The knocking at the door gave Zac no time to ruminate on his dream or the soul-crushing revelation that his hunky eagle demon might actually be a chubby pigeon in a very convincing suit.
Did I get fucking catfished? Zac thought, finally swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He remembered the embarrassed, round-eyed bird from his dream, the way it looked at him with the resigned sadness of a guilty purchaser. Does he even work out? Does he even lift? Is everything I know a lie?
Zac stopped halfway to the door, a look of profound grief crossing his face. Will I never see eagle dick?
Thump. Thump. Thump.
"Can't a guy lament his own eternal torment in peace?!" Zac yelled at the wood.
"Stop masturbating and open the door, you leopard slut," a detached, smoky voice called through the thick, demon-proof barrier.
"Andras?" Zac questioned, his ears perking up. "Why are you here? I thought Bune was the designated team mom."
Zac reached for the handle and pulled. It was locked tight. He searched the frame, looking for a latch, a bolt, or even a hidden button, but there was nothing. The stone around the door was smooth and seamless.
"If you're looking for a lock, stop being stupid," the owl called from the other side, his voice dripping with condescension. "That's not how magic works in this wing."
"Then how am I supposed to let you in?"
He heard a loud, weary sigh. "Just invite me in, you simpleton."
Zac frowned. "Yeah, good joke. As if me saying, 'I invite you, cruel demon Andras, Great Marquis and ruler of thirty legions and decapitator of all,' would actually-"
Zac's voice trailed off as the door swung open silently on its hinges.
Andras was standing in the doorway, leaning against the opposite wall with his arms crossed. Goremaw was sat at his heel, his massive tail thumping against the stone floor with a rhythmic thwack.
"Well, okay then," Zac murmured, adjusting his hood. "Guess you were right."
"Of course I am," Andras drawled, pushing off the wall and stepping into the room. "Now hurry up. We're on a schedule."
Zac took a moment to look the owl up and down. He was still the sexy, asshole pirate-corsair from the waking world. Lean, muscular, and radiating a dangerous, "I'll kill you after tea-time" energy. Okay, good, Zac thought. At least he's not a bunch of hummingbirds parading as a psycho killer.
Zac leaned suggestively against the doorframe, letting his leopard tail swish slow and low. "So, it's fancy meeting you here. What are the chances that you and me would be all alone, in my bedroom, with no one to stop you from defiling me?"
Andras's golden eyes went wide… or rather, wider, since owl eyes were already fixed in permanent shock. He quickly looked up and down the empty hallway, his feathers ruffling beneath his greatcoat.
"Be careful, human," Andras hissed, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous register. "If you keep talking like that, I might just have to hold you down and make you scream into your pillow."
Zac's grin was blinding. "Like you have the balls to do something so bad. I know you're a good boy."
"Oh yeah?" The owl's feathers puffed out until he looked nearly twice his size, his beak clicking sharply. "I'm the baddest demon out of the whole seventy-two. Even the Kings fear my-"
BARK!
Goremaw's happy, gravel-crunching bark cut Andras off mid-boast. The motorcycle-sized warg didn't care about posturing or "bad boy" reputations. He saw his favorite scratching post and he launched.
"Oof!"
Zac was tackled back into the room, hitting the floor with a heavy thud as three-hundred pounds of demonic muscle pinned him to the rug. Goremaw's massive, wet tongue immediately began its assault, slathering Zac's face in a thick layer of affectionate warg-slobber.
"Goremaw! Off!" Andras barked, though the authority in his voice was completely undermined by the fact that he was currently blushing through his feathers.
Zac just giggled, pushing at the warg's furry chest. "See? Even your dog knows you're full of it!"
"Stop giving that pajama-wearing prostitute attention!" the owl hooted, his voice cracking with a very un-pirate-like desperation as he tried to haul Goremaw back by the scruff of his thick neck. "I'm your master! Me! You should be giving me kisses! Or at least mauling someone!"
Goremaw, however, was in a state of pure, wiggly bliss. He completely ignored Andras, leaning his massive weight into Zac's chest. Suddenly, the warg gave a wet, hacking cough. Zac's eyes went wide as several chunks of unidentified, half-digested grey meat spewed out of the beast's mouth and landed directly onto the leopard-print fleece of his chest.
Zac looked down, his lip curling in a mix of fascination and disgust. "Is that... a paladin's kidney? Wow, you really do chew your food thoroughly, don't you?"
Before he could offer a more detailed critique of the warg's digestion, Goremaw shifted his weight and balance. A massive, clawed, rear paw came down squarely on the center of Zac's lap.
"AGGHHHH!"
The sound Zac made was less of a yell and more of a strangled, high-pitched whistle. His fear-blocker didn't do a damn thing for his nerve endings. Zac's entire body spasmed in a reflex of pure agony. In his frantic, pained rolling, his foot hooked around Goremaw's back leg.
The warg, caught off-balance, let out a surprised yelp and began to topple. Since Andras was still white-knuckle-gripping the beast's neck, the owl was dragged down too.
The result was a catastrophic pile-up of fur, feathers, and fleece. Zac's small room was suddenly filled with the sounds of hooting, barking, and Zac's muffled wheezing. They were a chaotic, jumbled knot of limbs on the rug.