Zac sat frozen in his chair, his mind doing a victory lap while the room around him descended into a predator’s silent standoff.

  ‘Was this it?’ he thought, practically vibrating. ‘Did I actually win the lottery? Virginity, my lifelong curse, my badge of shame in the mortal world… is my golden ticket in Hell?’

  He let his gaze wander, drinking them in. Each demon was a perfectly crafted archetype of his deepest, most questionable fantasies.

  There was Skarg, the primal brute who promised to break him in half.

  Nock, the gleaming Prince Charming who would sweep him off his feet.

  Andras, the dangerous bad boy who would ruin his life in the best way possible.

  Bune, the stern butler who would probably make the bed while they were in it.

  Halphas, the cocky buff jock who knew he was sexy.

  And finally… Marchosias. The No Daddy. The bearded wolf with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

  ‘Oh god,’ Zac thought, staring at the Captain’s ears. ‘If he used that Voice to command me… I would scratch the hell out of that spot behind his ears. I would be such a good boy.’

  He was so lost in a fantasy involving Marchosias, a collar, and very specific instructions, that he didn’t notice the shift in the room. The predatory stillness broke.

  Skarg moved first. It was a blur of motion, a sudden displacement of air. Zac barely had time to grunt before he was yanked from his seat, the world tilting crazily as he was tossed over a massive, furry shoulder. The cold radiating from the wendigo was intense, but Skarg’s grip was surprisingly careful.

  “Mine,” Skarg rumbled, turning to bolt for the door.

  Schwing.

  Nock’s longsword cleared its scabbard with a song of steel. He flourished it high, the blade catching the red light of the war room. “Unhand the maiden, you beast!”

  ‘Maiden?’ Zac thought, dangling upside down. ‘Okay, we can workshop the title later. And please don’t fight, guys. Just form an orderly queue. Take a number. There’s plenty to go around.’

  Suddenly, the world went dark for a split second. Skarg stumbled as a shadow seemed to peel itself off the floor. Andras materialized from the darkness right next to them, his hand darting out to snatch Zac from Skarg’s unsuspecting grip.

  “Yoink,” the owlman said with a smirk.

  Skarg roared in fury and whirled, slamming a fist into the ground. A jagged spike of ice erupted from the floor where Andras had been standing a microsecond before. Zac, caught in the handoff, dropped onto the stone floor with a yelp.

  The war room spiraled into absolute chaos.

  Bune, still transformed in his three-headed hydra form, roared, “YOU’RE GOING TO DAMAGE THE GOODS, YOU CRETINS!” He waded into the fray, four arms flailing, trying to peel the owl and the caribou off each other while simultaneously shielding Zac with his bulk.

  Halphas was squawking directly into Marchosias’s ear, ignoring the brawl entirely. “Military protocol, sir! Rank has privileges! You wasted your night sleeping, so as Second-in-Command, I have right of first refusal! It’s in the handbook!”

  Nock, ignoring the melee happening inches from his head, dropped to one knee in front of Zac. He clasped his gauntleted hands together and began to recite, his voice trembling with emotion. “Oh, pure vessel of unblemished snow! Like a lamb to the slaughter, your innocence cries out for the blade of my-”

  “HEEL!”

  The Voice slammed into the room like a physical shockwave. It wasn't just loud; it was command made manifest.

  Every spine in the room snapped straight. Skarg froze mid-punch. Andras froze mid-stab. Nock choked on his poetry. Halphas snapped his beak shut. They all turned, compelled by an irresistible force, to face the head of the table.

  Zac, also caught in the spell, found his head whipping around. He didn't mind. Being forced to look at that ruggedly handsome, furious muzzle? ‘Woof,’ he thought. ‘Yes, sir.’

  “SIT.”

  The demons scrambled back to their chairs like scolded puppies, though their eyes kept darting back to Zac with hungry desperation.

  Marchosias stood there, chest heaving, his amber eyes blazing. He took a deep breath, visibly composing himself, letting the magical resonance fade from his voice.

  “Now,” he began, his tone deadly serious. “I know this is unprecedented. The chances that Ose procured such an asset… that he was able to form a contract with a soul of this nature… it changes the entire trajectory of the war.”

  The lieutenants tried to focus on their Captain. They really did. But the primal, overwhelming awareness of the human sitting at the table, the human who was practically screaming to be deflowered, was a constant, distracting hum in their brains.

  Marchosias looked around the table, seeing their struggle. He sighed.

  “And that,” he growled, “is exactly the problem.”

  “What?” Skarg grunted, his eyes darting back to Zac’s neck, then his thighs, then back to his neck. “You’re in command. Just fuck the slut or whatever so we can stop smelling it. Stop wasting our time.”

  “No,” Marchosias growled, leaning over the table. “The Avatar is important. Just think for a-”

  “Oh, you don’t want to fuck him?” Andras drawled, leaning back in his chair with a smirk that didn't reach his hungry eyes. “Even a virgin isn’t pure enough for you, huh, Cap? So tragic. Holding out for an angel?”

  “Hey.” Marchosias’s voice dropped an octave, a warning rumble. “Watch your-”

  “I VOLUNTEER!” Nock shot out of his chair, waving his arm frantically like a student who knew the answer. “The virgin is a mythical creature down in these parts! None of you brutes have the skill set required to help him blossom into a true lover! It requires finesse! Poetry! Lubricant!”

  “Shut up, Nock!” Marchosias rubbed his temples, feeling a migraine building behind his eyes that could rival a geological event. “We need to keep him so-”

  “But the protocol!” Halphas squawked, slamming his hand on the table. “Senior officer rights!”

  “I FOUND HIM FIRST!” Skarg bellowed, standing up and knocking his chair over.

  “THE VIRGIN IS MINE!” Bune’s middle head roared, drowning out everyone else. The butler had transformed again without anyone noticing, his massive dragon head snapping at the air. “FOR MY HOARD! HE IS RARE! HE IS MINT CONDITION! YOU WILL NOT TOUCH THE COLLECTIBLE!”

  Everyone stopped to stare at the butler.

  Zac sat in the middle of the storm, on the literal Hell version of cloud nine. He had been a bit embarrassed about dying as a virgin… okay, mortified… but look who got the last laugh now! He was surrounded by the monsters of his dreams, and apparently, his lack of experience made him the most desirable bachelor in the Pit.

  ‘Thank you so much, Ose,’ he thought, tears of joy nearly streaming down his face. ‘All of my patience. All the times I said “no” to awkward fumbles in the back of a Honda Civic because I was waiting for “the one.” It has paid off. It has paid off so hard. If you want me to burn dead animals, or light candles in a circle, or dance naked in the woods under a blood moon, just let me know. I got you, you sexy, awesome, naked leopard friend.’

  “HOW MANY TIMES DO I NEED TO SAY SHUT THE FUCK UP FOR YOU TROGLODYTES TO SHUT THE FUCK UP?!”

  The howl tore through the room, shattering a glass globe lamp and plunging one corner into darkness. Marchosias stood at the head of the table, chest heaving. His fur was standing on end, making him look twice his size. His teeth were bared in a snarl that promised immediate, lethal violence. His amber eyes burned with a mixture of rage and desperation. He looked around the room, challenging anyone to speak, to breathe, to even think about interrupting him.

  He was terrifying. He was magnificent.

  Zac adjusted his robes, biting his lip. ‘God, the wolf is so hot when he’s angry.’

  The problem was, the intimidation wasn’t working. Or rather, it was working, but it was fighting a losing battle against biology. The demons cowered slightly, yes, but their eyes… their eyes kept sliding away from the terrifying Alpha and back to the small, virgin human sitting at the table. They were moths, and Zac was the only lightbulb in the universe.

  Marchosias saw it. He saw the glaze in their eyes. He realized, with a sinking feeling, that shouting wasn't going to fix this.

  “This is unprecedented,” Marchosias said, forcing his fur to lie flat through sheer force of will. “Something our deceptive President seems to toss our way often.” He paused, waiting for a chuckle at the wordplay.

  The room was silent, save for the sound of Skarg heavy breathing and Bune’s middle head making a low thrumming noise like a purring chainsaw.

  Marchosias sighed, a long, weary exhalation. “Tough crowd. As I was saying… the Royal City. Intelligence indicates they have been developing a new magical detection system. A tool to root out corruption.”

  “Sounds like a Halphas problem,” Andras yawned loudly, examining his talons. “Scouts and spies and all that boring nonsense.”

  Marchosias glared at the owl. “As I was saying, this tool has been kept secret. Even our most persuasive tempters have failed to bring back any reliable information. They get close, and then… silence.”

  “So you’re sending in the virgin to fuck the inventor?” Skarg asked earnestly. “I thought the Holy City had plenty of virgins. If they’re running low, they can just shift the marriage age down a few years. Humans are gross like that.”

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Marchosias looked at the caribou with profound exasperation. “Why in the nine hells would we send the Avatar to fuck a human inventor, Skarg? Use your brain for one second.”

  Skarg shrugged massive shoulders. “People say all sorts of things to each other when they screw. Best way to get info. Everyone knows that.”

  Marchosias pinched the bridge of his muzzle. “No, Furfur. Just… shut up.”

  “Hey, fuck you!” the buff deer-man bellowed, half-rising from his chair.

  “Sit down!” Marchosias groaned. He turned back to the table, his expression grave. “The detection system relies on spiritual resonance. It detects the stain of sin. The mark of demonic congress.” He pointed a claw at Zac. “The Avatar’s greatest asset is not his magic, nor his lies. It is his state. The power of the President’s Seal seems to be… dampened, masked by his holy purity. To the wards of the city, he reads as completely human. Completely innocent.”

  Zac felt a strange chill trickle down his spine. While his conscious mind was currently busy undressing Bune… Did the scales continue all the way down or if there was a softer underbelly… his subconscious finally picked up on what the wolf was saying. The words floated in the air, ominous and heavy.

  Marchosias gestured to Zac. “Look at him. I thought it was just one of Ose’s tricks, a joke for when the Avatar arrived. You know how that tree-cat likes to disguise things.”

  The group nodded in agreement.

  “I thought he was some escaped feed stock when I first saw him,” Skarg admitted. “If I hadn’t seen the mark, I would have eaten him. Never would have known he was a demon-sworn asset.”

  Nock nodded sagely. “Yes, but this delicate form is much better. People might be confused if there were two majestic felines running the warband.” The lion’s eyes suddenly lit up with a thought. He looked over at Zac, beaming. “My dear Zac! Did you contract with Ose because you are a cat person, not a dog person? Is that it?”

  Zac opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

  “Dogs are humanity’s closest companion!” Andras shouted, slamming his hand on the table. “Loyal! Trustworthy! Unlike you overgrown house cats!”

  “Canines are the backbone of civilization!” Marchosias barked, seemingly offended on a personal level.

  While the demons argued about pet preferences, Zac’s mind was walking down a very dark, very upsetting logical path.

  Wait, he thought. If the wards detect demonic congress… and I’m the only one who can get past them because I haven’t had demonic congress…

  The implications crashed into him like a freight train.

  My virginity… is the mission asset.

  My virginity… is... important.

  Before Zac could voice his dawning horror, Skarg beat him to it with a wail of pure, unadulterated grief.

  “NOOOO!” the wendigo roared, clutching his head. “YOU’RE SAYING WE CAN’T SLAM-FUCK THIS LITTLE WHORE UNTIL HIS HIPS BREAK?!” He pointed an accusing finger at Zac. “THIS LITTLE TWINK BITCH STARED AT MY COCK THE WHOLE WAY HERE YESTERDAY! THERE’S NO WAY YOU’RE STOPPING ME!”

  Zac stood up, slamming his hands on the table. “Yeah!” he yelled, desperation overriding all sense of shame. “I could have pretended to be scared when he chased me! He would have caught up! He would have grabbed me, held me up against one of those stone sarcophaguses, and ripped off my clothes!”

  The room went silent, save for the heavy breathing of several demons. Zac closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around himself, caught in the vivid memory of a fantasy that was slipping through his fingers.

  “I could have let him slowly breathe his hot, sexy breath on my lower back,” Zac whispered, swaying slightly. “Before he bit my earlobe and growled that I was soft… and weak… and that as prey, he had the right to rut me and fill me with his…”

  He trailed off, a soft whimper escaping his throat. He opened his eyes.

  The demons were staring. Transfixed.

  “Avatar,” Marchosias said. His voice was flat, tired. He seemed to be the only creature in the room capable of resisting the siren call of Zac’s frustrated libido, though his knuckles were white where he gripped the table. “You were sent here to be used for the war. And you will become our spy.”

  Zac glared at him. “Fine! Whatever! I’ll spy! As long as I get to-”

  “Our VIRGIN spy,” Marchosias barked, cutting him off. “The moment you are deflowered, by demon… or man… your aura changes. You will light up the city’s wards like a bonfire. You will be detected, captured, and executed before you can even zip your pants back up.”

  “Fuck the Holy City!” Zac shouted, pointing a trembling finger at the door. “I don’t care about the war! I’m gonna let the deer guy bring me back to the crypt right now, and I’m gonna finally get the dick I was promised!”

  Skarg made a hopeful noise and took a step forward.

  “No one in this room is going anywhere,” Marchosias growled quietly.

  The temperature in the room dropped. Shadows seemed to lengthen, crawling out from the corners. The Captain didn’t shout. He didn’t use the Voice. He simply spoke with the absolute, terrifying authority of a creature that commanded armies of the damned.

  “This is not a request, Avatar. This is your mission.” Marchosias’s amber eyes burned into Zac’s. “You signed the contract. You belong to Ose. And right now, Ose needs a virgin. Which means you are staying exactly as you are.”

  He turned his gaze to his lieutenants, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper.

  “And if any of you touch him… if you so much as graze him with an intent to defile… I will personally strip the flesh from your bones and feed it to the lower legions. Am I understood?”

  The room was silent for all of five seconds. It was the silence of a dam about to burst.

  “How much flesh?” Skarg bellowed, slamming his fists on the table. “Like, all of it? Or just the non-essential bits? I can regrow skin!”

  “What if we make eye contact and the heavens cry?” Nock asked, clutching his chest dramatically. “How could you deny true romance, Captain? It is cruelty beyond measure!”

  “What if I accidentally defiled him?” Andras mused aloud, his eyes tracking Zac’s movements as he seemingly mapped out a series of highly improbable ‘accidental’ maneuvers involving shadows and slippery floors. “Just a slip, a trip… oops.”

  “Can he still touch me then?” Halphas asked, perking up. “He can defile me, right? That doesn’t count against the wards, does it? I’m fine with being the objectified one here.”

  Bune looked around, seemingly furious. “NO! HE IS MINE!” the Middle Head howled, acidic spit flying across the tactical map.

  “The Captain’s orders, everyone! I will ensure he is kept virgin and under strict control," the Right Head added.

  The Left Head, was beside itself focused on something else entirely. “Not on the maps! You’re getting slobber everywhere! That’s the supply line to the southern front!”

  “THE VIRGIN IS MAKING ME LEAK! THE HOARD IS FINALLY COMPLETE!”

  “YES!” Zac yelled, leaping onto his chair and joining the chaos. “Nock first! To open me up a bit! He has the manners! And then whatever order you want! Take a number! Form a line!”

  Nock let out a strangled sound of pure ecstasy. “He chose me!” he cried, pressing a hand to his forehead. Then, with the grace of a swooning maiden, the armored lion collapsed backward in a dead faint, hitting the floor with a deafening crash of plate mail.

  Andras and Skarg didn’t hesitate. They lunged.

  Skarg roared, charging like a freight train. Andras dissolved into shadow and reappeared mid-air, diving for Zac. They collided in a tangle of fur, feathers, and cursing, grappling mere feet from the prize.

  Bune’s three heads were now arguing violently with each other, four arms flailing as the butler tried to simultaneously protect the maps, enforce order, and claim the virgin for his hoard.

  Marchosias didn’t shout. He didn’t use the Voice. He simply sat down heavily in his chair and slowly, deliberately, placed his forehead on the cool wood of the table. He stayed there, motionless, a monument to despair.

  Zac sat back on his chair, grinning like a maniac. ‘Any second now,’ he thought, watching the brawl. ‘Any second now, one of them will break through. I will be captured. I will be ravaged. It’s finally happening. My tragic backstory ends here.’

  However, before anyone could claim the victory, the war room doors, which had suffered enough abuse for one lifetime, blew open again.

  A swarm of angry little puss covered bodies poured into the room.

  “LIAR!” shrieked the lead imp, pointing a jagged claw at Zac. “HE LIED ABOUT BREAKFAST!”

  “HE TRICKED US!” another yelled. “THERE WAS NO COFFEE!.. OR WAFFELS!”

  “THE CAPTAIN SAID TO EAT HIM!” a third screamed, frothing at the mouth. “HE SAID WE COULD EAT HIM!”

  The pack of imps, humiliated and hungry, surged forward, a wave of pebbled skin and gnashing teeth. They ignored the brawling lieutenants. They ignored the unconscious lion. They had one target.

  Zac’s eyes shot open, his grin vanishing. “Oh, shit.”

  The method acting was over. This wasn’t a sexy wrestling match with a hot demon daddy. This was a horde of naked, boil-covered goblins intent on chewing his face off.

  “Wait!” Zac yelled, scrambling backward over the table, scattering troop markers everywhere. “I meant… lunch! I meant get me lunch!”

  As the first imp’s claw snagged the hem of Zac’s robe, he yelped, a sound devoid of fear but rich in annoyance. “Hey! These are my only clothes!”

  Skarg reacted instantly. With a roar, he shoved Andras aside and lunged, slamming his fist onto the stone floor. A jagged spike of glacial ice erupted from the ground, encasing the lead imp mid-leap. The creature froze in a pose of eternal, toothy aggression.

  Zac rolled off the table, scattering wooden battalions across the floor, but two more imps were already airborne.

  “MINE!” Bune roared. The butler moved with terrifying speed. Two of his clawed hands snatched the first imp out of the air, crushing it with a wet crunch. His Middle Head lunged forward like a striking cobra, jaws snapping shut around the second imp with a sickening chomp. He shook his head like a dog with a chew toy.

  Zac scrambled across the floor, having no time to breathe as the rest of the swarm poured into the room, pointing and screaming accusations of breakfast betrayal. He rolled under the heavy war table, crawling over discarded maps and boots, emerging on the other side to jump over Nock just as the lion knight began to stir.

  The lion blinked open his golden eyes, only to find himself staring directly up Zac’s robes. A dreamy, dazed smile spread across his muzzle. “Oh,” he purred, “I am in heaven again, aren’t I? What a view…”

  The imps chasing Zac didn’t pause for romance. They trampled over the prone lion, their claws scrabbling on his armor.

  Zac turned back just in time to see a gruesome miracle. The imps that had touched Nock’s armor collapsed, shrieking. Their legs were bleeding profusely, the flesh turning necrotic and filling with pus instantly. He was just as fascinated as he was disgusted but there were still a pack of imps trying to disembowel him.

  Zac backed away, but the remaining imps fanned out, surrounding him against the wall. He felt the cold stone against his back. There was nowhere to go.

  Suddenly, the world went black and cold. He felt a wrenching sensation in his gut, like being pulled through a straw.

  He stumbled, gasping, and found himself on the opposite side of the room. He blinked, dizzy. Where he had been standing a second ago, Andras now stood, wreathed in shadow and surrounded by confused lesser demons. The owlman winked at zac from across the room, his cutlass flashing. With a single, fluid swing, five imps were decapitated before they even realized their prey had swapped places.

  Zac staggered, trying to regain his balance, his head spinning from the shadow-swap. He scrambled away from the carnage, but the lack of fear-adrenaline made his movements sluggish and clumsy. It was, he decided, really, really shitty to be running for your life while feeling as calm as a monk on sedatives.

  The final three imps rushed at him with jagged shanks.

  BANG-BANG-BANG.

  The sound was deafening in the enclosed space. The three imps were laying on the floor, motionless, smoking holes blown clean through their chests. Zac stared, shocked. A gun? Who the hell brought a gun to a sword fight?

  He looked over to see Halphas standing by the window, blowing smoke from the barrel of a massive, wooden-handled pistol. The eagle smirked, holstering the weapon and flexing a bicep that threatened to tear his uniform.

  ‘Okay,’ Zac thought, dazed. ‘Guns feel like cheating when everyone else has swords and horses. But buff eagle in a military outfit with a hand-cannon? I’ll allow it. I will definitely allow it.’

  He started to walk toward the eagle, intending to offer a very personal thank you involving gun oil and fraternal bonding, when a high-pitched shriek made him turn.

  An imp, half-crushed but still alive, had crawled out from under the table. It launched itself at Zac, a rusty dagger clutched in its hand, plunging toward his face.

  ‘Oh no,’ was all Zac’s fear-castrated mind could muster. ‘That’s going to leave a mark.’

  He didn’t feel the blade. Instead, he felt a sudden, radiant warmth, like stepping out of a dark room directly into the noon sun.

  A massive arm hooked around his waist from behind, lifting him effortlessly into the air. There was a shink of steel, a flash of silver light, and a wet thud.

  Zac looked down. The imp lay on the floor in two perfectly symmetrical halves, severed cleanly down the middle.

  He looked up. Marchosias was holding him, his other hand gripping his longsword, the blade glowing faintly with holy fire that was quickly fading to black. The wolf was breathing hard, his amber eyes wide.

  “Did… did you just save me?” Zac asked, breathless.

  Marchosias nodded, his voice rough. “You are… important.”

  Zac blushed, his heart doing that frantic, wonderful thing again. He leaned back against the solid wall of the Captain’s chest, letting his head rest on the wolf’s shoulder. “My hero,” he whispered. “I’ll let you do whatever you want to me. Anything.”

  Marchosias’s fur stood on end. He stiffened, every muscle going rigid. He leaned in, burying his nose in the crook of Zac’s neck, inhaling deeply of the clean, untouched scent that was driving him mad.

  “You do not mean that,” the wolf growled, the sound vibrating against Zac’s spine.

  Zac reached up, boldly stroking the side of the wolf’s muzzle. “I mean it,” he murmured. “You can totally knot me if you want. Right here. On the table.”

  Marchosias made a strangled noise. He dropped Zac.

  Zac hit the floor with a grunt. “Ow.”

  He looked up to see Marchosias walking quickly and stiffly back to his seat, his tail sticking straight out behind him, his gait awkward and pained, and oddly enough some smoke was wafting off his shoulders. The Captain practically threw himself into his chair and buried his face in his hands again.

  “Bune,” he mumbled through his paws. “Clean up this mess. And get the Avatar a chair. A high chair... With straps.”