Drake stared intently at the face of the woman in front of him.

  She was beautiful.

  So beautiful that his gaze caught on every line and refused to let go.

  Not a single wrinkle. Not a single fw. Not a trace of time.

  Perfect, as if carved from midnight marble by the hands of a mad god.

  Her figure was fluid, almost unreal — high, heavy breasts rose beneath thin bck fabric, nipples clearly visible through the material. A narrow waist flowed into wide, soft hips, the cloth between her thighs outlining a hot, wet silhouette.

  But there was no cheap vulgarity in it.

  Only a strange, terrifying harmony — as though her body had been created not for love, but for worship.

  Most striking were her eyes.

  They held exhaustion — ancient, deep exhaustion, like that of a being who had lived hundreds of years and seen more deaths than any warrior.

  And at the same time — curiosity.

  She looked at Drake as though trying to understand… what stood before her: prey, threat, or something new.

  Finally she spoke. Her voice — low, velvety, enveloping, like warm darkness.

  “My name is Moraena.

  I am the witch who lives in this forest.”

  Drake swallowed.

  His throat was dry as ash.

  “My name is Drake…” he said slowly. “Thank you very much for helping me and…”

  He fell silent.

  His voice.

  It was alien.

  Not childish.

  Deep.

  Heavy.

  Masculine.

  It rose from his chest and sounded almost… hypnotic. And for a moment a chill ran through him.

  He had already heard such a voice.

  In the incubus’s memories.

  When he spoke to women — and they went insane.

  Moraena shuddered.

  Her eyes narrowed slightly — pupils diting like a predator’s.

  “It seems… almost nothing human is left in you.”

  She slowly passed her palm in front of herself.

  Thin threads of magic burst from her fingers — soft, sparkling, like scattering stars.

  They wrapped around her body — coiling around her breasts, waist, hips, as if caressing — and dissolved into the air.

  “Now your magic cannot affect me.”

  Drake silently raised his hand.

  And cmped his fingers around his own throat.

  I will not become a demon.

  This will not happen.

  His fingers tightened.

  Air stopped flowing.

  Darkness crept across his vision.

  “Stop!”

  For the first time real emotion appeared on her face — arm.

  But he didn’t listen.

  He only squeezed harder.

  Then she sharply raised her hand.

  Magic fred — invisible force pried his fingers open and tore his hands away from his neck.

  “What are you doing?!”

  Now she was truly angry.

  “My goal was to kill all demons…” he rasped. “But it seems… I’ve lost.”

  Alien desires surged inside him.

  He felt them.

  The incubus’s instincts.

  Even now a dark, hungry thought rose within.

  He looked at her.

  At her high breasts, narrow waist, hips, lips trembling with anger and… something else.

  Part of him wanted to dominate her.

  Break her.

  Make her moan his name until she lost consciousness from orgasms.

  He clenched his teeth so hard blood trickled from his gums.

  “Stop!” she snapped. “I can help you learn to control your new body.”

  He ughed viciously — the sound came out low, vibrating, like a growl.

  “What does such a beautiful woman want from me?” he shouted. “Are you a demon too?”

  She froze.

  Her face changed sharply.

  Real astonishment appeared in her eyes.

  She swayed.

  “What did you just say?..”

  Quietly.

  Almost a whisper.

  “What… do you see before you?”

  She stepped closer.

  Too close.

  He felt the heat of her body, her scent — sweet, with notes of sulfur and roses.

  His instincts rebelled violently.

  “Stop it!” he snapped. “Get those… huge tits away from me!”

  She froze.

  Then…

  Slowly sank to the floor.

  And suddenly began to ugh.

  Quietly.

  Almost madly.

  She covered her mouth with her hand — fingers trembling.

  “Sorry…” she said. “I need to step out for a second.”

  She rose quickly.

  “Don’t kill yourself, Drake.

  I will help you.”

  She held his gaze for a moment.

  “I have no evil intentions.”

  And she hurried out the door.

  Magic still bound him.

  Invisible chains held his arms.

  He couldn’t move.

  And then…

  He saw the mirror.

  He slowly turned his head.

  A stranger stared back.

  He wore only pants — bck, tight, stretched over powerful thighs.

  His body had changed.

  Adult.

  Strong.

  Broad shoulders.

  Defined chest and abs — cubes gleaming with sweat.

  Long bangs covering one eye and the scar on his cheek.

  And his cock — already rock-hard, enormous, throbbing under the fabric, the thick outline straining as if ready to tear the pants apart.

  He stared silently at himself.

  This…

  This was roughly how…

  He had always imagined himself when he grew up.

  Only…

  Not like this.

  And beyond the door…

  On the cold stone floor sat the witch.

  Smiling madly.

  Her shoulders trembled slightly.

  She whispered over and over:

  “He sees me…”

  “The real me…”

  “The curse doesn’t work on him…”

  And for the first time in many decades…

  Moraena felt something close to happiness.