A Lover's Bounty

(This story contains adult themes, including sex, violence, and suicidal behavior.)

The duo of lovely musicians danced at the back of the wooden stage near the tavern’s front door, their instruments creating a backdrop to the boisterous racket of the drunken late-night crowd with a fast, mellifluous melody. One sawed furiously at her vielle while the other, who could have been her twin sister, happily worked her fife with luscious lips. Despite the flamboyance and musical talent of the young dark-haired girls who were lightly adorned in cloth garments that hid little of their tan skin, Nala was the focus of every pair of eyes in the room. The callipygian woman—draped only in thin strips of blue silk—flaunted her alluring body as she spun on her heels and performed pirouettes that jiggled her full, rounded breasts. As she danced and twirled, her black ponytail snapped this way and that, brushing the dark skin of her bare shoulders and swishing back and forth across the bewitching features of her beauteous face.

The crimson discs of her almond eyes surveyed the crowd as she danced and dipped and exhibited her flexibility and sensual agility. Each man whose eyes she met stared back at her with a lascivious gaze that slithered up and down her slender but shapely form. She reveled in the sea of lust that emanated from the horde of flush-cheeked spectators. The serving girls, too, cast furtive glances her way as they navigated the maze of packed mahogany tables. So many delicious choices. Nala’s cheeks burned with the delightful thought. A yearning smile split her ruby lips and displayed a perfect row of white teeth.

Her breaths came quick and ragged from exertion, though she imagined her intense desires on their own surely would have elicited a similar response. She licked her lips and rolled her tongue over her teeth with anticipation. She had not fed in days, and she was ever-so-hungry.

She weighed her options carefully as she danced and drew upon the air that smelled of beer and wine and freshly cooked meat. There were a number of men teeming with youth and lust who looked ready and willing to deliver deeply fulfilling performances that would work her to breathlessness, and one of the serving girls looked so innocent and shy that Nala considered seducing her for the sheer thrill of the hunt. But there was one man in particular who had captured her attention.

He was handsome, but not excessively so, for he was an older man with a weathered face. A peppered gray beard, little more than stubble, and split on the left cheek by a lengthy, pale scar, encircled his pallid lips, and his long hair was tied an unkempt bun. What truly interested her was his white and gold tabard—the tabard of a church knight. She enjoyed seducing a man of the church almost as much as she did a man of the blade. To have both in one, the thought made her skin tingle and her blood boil. And there was a hollowness in his sunken eyes that gripped her as firmly as a corset. It bespoke of a festering sadness, deep and unfathomable. Though she took what she wanted, she always reciprocated with a gift of her own, and this man appeared as though he would have a special appreciation for that gift.

When the song ended, thus concluding her final performance and completing her end of the bargain with the tavern keeper, for which he had promised one of his bedrooms for the night, Nala gave a deep bow that emphasized the fullness of her wares. Her chest heaved as she worked to catch her breath, but her smile never left her lips, and the intensity in her red eyes did not fade. When she straightened and hopped down from the waxed wooden stage, she traversed the lively room toward the older man who had caught her eye. She delicately brushed shoulders and cheeks with her hands as she waded through the throng of drunken spectators, and gave small yelps and giggles to the deviants who dared to smack or grab her rear as she passed.

The man watched her from his corner table as she worked through the room, and she watched him, studying him with a smile that disguised her wariness. Baring the semblance of a seasoned veteran, he was surely the type of man who would slay her in an instant if he knew her secret. But he looked calm and unperturbed, and the redness in his cheeks suggested that a generous night of drinking had stolen a slip of his wits. Yes, she decided, he was the perfect man for the night.

Nala plopped into a simple wooden chair across from the man and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table, and her chin on her knuckles. She met his inquiring cerulean eyes before letting her gaze wander over him. Beneath the gold-hemmed tabard, which was embroidered with a bright yellow rising sun, the man wore a riveted maille shirt that shimmered in the dancing lantern light of the ill-lit corner. Even beneath that maille shirt she could see the contours of bulging muscles. The shagreen-sheathed longsword that rested against the man’s chair pecked at her nerves, but she pretended not to notice it.

“Well now, what is a handsome knight like yourself doing drinking all alone and looking so dismal amongst such merriment?” Nala asked sweetly.

“A man’s troubles are his alone to bear,” the man replied gruffly and took a generous swig from his foamy mug. He exhaled in satisfaction as he slammed the mug back down, a splash of the frothy beer spilling onto the table.

Nala squinted as she looked into those unreadable blue eyes. For a brief moment she considered excusing herself and finding a simpler, less daunting companion, but she did so enjoy a challenge. Reeling with hunger, she decided to forgo any further small talk.

“Take me upstairs,” Nala commanded as she reached across the small table and began to stroke his hand with her fingernails. “I’ve a room just for us.”

“There are plenty of young lads here who would no doubt show you a better time,” the man declared then took another substantial swig from his mug. 

She took his hard, calloused hand and clasped it between hers. “It is not so chivalrous to make a woman beg, sir knight,” Nala purred. “Won’t you have me?”

The man sat quietly as he studied her, and for the briefest moment he let his eyes fall to her breasts before he bashfully looked away. “You mentioned a room, m’lady?”

Nala didn’t hesitate to burst forth from her chair, which grated loudly against the rough wooden floor as it was cast aside, to jovially prance over to the man and begin pulling on his heavy arm, ushering him to his feet. Her sudden giddiness erupted from her in stifled chuckles. Coins spilled from the man’s hand onto the table with the sound of clinking and rolling metal as Nala continued to tug playfully on his arm. When he had snatched up his sword, he let the eager woman lead the way.

Countless envious gazes followed the pair as they crossed the room. Her bare feet thumped softly on the wooden floor planks, the man’s heavy boots drumming noisily behind her. When they reached the back of the room, they passed through a swinging door into a stucco-walled hallway. Leaning against the wall next to the kitchen door stood the tavern keeper, a short, plump man with a rounded nose and thinning hair. He slipped Nala a small brass key as she passed, a touch of jealousy and a heap of lust lingering in his beady brown eyes.

Key in hand, Nala paid the tavern keeper no further mind and dragged her man to the narrow stairway that led to the tavern keeper’s living quarters on the second floor. The wooden steps groaned and whined under their weight with each step as they ascended.

When they reached the second floor, Nala unlocked the plain oaken door blocking their path and pushed on the rough wooden slab with her shoulder. Its old hinges squealed as it opened. Her heart pounded as her eyes fell upon the second door on the right. She wetted her lips with her pink tongue. She could hardly contain her perverse desires. She was so very hungry.

When they reached the bedroom, Nala hurriedly slipped inside. There was little in the room to suggest it was used for anything but the occasional guest. A crudely painted landscape on cheap canvas hung on the wall over a pine dresser, and opposite of that lie an oaken bed, scarred and rough from years of abuse. The room was illuminated by a small lantern and by the weak rays of moonlight that peeked through the glass panes of the small window. The space was suitable enough, Nala supposed as she pulled the man into the bedroom behind her. The bed, after all, looked plenty sturdy and was large enough for two.

Nala closed the door so quickly behind the man that it nearly clipped his heel. With a quick turn of her wrist, the deadbolt snapped into place with a loud click. She was panting now, more from desire than exertion. Her cheeks and ears felt warm. She turned to face the man. The instant he had set aside his sword, she threw herself into his big arms, pressed her lips to his, and nimbly worked to unbuckle his belt.

Nala yelped as the man snatched her wrist with one big hand and grabbed her by the throat with the other. In a great whirling motion, the pair spun, and Nala grunted loudly as her back struck the beige stucco wall with a resounding thud. Desperately, she clawed at the hand that clutched her throat, but the man's grip was as firm as granite.

“Did you think I’d not know the very moment you cast yourself upon me, succubus?” the man asked angrily.

“I swear,” Nala muttered with a hindered voice, “I don’t kill. I—I take only—” she coughed and gasped for breath, “only a little life.” She coughed again. “A few days—a few months at most!”

“Suppose ‘tis true enough,” the man replied and relaxed his grip slightly, allowing Nala to draw a deep, shuddering breath. “I’d have heard of you otherwise. The worst of your kind leave trails of bodies as plainly as a wagon leaves tracks in the snow. But I haven’t much to say for the best of your kind, either, succubus,” he uttered harshly. “I’ve no love for demons of any sort.”

“Please,” Nala begged, “don’t kill me.” Tears had begun to fall down her cheeks, and she trembled with fear. “I’m not so evil, I promise. I’m not!”

The man stood in quiet contemplation, staring into her eyes with a cryptic intensity. He watched her closely, his mind whirling. Nala remained silent, afraid that if she spoke his grip might tighten once again. Then the man’s demeanor softened, and he moved his hands to grip her arms firmly but not unkindly. He looked upwards at the ceiling and drew a deep breath of the room’s cool, stale air. After several long moments, he sighed and returned his gaze to her.

“Perhaps it is fate that brought you to me on this night. A mercy of sorts.” An air of immense gravity washed over the man’s face. “I want you to take my life," he said. "All of it. I know. A strange thing to hear from a man of faith.”

Nala’s mouth fell open, and her eyes widened. She shook her head. “No—no, I just told you, I don’t—”

“Long ago,” the man interrupted, his stern blue eyes commanding her attention like lightning streaking across a night sky, “I had a beautiful, kind wife. She was my world. My greatest treasure. We wanted to have a family—three children, at least...”

The man paused. His lips shuddered for a moment and his eyes moistened, though he did not cry. His grip loosened so that his touch felt almost gentle. For the first time, Nala saw a softness creep into the man’s face.

“But illness stole her from me. Stole the life we had planned. Stole my every dream. My every desire. For more than thirty years, I’ve endured this world without her, and in it I’ve found nothing to rival the passion and love I once had. Now I’ve grown old and weary.”

“I…I don’t under—”

“Are you not a dream-weaver, succubus?” he inquired. “Do not you grant pleasant dreams as you drain a person’s life? Dreams delicately woven from a blend of a person’s memories and your own creations?”

“It—it is so.” Nala looked away. The strangeness of the encounter left her confused and shaken. She never spoke openly of such things.

“Then you can give me everything.”

“But you do not have to die, sir knight,” Nala uttered urgently, her voice trembling as much as her body. “I can weave you a beautiful dream for just a small price. I will do it, and happily!”

“I do not want it to be a dream.” He smiled sadly as he took her tear-wetted cheeks in his hands. “I want you to create for me the world I always wanted, and I do not want to wake from that world.”

“But I’ve never—”

“It is what I want.”

Nala’s crimson eyes fell to the floor as her mind worked. Then she nodded. “I will do as you ask, sir knight. But I…I will need your essence. It is how it begins.”

“I know.”

Timidly, Nala took the muscular man’s hand and led him to the bed. While he removed his tabard and armor, she untied from herself the silken strips and let them fall to the floor at her feet. When they had both disrobed and lie together on the soft down comforter, she began. The bed creaked and shook as Nala undulated her body with the expertise of an immortal strumpet. Though he tried, the man could not stifle his grunts and moans. Their hearts raced and their breaths became rapid and ragged. Beads of sweat formed on their bodies as they worked themselves to warmth in that cool room. Then their breathing become slow and steady once more, and the beating of their hearts softened.

“Tell me about this world of yours,” Nala said tenderly after they had finished and lie side by side between the linen sheets.

The man spoke of many things. He first recounted his fondest memories of his wife, each anecdote articulated with vivacious detail. Then he told of a home in the countryside and of meadows and streams, a place where they had dreamed of settling down. He spoke of children and their names, and grandchildren, and the many things they would celebrate together. He spoke of long nights under the stars when he and his wife were old and gray. Nala played her hand across his chest and nuzzled his neck as she listened, but the man seemed not to notice her at all. When he had said all he had to say, Nala leaned down and whispered into his ear.

“Sleep now, and I will gift you not with a dream but a new life from which you will never awaken.”

The moment her soft lips touched his, the man’s eyes closed and he fell into a deep slumber. The dream-weaving demon began her work on the masterpiece for which the man had asked, her eyes aglow like two raging embers. For her, it would be but a single night. For him, it would be a lifetime.