozen roving hands on his body now, stroking and cradling, slipping beneath his clothes. He exhaled a plume of condensation along with a sigh, feeling someone pull the collar of his shirt aside and plant a lingering kiss in the nape of his neck. He couldn’t seem to see what was happening, as if he had extreme tunnel vision. All he was able to do was focus on the sensations that were assailing him, amplified as if he was wearing a blindfold.

Someone pressed the clay cup against his lips, and he allowed the warm liquid to pour into his mouth. It tasted wonderful, ambrosial, the soupy concoction setting his nerves aflame with the flavors of sweet berries and tangy fruits. He felt it slide down his throat, pooling in his belly as it warmed him from the inside.

One of the blurry figures leaned in to whisper in his ear, her musical voice husky and sensual.

“Isn’t it nice to be here with us? Why don’t you lie down, are you not exhausted from your ordeal?”

Now that she mentioned it, he was exhausted. His muscles began to ache as a sudden fatigue swept over him such that he couldn’t even muster the strength to sit upright. He lay back, finding the soft lap of a Seirim waiting for him, her hands cradling his head as it sank into her doughy thighs. She stroked his cheeks, her palms as soft as silk, so impossibly gentle and caring. She loomed over him, her features fuzzy and out of focus, her glowing eyes standing out against the dark silhouette.

Someone was sliding their hands beneath his shirt, caressing his belly and chest with their dull claws, the sensation sending a pleasant shiver rolling up his spine.

“W-Wait,” he mumbled, “I have to wait for Nahash...”

“Our sister will find you again in time,” one of them whispered, “for now let us soothe you.”

Yes, soothing, that sounded nice. Another wave of confusion rolled over him, his mind becoming more and more clouded. It was hard to think, hard to concentrate on anything. He couldn’t really remember where he was or what he had been doing anymore. When he tried to call up the memories, they slipped through his fingers like sand.

He felt someone grab his wrist, bringing his hand towards them and pressing it against what felt like a yielding globe of flesh. It was a breast, the skin as smooth as glass and warm to the touch, his fingers sinking deep into the fat as a hard nipple pricked his palm.

Someone nibbled his ear softly, catching it between their teeth, their warm breath washing over him. Another kissed his neck, mouthing gently as his spine arched off the comfortable cushions. They were closing in around him, cocooning him in burnished skin and curly wool. A hand brushed the firmness that was rising beneath his pants, teasing it through the fabric, a burst of tingling pleasure coursing through him as they squeezed.

Something warm and wet glanced his cheek, a tongue, long and sinuous. It left a smear of saliva, and he blinked through his clouded vision to see that one of the figures had leaned in close. Her soft, puffy lips pressed against his, delivering a tentative peck. Her taste lingered, it was mouth-watering, as if she was wearing lip balm the flavor of passion fruit. She hovered there, waiting, Ryan unable to help himself as he leaned forward in search of more.

He heard chuckling and seductive mumbling, the words somehow clear in their lurid intent despite how hard it was to make them out. He found those exquisite lips again, this time parting his own as he embraced the Seirim, feeling her tapered tongue slip into his mouth. Their organs entwined, more of that wonderful taste filling his head, her slippery tongue coiling around his own with a toe-curling finesse. Her saliva was syrupy and sweet, almost as if she was sharing a mouthful of honey with him, her tongue gliding across his inner cheeks and probing his throat as it explored him.

Despite Ryan being locked in a sordid embrace, her sisters did not relent, sucking at his ears and lightly biting his exposed neck and shoulders. There were so many of them, his eyelids fluttering as he was assailed by a storm of sensation, setting his nerves alight as their kissing and fawning chipped away at his resolve.

He had been resisting, hadn’t he? Why? He couldn’t remember anymore. What might compel him to refuse this warmth and pleasure? He felt drunk, as if in a stupor, the whole affair had an oddly dreamlike quality.

The Seirim broke off her salacious kiss, a foot of her pink, slippery tongue sliding out of his head along with a strand of saliva. She nuzzled, brushing her head against his face like a cat, sighing and humming contentedly. The others seemed to take that as some kind of signal, and he felt oversized hands fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. They exposed his chest to the frigid air, but soon their warm digits were all over him, tracing the contours of his body as they explored. He could feel every glance and stroke, it was maddening, as if a dozen masseuses were fighting for space.

They crawled slowly lower, working their way towards his belt line. An impulse pierced the numbing haze that was hanging over his brain, telling him that he should stop them. Why? It would feel good, wouldn’t it? He tried to grasp the memories associated with that impulse, but they were so intangible, ephemeral. In a moment it was gone again.

The group of Seirim succeeded in freeing him from the confines of his clothes, his member bouncing free into the cold air, pulsing in time with the pounding of his heart as their golden eyes turned on it greedily. He was still so comfortable, the pillows beneath his body made him feel like he was floating on a cloud. The luxurious cushion of the thighs that were supporting his head entranced him, as soft as marshmallows, lulling him into a deep relaxation.

“Relax,” one of them whispered in her comely voice, “let us take care of you.”

It was so damned cold, he wanted nothing more than to plunge his growing erection into something warm. As if sensing his desire one of them leaned down, breathing hot air on its sensitive tip and making him throb in anticipation. It was killing him, he had never felt so needy before...

“Poor boy,” one of them whispered, pausing to nibble his earlobe. “We will ease your tension.”

He was so far gone, they were toying with his senses and emotions like he was no more than a puppet on a string. He was aware of it on some level, dull and distant, but he couldn’t muster enough sense to fight it. Another pair of soft lips locked him in a lascivious kiss, smacking wetly, the Seirim moaning quietly as she filled his mouth. He lapsed again, forgetting why he was supposed to be resisting, overcome by the flurry of licks from her skilled tongue.

He heard a sound like two tree branches being knocked together, looking down as the Seirim released him from her embrace, seeing that the clattering was coming from two Satyrs locking horns above his groin. They seemed to be fighting over who got to go first, battling one another like a pair of stags vying for the right to mate.

The loser backed off, and the winner took his shaft in her hand triumphantly, her warmth penetrating him to the core. He couldn’t help but loose a low moan, much to the excitement of the Satyrs, their ovine ears twitching at the sound and their glowing eyes brightening. She began to stroke, slowly at first, gliding her fingers up and down his length as he twitched and writhed in her sister’s cushy lap. She still held his head in her hands, stroking his hair, the sensations complementing one another wonderfully.

Ryan lurched as he felt a pair of large, soft lips kiss the tip of his member, the sensation shooting up through his body like an electric shock. They were so warm and smooth, sliding over his glans and encompassing it, sucking gently as he writhed in the clutches of the demons. Her sisters held him down, gently but securely, their hands pinning his wrists and ankles to the silken cushions. The one that was cradling his head continued her stroking, placating, as if trying to keep him calm.

He loosed a gasp as he felt the Seirim’s long, dexterous tongue curl around his shaft like a snake. It wound around his length, her slick, smooth flesh like wet silk as it set his nerves on fire with pleasure. She had such fine control over it, flexing the damp muscle to squeeze and stroke with all the finesse of a hand.

Keeping her lips sealed around the head, she used the length of her tongue to lick and tease, the long organ moving almost independently. It was like an animal in its own right. Ryan writhed and groaned, his throbbing erection trapped inside a prison made of slimy flesh, its warmth contrasting starkly with the cold air. Her viscous saliva rolled down his member in globs, making their contact wonderfully slippery and wet.

The Seirim was greedy, eager, her pace almost inconsiderate as she sucked and licked ardently. She was like a vacuum cleaner, drawing him into her mouth with a powerful suction as if trying to tear off his member at the root. She slid her lips slowly down his shaft, taking him deeper into her mouth, the pressure making his erection ache as it jumped and pulsed against her tight cheeks. The coiling of her obscene tongue never relented, wringing him in its tight grasp, dragging from the base to the tip as she milked him like a cow.

It was so intense that it very nearly hurt, but not quite, his blood pooling in his member to make it throb in her mouth. A bead of precome welled at the tip, and she lapped at it eagerly, as if his fluids were some kind of rare and delicious liqueur. The taste seemed to encourage her, and she gripped the base of his shaft in both hands, holding him as if fearing that he might escape her grasp. The flurry of licks grew even faster and harsher, his toes curling as she tormented him.

Far from being a sex act performed solely for his benefit by a considerate lover, she was working him over like a machine, intent on finishing him as quickly as possible. She kneaded and squeezed, the satin texture of her inner cheeks sliding against his tender skin where it wasn’t covered by her tongue, all of the sensations combining to wipe his mind clean of anything but his animal lust. He didn’t have time to ponder, he couldn’t muster the brain power to think about his situation. All of his faculties were occupied by the swells of burning pleasure that were making him their plaything.

Her soft, puffy lips finally kissed his belly, the Satyr taking him all the way into her mouth. His glans bumped against the back of her throat, his member bending slightly as she drew him deeper, the muscles of her gullet spasming and contracting as she swallowed around it. Her tongue constricted him like an angry anaconda, her soft cheeks closing around his shaft as she applied more suction.

Ryan had never experienced such a sensation before, a pleasure so completely out of his control, indifferent to his limitations and his desires. The Seirim were having their way with him, and he was merely along for the ride. Again something from the dark recesses of his brain told him that this wasn’t right, that he should stop them, but it was quickly drowned out by a chorus of licks and kisses.