Resurrection of the Morningstar

It started in my dreams. Dreams where he’d kiss me to oblivion, tease my nipples to taut peaks and feast between my thighs. I’d wrap my fists in his dark hair, long and wild, and moan into his mouth as he pounded inside me. Stretched me beyond endurance. Wrapped me in his feathered wings. Swallowed my soul with the force of his own.

Or he tried to.

Instead, it felt like they merged.

I knew who he was, the black-winged mage—The Morningstar. The war between the supernatural cities Heaven and Hell burned fast and furious, starting with the assassination of my dream lover, the ruler of Hell, and ending when his lieutenants took the Arch-Angel Michael’s head—and that of every military commander in Heaven. Five hundred years later and the world was at peace. All supernaturals lived harmoniously together but every year, on the longest night, the world mourned. They grieved the loss of their brightest star.

Lucifer had been a mage, the spawn of a succubus and a siren. Or at least, that was the rumour. There were many of those, but his power was unmatched, which was why, despite many necromancers trying to raise him, the Morningstar didn’t walk among us. Necromantic magic could not be performed if the soul being returned had a greater magical ‘weight’ than that of the necromancer. Which was why, nearly five hundred years later, no-one had succeeded. And those who tried, had died.

I was in love with a ghost. I let him do things to me in our dreamscape that I’d never consider allowing someone to do to me in the real world. Not even in my day job. You had to be able to trust your partner, and when money was on the line, that wasn’t an option. But for him… well, dreams were for making fantasies come true. Even the little things were more vibrant—the stroke of his feathers on my back, the tender kiss on my shoulder as he spooned me until I woke.

“Come for me at Samhain,” he whispered each time I fell out of dreams. The imperative lingered in my waking hours, becoming an obsession.

Come for me.

The haze of sleep fogged my mind the closer we got to the time the veil was thinnest. My day job became mundane. It was hard to muster the enthusiasm to even fake an orgasm. And I’d never had to fake one in my life. I needed my clients to feed, but now I had to imagine his face over theirs if I was going to relax enough to let them in. My succubus side had always enjoyed sex, felt no shame in our job, but nights with the Morningstar had ruined me for anyone else. Damn him. So I continued to drain my clients without the fun of climaxing myself.  

Come for me.

My night job was usually just as instinctive, except lately things had been going…wrong. Or maybe I should say, too right. Asked to raise a spirit, I’d raise the whole graveyard. Create a zombie? You’d have a fully-fleshed, resurrected human, soul-intact. The last time that had happened, his brother shot him a second time, sending him back to the afterlife.

I guess that money motivated many people. That and extreme emotion. Like hate. Love.

Come for me.

Which was probably why I found myself in the middle of the Fields of Loss at midnight on Samhain. Contrary to what most believe, the spirit lingers strongest not where the body lies, but where a being lost their life. I usually avoided this place like the plague—the hundreds of thousands of lives lost here during the war lingered, screaming at any necromancer stupid enough to wander past.

Or a stupid Necubus (don’t judge, there aren’t any half-breeds like me) about to sacrifice her own life.

But the field was silent. No ghosts shrieked at me or tried to invade my body. All I could feel was a tug on my soul, one that drew me relentlessly to the centre of the inky field. Where a glowing white figure stood.

“Are you ready, Mari?”

I didn’t bother answering him, just stepped into the light and reached for him. Both flavours of my magic burst from my body, wound themselves around him as he crushed me to his body, bending to take my hungry mouth with his own. My succubus magic for once blended seamlessly with my necromancy. They had a purpose, an ultimate goal—him.

He nipped my lip, fisted his hand in my hair and tilted my face to his. “If we do this, you’re mine. Forever, Mari. I won’t let you go.”

I didn’t hesitate. Just stripped every item of clothing off my body so I was as bare as him. “I’ve been yours since you first invaded my dreams. You wrecked me for anyone else.”

With a growl he grabbed my arse, lifting my feet from the ground. I wrapped my legs around his waist, grinding into his erection as he carefully laid me on the ground, wings flared behind him. But careful wasn’t what I needed and, it seemed, neither did he.

He sent a jolt of succubus energy through me, sending me into a screaming orgasm. Or should I say spontaneous combustion. And he didn’t let me come down from my high, spearing me with two fingers, then three as he rubbed my clit. It wasn’t enough.

“Please…” I moaned into his shoulder. The fingers left me. I didn’t have time to mourn their loss though. He replaced them with his cock.       

Each thrust saw more of my magic pour though him, colouring his body. The white glow faded.

“Come for me.”

As my climax rolled over me, my dream lover roared his release. Jet black wings cocooned us. I was exhausted.

But lying on top of me, warm and heavy, his heart beating in time with my own, was the Morningstar.

The world would never be the same again.