Murder on the house on the hill

Craven sank back into the silk pillows, a satisfied smirk pulling the corners of his lips. He ran his eyes along the lines of the boy next to him, the elegant deer legs stretched out atop the sheets, gauzy wings carefully folded over his back. He was asleep, skin still flushed from exertion, and Craven watched his back rise and fall gently. The boy - Roe, he had called himself - had paid quite a steep price, five years of free passage at his family’s secret passage into Elfhame. Not bad for a night’s work, Craven thought, flexing his wrists, watching his bones shift under green skin.

He wanted to get up, to talk to Liese about their new resource, but Roe still had some time left. Craven rolled on his side, propping himself up, and reached out to stroke Roe’s tawny skin. “Awake, sweet one,” he murmured, and Roe’s lashes fluttered open. Craven leaned over to brush his lips against the boy’s bruised ones. “We have some time yet, but not forever,” he said, careful not to graze his long lower canines against the sensitive skin.

Roe smiled and closed his eyes, pressing his body into Craven’s. “Don’t we, of all in this world, have the most time?” He asked, his furred leg twining around Craven’s green. Craven bared his teeth in a sharp grin and pushed Roe suddenly into the bed, trapping him under his body. Roe’s breath caught and he arched his back. Craven nipped at the soft skin on his neck, then moved up to the boy’s furred, pointed ear. “I think you know exactly what I meant,” he growled.

The rest of the time was well spent.

------

Craven stood in the office, waiting for Liese, the rain pattering steadily on the windows. A car rolled by, the sound of the wet tires almost reminiscent of a forest canopy swaying in the wind. It was a dim, gray morning, and people were walking hurridly on the sidewalk, huddled under umbrellas. Morning for them, but day’s end in this house.

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