"That was a bird?" Duncan repeated his previous question, still rattled from the unearthly scream from out of the forest.

"Strigoi mort. It comes from the Latin word for screech owl. Haven't you ever heard one screaming in the middle of the night on your trips? Sounds like someone skinning a cat while it's alive." Diana retrieved her blouse from the floor and pulled it on, making no attempt to button it.

"Dead vampire? So you're saying Benyu died?"

"He died many times, but like the Bennu-bird, the Phoenix, he arose again to life."

"What's a Bennu-bird?" Duncan extricated his pants from under the sofa cushions.

Diana hopped on one foot as she clambered into her jeans, searching for another book in her vast library. She opened the heavy, dusty tome she had located and handed it to Duncan. She tapped a drawing. "That is Damon Benyu."

Duncan looked at the drawing then back at Diana like she was crazy. "That's a heron. You're telling me the man was a bird?"

"That is Bennu, the sacred bird of Heliopolis in Egypt. It was said to have created itself from the fire that burned on top of the sacred Persea tree. It was also said to be a living symbol of the god, Osiris. It is a symbol of rebirth, of resurrection, of rising from the ashes. The Greeks called it Phoenix."

"How could Damon have come back if they killed him?"

"A temporary state of affairs. Those who tried to destroy Benyu only succeeded in killing the bodily form without destroying the evil soul within. He arose again when whatever restraints bound him to his grave were removed. Amateurs," Diana spat out with disgust. She plopped down on the couch next to Duncan.

"What does it take to ultimately destroy someone like that, pray tell?"

"Cunning, hard work, and faith. Proper methodology."

"Aha, that's why you're so concerned with the fire burning in the canyon, where you said he was buried. You're afraid he's going to rise up again from the ashes like some blood-sucking Phoenix!"

"Judging from the records I have of his burial, unfortunately, it's a strong probability." Diana idly plucked at a black string between the cushions, pulling on it until she produced her thong. "Hmmph, that's where it went. Here, a souvenir of your trip to the mountains."

She threw the thong at Duncan, who fielded it with one hand. He lifted it to his nose and inhaled deeply. "Mmmmm, thank you. Something to keep me warm on lonely nights," he said, stuffing it into his shirt pocket. "So, there is actually something in writing about this burial? Where? Who wrote it?"

"Diaries and first-hand accounts of the era from a few townspeople who finally figured out what was going on. I'll let you read them, but they can't leave this house."

"Okay. But how do you know this wasn't just some mass hysteria, someone's overworked superstitious imagination?"

"The murders stopped upon Benyu's burial," Diana answered. She scooted to the opposite end of the couch and laid her feet in Duncan's lap, nudging his crotch with her toes.

"Then how was he killed? And how has he remained buried for over a century if he was a vampire?" Duncan asked skeptically. He cradled one of her feet in his hand and began massaging the sole.

"You'll see from the diaries that he was captured while in the act of trying to prey one of the Indian women who lived in a nearby shack with her husband, who was a white man. Her husband was an unbeliever, but she was one of the local Christian converts; unfortunately for Benyu, the women's family was visiting and they knew that they were dealing with a demon and treated him accordingly. They had heard of the legends of the vampyr from some of the old Russians who had come over to farm and ranch in the area. They associated it with their version of ghosts. Also, unfortunately, for Benyu, he had very bad timing. The woman's brother was a shaman, and although the missionaries considered them Christians, the Indians also hung on to their own religious beliefs. The remaining members of the tribe were gathering for a ritual curing of a young boy who was ill. They had the tools and the knowledge to capture and control their ghost."

"How did they do that?"

"The night of his capture, Damon Benyu had crept to the couple's shack. The husband was away at his job as a logger and the woman was alone, or so Benyu thought. That's the trouble with the vampyr. They think they know everything. Very arrogant creatures," Diana said, shaking her head.

"Benyu attacked the woman as she went to bed, but she had a heavy crucifix above her bed and grabbed it, defending herself with whatever came to hand that she could use to clobber him. While he's recovering from his encounter with the cross, she's screaming her head off for her relatives, who happened to be camped out in the back yard. They came tearing into the cabin and realizing that they were dealing with some sort of demon, took defensive action."

"Hold on, how did they know he was a demon or ghost?"

"When you hit someone with a religious symbol and his skin starts smoking, it tells you something right there. The Yokuts were a savvy people. They recognized that the white man's religious symbol had some sort of power over the intruder. They also recognized Benyu as the man who lived in the place they called Demon's Canyon, where their people and the white people were being murdered. It didn't take more than an instant to add it all up; they knew they had to act fast before he got away."

"They sent one young boy to run for help, while the rest of the family circled Benyu and began a sort of ghost dance of the kuksu faith, one of their religious sects. They also kept the crucifix handy, just in case."

"The boy came right back with help from more members of the sect, then ran off to town to fetch the white man's law and the local preacher. Meanwhile, they kicked their ritual into full gear, then overpowered Benyu and forced him to drink datura."

Duncan shook his head and gave her a blank look.

"We know it as Jimson weed," Diana explained. "Extremely poisonous in the wrong dose, but the Indians used it in their rituals as a hallucinogen. "

"So he died?"

"Not exactly. Evidently he went into a coma. By the time the local law arrived, Benyu was out cold, and they couldn't-or wouldn't-do anything to revive him. They took him back to his property and buried him."

"They buried him alive?"

"That's a bit hard to do with the undead, don't you think? Yes, they buried him alive. People around these parts knew what Jimson weed did, they knew it would be a matter of time before he died anyway. They didn't have long-term hospice care in those days, so they did what was logical and logistically sound to them. Besides, if word got out who the killer was, they were afraid of what would be done to his body. So they did everything on the sly, said he died in a fall in the hills. When it came time to incorporate, they simply changed "Demon's Canyon" to "Damon's Canyon" and gave the town the name of their great founder, never knowing what a monster he was."

"If he's dead, then why worry now?"

"He wasn't dead, only in a coma. The Slavs who had settled in the area caught wind of what happened and went to his grave. Evidently, Benyu had erected a miniature mausoleum on his property and that's where he was already resting during the day while he still walked. There was a coffin and earth from his native land. The local preacher wasn't much into vampire legends, so he just had him interred in his casket, said a few prayers, and they locked the place up and left him to die. The old Slavs were not content with the local story, had to see for themselves if the eretik was dead. They broke in and opened the coffin. Mr. Benyu looked dead enough, no fresh blood, no ruddy complexion, no fresh growth of nails or skin. Just to be on the safe side, they sprinkled mustard seeds around the tomb and planted hawthorn plants around the outside of the crypt."

"I'm a little lacking in my vampire legends," Duncan said dryly. "What does that do?" He switched his massage to her other foot.

"In some Slavic cultures, poppy or mustard seed is sprinkled because the vampire has an obsession with counting. They'll stop and count the seeds before they go anywhere. The hawthorn tree has been used to drive a stake through the heart or they have placed hawthorn splinters in the coffin to keep them at bay. The hawthorn is used as a reminder of the crown of thorns Jesus wore at his crucifixion. Other cultures use ash or cedar. Ash, as a symbol of repentance; cedar, for the cedars of Lebanon that were the most treasured trees of the Holy Land, used to line the great Temple built by Solomon."

"Why didn't they just drive a stake through his heart?"

Diana shrugged. "Maybe they didn't want to touch the unclean one. Or perhaps the old people thought those methods would work. The simple methods worked. Usually."

"But what brought him back on the other times?"

"The same thing that may bring him back this time. Removal or destruction of the very things that keep him captive in his grave."

"That's why you're so worried about the fire."

"The fire will destroy the hawthorn trees."

"But what about the seeds? He's inside a crypt."

"You have to realize that they crypt we're talking about is not one of the sealed up architectural marvels we have today. It was a simple, rough building of native rocks, chinked together with whatever adobe or mud he could use. It won't withstand the fire."

"I thought vampires could be killed by fire."

"Not this one, not Damon Benyu. He would have to be killed by other methods, then his body consumed by fire. There's a difference between killing and consummation. There was one other detail that I found in the diaries that bears this out. Hold on a second." Diana extricated her feet from his grasp and went to her study, returning with a handful of small, leather bound diaries. Sitting next to Duncan, she opened one and thumbed through the pages.

"This was inscribed on one of the stones of Benyu's crypt, a passage from Keats: 'When through the old oak forest I am gone, Let me not wander in a barren dream, But when I am consumed in the fire, Give me new Phoenix wings to fly at my desire.'" She looked up at Duncan, frowning. "He's coming back. He knew he was coming back."

Duncan sat close to Diana, tracing an aimless pattern with a finger on the denim covering her thigh. "I just can't believe all this garbage. There are no such things as vampires. Surely, you don't accept this stuff as real, do you?"

"Duncan, I have seen many things in my travels, much evil. Tell me, are you a religious man? Do you believe in God?"

"Yes, I do."

"But you have not seen Him, have you?"

"No, belief is a matter of faith," Duncan said, the realization of what he said dawning as the words came out of his mouth. He smiled. "So it's a matter of faith as to whether these things exist."

"Yes. We believe in God and His Son, we believe in the evil one, Satan. God has his angels, Satan has his demons, or in this case, his Damons. There was evidence of many evil things in the Bible, in possessions, in demons that Jesus and His followers cast out. Just because the Bible is ancient, doesn't mean the ancient evil of which it speaks no longer exists."

"Then why don't we have evidence of such things?"

"We have evidence, we have photographs, we have diaries, we have first-hand accounts. The trouble is that the authorities are incapable of dealing with things that are supernatural, not easily classified as simple murders, and we, as humans, have become so advanced as to disbelieve the old tales. So these creatures are tagged sociopaths and psychopaths."

Diana handed Duncan the diaries and rose to her feet, pressing her palms into the small of her back and stretching. "It's late, and I'm tired. I'm not going to argue with you as to whether these things exist or not; I know what I know, and in my line of work, I know that the dead have a way of reaching out from the grave and wrapping their cold hands around the throats of the living."

Duncan took the diaries and picked up his bag, following Diana as she led him to a guest bedroom. "Your bed looks like it has plenty of room for two," he noted hopefully.

"Thing's big enough for an orgy, if you're into that sort of thing. But I'm not ready to share my bed. I'm tremendously territorial, sorry."

"Are you sure you want me to stay tonight? Perhaps it would be best if I left now..."

Diana shook her head. "No, please don't feel that way. In fact, you're probably safer staying tonight than heading back down that road. Frankly, it's nice to have some company, and I have wanted to meet you for a long time. It is our destiny that we have done so. You have great potential."

"As what? Boyfriend, lover...?"

"I was thinking "partner.""

"No thanks, I don't get into antiques and all that stuff. " Duncan laid his bag on the single twin bed. A simple bureau and a pigeon-hole desk completed the Spartan furnishings.

"There would be more to it than that. You'd have great perks. Just think about it."

Duncan grabbed her around the waist and pushed her on the bed beneath him.

"You have great perks," he chuckled, drawing her blouse apart and darting his tongue around her nipples. He unzipped her jeans and slid them off her hips, slipping a finger into her slit.

"Taste me," Diana murmured, pushing on his shoulders to spur him downward.

Duncan snaked his tongue down her body as he lowered himself between her legs. He inserted the tip between her labia, smelling and tasting the musk of her sex. Diana pressed on the back of his head and gyrated her pelvis. He explored the folds and hillocks of her vagina, seeking that tiny, hard nub at her urging.

"Uhhh, yeah, right there," she gasped as his tongue made contact with her clit. Duncan flicked his tongue rapidly across its surface, while he gently maneuvered a finger into her ass. He felt her clench down on the finger and her pussy raised up into his mouth. He slipped his thumb into her vagina and manipulated both digits while he worked her clit. Diana writhed beneath him, mewling and moaning. "Duncan, God, don't stop. Stay there, stay there, right there!"

Duncan could feel her thighs quivering on either side of his face, so he pressed harder with his tongue. That did it. Diana came into his mouth, and he lapped up her juices as they flowed, warm and slick as a stick of melted butter. Her orgasm ebbed away and he could hear her panting. He peered up over the coppery fur of her pussy towards her face.

"I told you the perks were great, didn't I?" she managed to croak out.

"That you did, my lady. I'll have to seriously think about your offer." Duncan pressed himself close to her body, wrapping his arms around her as she turned on her side. He kissed the back of her neck.

They lay together for a short time, then Diana untangled herself and sat up. "I really need some sleep. I'm all worn out."

"Me, too. Hey, I need to go back down to my truck a minute to get some clothes and my shaving gear, toothbrush."

"No problem, just hold up a second. I'll be right back," she said, padding back to the library before Duncan could protest that he was a big boy and could go out in the dark by himself.

They met on the landing and went out to the garage. Diana had her .40 caliber slung over her shoulder in its holster and Duncan could sense the alert stance of her body as he retrieved his gear and they walked back into the house.

"Diana, what good will a couple of bullets do to your vampire?" Duncan scoffed gently, pointing at her gun.

"Hold your hand out," Diana ordered him. She pulled the gun out of her holster, released the ammunition clip, and pulled back the slide to eject her chambered bullet into his hand.

Duncan looked at object in his hand and nearly laughed. "Silver bullets."

Diana delicately plucked the shell from his hand and reloaded it into the ammunition clip, then slammed it home into the butt of the gun. "Sometimes the old methods are helpful."

Duncan slept fitfully, although the bed was comfortable and the air cool. He had read through the diaries, their details confirming Diana's tale. One in particular, that of the Sheriff's daughter, Constance Mulavey, had provided more information that settled several of the questions which had occurred to Duncan after Diana had long turned out her light.

"This man, this Damon Benyu, is a mystery to me. He is handsome, with dark curling hair, deep brown eyes, and the stature of many of our loggers. Yet, he is an artist, with sensitive, fine hands," Constance wrote. "Sarah Martinez says that he only comes into her general store at night, that she has a special arrangement to stay open late one night a week so that he can get his groceries. He pays her well to do this service for him, yet he does not buy very much. She does not know how he survives on the little food he purchases, and believes that he must grow his own garden and perhaps hunt his own meat."

"I, myself, have seen him only rarely, in passing on the sidewalk along the stores in the dusk. He looks at me with those eyes, and I want to melt into his arms and feel his lips upon mine. Yet he frightens me at the same time. He is very pale, which may be why he does not go out in the daylight very often. And he has a messenger deliver his mail and painting supplies to the grocery, and he picks it up there during his weekly visit."

"They say that his wife left him after her children ran away. They say she must have sneaked away in the night, for no one ever saw her leave by carriage during the day. He must be very lonely. I would dearly love to ease his loneliness."

Later, as the killings piled up, Constance mentioned Damon Benyu again. "I hope that this handsome man will be safe out in the canyon they are now calling Demon's Canyon. They have found bodies out there, and it is feared that the mountain lions are preying upon our people and the Indians who live here. He has become more reclusive since the killings started. Perhaps he fears going out at all lest the beasts tear him apart as well. The men are talking about getting a hunting party together and going after the lions, as they seem to be getting too close to the town. Sally Johnston, the town lady of the evening, although she was not much of a lady, was found with her throat torn out near the church. One wonders what she was doing so close to a place of sanctity, but perhaps she was seeking her salvation finally when the savage beast attacked her."

Her final passages, written just a few days after the burial of Damon Benyu, were written with shaking hand. "How dreadful! Mr. Benyu was set upon by the Indians who lived near him in the canyon and poisoned! They tried to say that he was attacking one of their women, but how are we to know that it was not they who were causing these deaths? Father does not want to discuss it with me, but I have overheard him talking with Reverend O'Malley and they were saying the most terrible things about my beautiful artist, that he was a murderer, and worse yet, some sort of monster. I cannot believe it, and yet, the deaths have stopped. It must be purely coincidence. Sometimes, late at night, I dream of him coming into my room. He touches me in my secret places and tells me I am beautiful. But all too soon, I awaken to the light, and my dreams drift away, like the dust in the path of a sunbeam..."

Duncan dreamed that night, as well, but of a blood-soaked dark figure, laughing hollowly in the darkness outside his window, the laughter rising up in pitch until it became the screech of the night owl. The dream shifted, and he was in a dank tomb standing before a rotting wooden coffin. Diana was there as well, cloaked in a long dress of forest green, standing over the coffin with a wooden stake and a mallet. In slow motion, she raised the mallet and brought in down on the head of the stake. Whack! Blood shot up into her face and hair from the coffin, and another screech echoed in the chamber. More whacks resounded throughout the crypt, but Duncan couldn't see Diana hitting anything...Whack!

Duncan sat up with a gasp. Sunlight was streaming in through the door to the deck which he had opened sometime before drifting off the sleep. Whack! He could still hear the sound of wood hitting another object. Duncan checked his watch. It was nearly ten a.m. He walked out to the deck to investigate, dressed in only in the silk boxers that he wore instead of pajamas.

"Good one, Gabby. You haven't lost your eye!" he heard Diana yell in encouragement.

Whack! Thump.

Duncan finally recognized the sound from his childhood. It was the noise of a bat hitting a baseball, then the satisfying thunk as a line drive made its way into a leather mitt. He followed the sound to the back of the house and looked down upon a scene of domestic tranquillity. Diana was standing next to a bushel basket full of baseballs, pitching overhand to a willowy young woman with strawberry blonde hair who was dressed in jeans and tee shirt. She wasn't wearing a bra, judging from the perky nipples refusing to lie down and be quiet beneath her shirt. "Like mother, like daughter," he said to himself with a sense of awe. The fearless Gabriella, naked horsewoman, and expert batter from what he could see.

Duncan watched with a tangible air of loneliness. If he had settled down and had a family, he could have had this love and unbreakable bond that he could read in their faces as Diana and Gabriella played ball and talked. He was going to turn and walk away without interrupting mother and daughter, when Diana called up to him.

"Good morning, Duncan. Did you sleep well?"

He called back down to her. "Actually, I was a little restless. I think your tale of Mr. Benyu combined with the diaries were a bit unsettling."

"This is my daughter, Gabriella. She drove in early this morning to visit me for the week."

Gabriella turned to look up at him, her hand shading her eyes. Her mother said something to her and strode towards the house. Gabriella nodded and, picking up her glove and a stray ball, walked to a spot beneath the deck where Duncan stood. She looked up at Duncan with that wise-ass grin he'd seen in her photographs.

"So you're Duncan Sloan. My mom has spoken quite often of you. She has a lot of respect for your writing. Nice boxers. Aren't you getting a draft, though?"

Duncan felt his face grow hot and realized she had a clear view of whatever he wasn't wearing beneath his shorts. "Just a little. What about you?" he countered, motioning at her chest. "Looks like you're getting a bit of a chill."

Gabriella looked down, then grinned back up at him. "No, they're warm. They always do that. How about yours? Does it always do that?" she asked, pointing at his crotch.

Duncan turned away, highly aware of the stirring and hardening in his boxers. "How about if I take a shower and meet you and your mother downstairs?"

"Whatever." Gabriella entered the house through the back patio and Duncan padded back to the bedroom. He showered and shaved, donning a fresh pair of jeans and a shirt he had picked up on a recent visit to Denver. He laced up his hiking boots and made his way downstairs to the kitchen, following the voices of Diana and her daughter.

"Mr. Sloan. Nice to see you again," Gabriella Lorraine purred, casting a quick glance down to the zipper of his jeans, then back to his face.

Duncan blushed, then extended his hand. "Call me Duncan, please. I'm honored to meet you in the flesh. Quite beautiful flesh, I might add."

Gabriella pumped his hand. "You've seen my painting."

"Yes, indeed, I have. You sit a horse very well."

"Thank you. I've had lots of practice with sitting astride stallions," she purred.

"Gabriella..." Diana admonished in a low growl.

Duncan sat on one of the barstools at the kitchen counter and chose from several boxes of cereal that Diana offered to him. He poured and added milk, observing her daughter as he ate and listened to them talk. Gabriella stood at his eye-level and had the same broad shoulders as her mother. But where Diana was quiet and pensive, Gabriella was boisterous and impulsive. She laughed constantly in a voice pitched slightly deeper than her mother's, and her green eyes flared wide as she accented the points of stories she was sharing with Diana.

Gabriella pointed to Duncan's shirt. "When were you in Denver?"

"About a month ago. I have some relatives there and it wasn't too far off my path from an assignment in Boulder. Why, have you been there?"

Gabriella laughed, biting into an apple she picked out of an overflowing fruit bowl. "I live in Estes Park. It's not that far a drive to Denver."

"Right below Rocky Mountain National Park. Beautiful place. Lots to do in the downtown area. If you don't mind the obstacle courses through the elk. What do you do up there?"

"I own a couple of stables. We run trail rides through the Park during the warmer months."

"You own stables? How old are you, if you don't mind me asking?" Duncan blurted out in amazement.

"I'm twenty six. Mom was a youngster when she had me, weren't you Mom?" Gabriella said to Diana. "Gotta watch these mountain women, they get really frisky at a young age. And at an old age..." she added, putting her arm around her mother's shoulder.

Diana colored, avoiding Duncan's eyes, and swatted her daughter on the butt with a wooden spoon. "Shut up, Gabby. I send you to college and you still don't have any manners!"

"Oh, Mom! Manners are for elitists. We're just a bunch of ignorant peasants!" Gabriella winked at Duncan and smiled. "So did my mother tell you the horrific tale of the beastly Damon Benyu?"

"Yes, she did. Interesting story."

"It's more than a story. It's a part of the local history."

"A vampire? You believe in the story?"

"My mother never lies to me."

"I'm not saying she lied..."

"Yes, you are. She told you what happened. She knows the truth..."

"Gabby! Duncan is a guest of mine. I apologize for my daughter, she is very protective of me." Diana wrapped an arm around her daughter's waist and looked up at her, pride and love shining in her eyes. "We are all that is left of our family, so we tend to go a little overboard sometimes in defense of each other."

Duncan wiped his mouth with a napkin. "No offense taken. I didn't mean any disrespect towards your mother," he said to Gabriella.

The younger woman grimaced at him then smiled again. "Forgiven! So what are you two going to do today?"

"Well, I had planned to take off and head to my next assignment," Duncan answered slowly, looking at his hostess with some confusion. "Did you have other plans, Diana?"

"Only if you have the time. I thought we would go into town and you could visit with Mr. Carpenter and a few of the other old timers for a bit more insight on Damon's Canyon. It would help to have me along. I'd be your ticket in the door, so to speak."

"I guess I could delay my trip another day."

"I think it would be worth your while. Gabby, would you like to go with us?"

Gabriella made a wry face as if smelling fish left out in the sun too long. "Good Lord, no, Mom! I'm here to visit you, not that dinky hole in the wall! I'll stay here and work out the horses. I'll bet you haven't ridden them in months."

"I rode Ebony before I left on my last trip. As for that dratted Appaloosa of yours, I wish you would take her with you. She is the meanest creature I have ever run across."

"Maybe next trip, Mom. I have my hands full with the rest of the crew. Besides, what would Ebony do without Crabapple by his side?"

"Get some peace and quiet and not have to worry about getting kicked in the head, perhaps?"

"I guess I'll see you later, Duncan. Have fun with Mom," she said slyly, winking at him again before turning on her heel and walking out the back door.

"Too late, already did that," Duncan answered in a low voice, then ducked as Diana threw a wet dishrag at his head.

Half an hour later, Duncan was settled into the passenger side of Diana's truck as she drove back to Damon's Canyon. The forest seemed friendlier in the light, with chipmunks squeaking in protest and the warbling of birds wafting in through the open windows.

Duncan tentatively reached out his hand and laid it atop Diana's thigh. She placed her right hand over it and gently stroked his fingers, then slid it further over into his lap and stroked what she felt growing there.

"No regrets about last night?" Duncan asked. The friction was making him heat up even more than the summer warmth.

"None whatsoever. You?" Diana rubbed harder.

"Mmm...no. That feels good, don't stop." He shifted in his seat, moving to the rhythm of her stroking. "Oh, God, I need to be inside you again."

"We can take care of that. Hold on."

Diana slowed down to a crawl and turned onto a dirt path that ran into the forest. She shifted into 4-wheel drive and guided the truck over the rutted and rock-strewn path, driving on another mile until they passed through a swift-running shallow stream that flowed over the roadway. She parked beneath a tent of close-set pines.

"Where are we?" Duncan followed her lead and exited the truck.

"Paradise. Or the closest thing to it. Come on." She hauled a small lap blanket out from one of the jump seats and headed towards the burbling stream.

Duncan wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. "This is beautiful up here. I can understand why you call it paradise."

Diana led him across the stream, which gurgled and echoed downward over rocks hirsute with a soft emerald green moss. "Careful, step on the same rocks I do. Some of them are loose and you'll end up in the drink. Not that it would feel too bad in this heat, but you'd be amazed how chilled you can get up here, even in the summer. The water is always like ice."

Once across, she stopped and looked up into Duncan's face. He leaned over and kissed her softly on the lips, running his hands over her breasts and ass. Diana wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close, grinding her pelvis into his. "I need you," she said in his ear.

"Whatever you need, I have," Duncan whispered back, unbuckling his belt as she stepped away and eased her way out of her tee shirt and jeans. With her flaming hair cascading about her shoulders and breasts, she looked like some sort of forest fairy. All she needed was a set of translucent wings.

"You're not wearing anything under there..." Duncan marveled as she leaned forward and laid out the blanket on the fallen leaves.

"Underwear is so confining. Don't you think?" She knelt on the blanket and stretched like a cat, raising her eggshell-smooth ass provocatively at him.

"Definitely. Uh, aren't you afraid of snakes up here?" Duncan ventured a cautious look around the boulder-and-trunk-strewn landscape.

"Why, I only see one snake here, and I don't think it'll bite, do you?"

Duncan knelt between her legs, his thick shaft knocking at her already-juicy labia and her beckoning ass. "No, it doesn't bite, it just spits a lot."

"Oh, yes, Duncan, that's it, right there. You feel so good, so hard." Diana moaned and rose up on her elbows and knees, taking his length inside her. "C'mon, harder. I can take it. Harder!"

Duncan grasped her hips, giddy with the feel of her warm skin, and drove hard into her welcoming pit from behind. "You are so fucking wet and tight." He flung his head back as he pistoned her, his damp curls dripping sweat down between his shoulder blades.

"Hey, some things just get better with age," she panted back, driving back against him with her ass. "More, Duncan. Give me more!"

"You want more? I'll give you everything I've got, Red." Duncan was becoming dizzy with the heat and altitude, with the rapture he was about to experience in this paradise. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the climax that was storming up inside him, the lava flow already starting to spew.

He could hear the liquid, slurping sounds they were making as the slick flesh of his prick glided in and out of her ambrosia-soaked pussy. He felt like he had jammed his cock into a tight condom full of heated honey. Duncan slipped the fingers of one hand around her furry mound and dipped them into that condom, feeling himself slipping back and forth inside her. He felt Diana's fingers on his, guiding him to the spot where she needed him most, that hard little button that would set her off.

"There, there, don't move them...hhhnnhh, hhhnnhh...oh, yeah, oh, yeah, oh...!" Diana shook and bucked, the nectar flowing thick and heavy over Duncan's cock and over her thighs.

A jay bird squawked and screamed, startled by the racket as Duncan's groans joined Diana's cries in a mutual explosion. Feral eyes stared from the shadows of a boulder at the noisy coupling of these two interlopers. He growled deep in his throat then froze as the she-beast stared straight at him, her head flung back in defiance. She glared at him, her eyes as golden as his own. He slunk off the rock into the forest, disdainful of these pale intruders, yet heeding the warning he saw in those tawny orbs. This was the she-beast's territory; he would have to respect that and move on for now.