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Authors: Richelle Mead

BOOK: Succubus On Top
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“Just tired,” I lied.
We shared a dish of gelato and then returned to my apartment. We had just set up the Scrabble board when I felt immortal signatures approaching.
I groaned, not wanting to deal with this. “Hail, hail, the gang's all here.”
Seth looked puzzled until we heard the knock at the door. I opened it, letting in Hugh, Peter, Cody, and Bastien.
“You are alive,” said Peter cheerfully, smothering me in a hug. “We tried calling you tonight.”
“And I've been trying to get ahold of you all day,” added Bastien pointedly.
I was perfectly aware that he had called me many times. I had purposely not answered my phone.
“Sorry,” I said to all of them.
“Hey, Seth,” said Cody, clapping the writer on the back. The vampire and the rest of the immortals spread themselves out around my living room like they lived there. I gave their giggling and careless behavior a withering glance.
“You guys been barhopping?”
“Yup,” said Hugh with pride. “You—both of you—could have joined us.”
“Fortunately, the night is still young,” declared Bastien. He strolled around the living room, arching an appalled eyebrow at the Scrabble board. “When you didn't answer, we decided to come issue an invitation in person.”
“We're going to go shoot pool,” explained Cody happily. “Over at that place in Belltown. You guys should come along.” He gave Seth a conspiratorial grin. “Georgina's a wicked pool player.”
“Thetis is good at everything,” Seth murmured automatically. I could tell by his body language he wasn't comfortable with a bunch of drunken immortals in the room. I also knew he didn't want to go out.
“Sorry, guys,” I told them. “We've already been out. We're staying in.”
This earned snide remarks and groans of disapproval.
“Oh come on,” begged Hugh, trying to get Aubrey's attention with a cat toy on a string. She didn't fall for it and hissed at him instead. “We always get better service when you go with us.”
“Besides,” said Bastien nastily. “It doesn't look you're doing anything else exciting. You should be grateful we came along. We're giving you something.
Something you couldn't otherwise get
.”
I remained calm, but I think the others picked up on the sudden tension in the air. “Sorry,” I repeated. “We're staying in. You guys can hang out for a little bit, but then I've got to kick you out. We're doing our own thing.”
“I wasn't aware you guys
did
anything at all,” muttered Bastien in a voice only I heard. Maybe the vampires too, with their superhuman hearing.
“You got anything to drink?” asked Peter, gently nudging me toward being a good hostess.
I was still locked in a battle of wills and eye contact with the incubus. “Yeah, I just bought a six-pack of Smirnoff Ice.”
“Oh,” said Cody. “Score.”
He and Hugh raided my refrigerator, passing out bottles of prissy malted beverage to everyone except Seth and me. We abstained. Lounging around, conversation on silly topics soon ensued, although Bastien, Seth, and I did not participate. Seth stayed quiet because he always stayed quiet in such settings. Bastien and I stayed quiet because we were pissed off at each other.
I excused myself for the restroom and found Bastien waiting outside the door for me when I finished.
“Alcohol runs right through you, huh?” I asked, pushing past him.
He blocked my way, backing me up against the wall.
“What the hell's wrong with you?” he demanded in a low voice.
“Nothing. Let me go.”
“Bullshit. I left you like a hundred messages. You're avoiding me.”
“So? It's my prerogative. Just like that song.”
He snorted. “Let me guess. You're having some sort of melodramatic moral crisis over what happened last night. That's so typical of you lately.”
“Don't talk to me about last night. You shouldn't have done what you did.”
“I
shouldn't have? My God, Fleur, don't act like you're the victim here. Nobody forced you. You more than consented. In fact, I daresay you enjoyed it.”
“It was a mistake.”
“And so avoiding me is going to fix it? Don't delude yourself. It wasn't a mistake. It was good for you. I helped you. I gave you something you would have never gotten otherwise. You'll remember it for the rest of your life.”
“Gee,” I said, dripping sarcasm. “How kind of you. Because that's really all there was to it, wasn't it? You only did it to help me. Nothing more. You certainly didn't do it just because you could. Because I was ‘beautiful and I was wonderful and you wanted me.' ”
“Listen to me—”
“No. You listen to me. If I want to avoid you, let me avoid you. Don't show up at my house drunk and try to force your way into a dialogue. It makes you more of an asshole than you'd be otherwise. I don't want to talk to you. Not anytime soon. Maybe not ever.”
“Forever's a long time.” He leaned closer, one hand on my arm. “Don't you think you're overreacting to one fuck? Besides, you can't cut me off. You've got to help me with Dana.”
“No,” I declared icily. “I do not. You're on your own with that. And if you get sent to Guam, then it's your own fucking fault. Maybe it'll give you some time to think about your relations with women outside of business.”
“Damn it—”
“Georgina?”
We both turned and saw Seth standing in the hallway. Bastien and I were close—too close—but not romantically close. Anyone with half a brain could tell we were locked in a dispute. Our postures radiated it, as did our expressions. The grip Bastien held on my arm was not friendly.
“Are you okay?” Seth asked carefully. His words came out low and measured, but I saw something unfamiliar in his expression. Not anger, but something else kindling in his eyes. He had told me once he chose his battles carefully, and I wondered then what he would do if he thought the incubus was a real threat to me.
“We're fine,” I said. I broke from Bastien's grasp, and he didn't fight it.
“Yes,” he agreed with a cold smile. “We're fine.”
He walked past me but stopped when he was even with Seth.
“You should be flattered,” Bastien told him. “Most women invoke God during sex, but Fleur yells your name. One would have thought you were a deity, considering how many times she paid homage to you last night.”
He continued on to the living room, and I didn't even stick around to see Seth's reaction. I stormed after Bastien.
“Get out,” I told him. I looked over at the other immortals. “All of you,
get out now
.”
Peter, Cody, and Hugh stared at me in astonishment. I'd kicked them out a number of times, but none of them had ever heard me use this voice on them. Consequently, they heeded it. They scrambled out the door in under a minute, Bastien shooting me a dark glance as he left.
When they were gone, I took a deep breath and turned to Seth. Anger and despair boiled inside of me.
“Let me guess. You want to know what he meant.”
His face was unreadable. “Honestly, I don't know.” He suddenly sounded tired. “I don't know if I want to.”
“Yeah, well, I'll tell you anyway.”
The words tore at me while coming out, but I really didn't want to hold on to the secret anymore. Not only because Bastien had given it away but also because I knew I wasn't going to be able to stand having it fester inside of me. It hurt too much. Talking to the incubus had made me realize that.
So while I didn't mention the pictures, I told Seth everything else. Everything.
When I finished, he didn't say anything. He stared at some nonexistent spot in the air, face blank once more. After a couple of minutes of aching silence, he finally turned back to me.
“So. How was I?”
Chapter 18
“
T
hat's not funny,” I said.
“Seems like a reasonable question.”
I looked at him and then wrapped my arms around myself. “Is that all you're going to say?”
“I . . . I don't really know what else to say.”
“This is the part where you yell at me.”
His eyebrows rose. “Oh, I see. I didn't know this was already scripted out.”
“That's not what . . . look. I slept with someone else. And not just slept. I didn't have to do it . . . not the way I have to with humans. You get that, right?”
“Yes,” he said, still dead calm.
“And I wasn't drunk or anything. Tipsy maybe, but still in control of my senses.”
“Yes.”
“So aren't you mad?”
“Stunned is the dominant emotion at the moment. Finding out someone impersonated you is almost more troubling than the sex part.”
“He didn't impersonate you, per se . . . I mean, I knew it was him.”
“I know. But it's still weird.”
When he fell silent again, I could only stare with incredulity. He caught my look and retuned it.
“What do you want?” This time he did sound annoyed, almost angry. “Do you want me to be mad? Will that like . . . punish you or something? Is that what you want?”
I said nothing and realized that was exactly what I wanted. I had read a book once where a guy accidentally killed a girl while driving drunk. His powerful family had managed to keep him out of jail, and he'd hated it. He'd wanted the cleansing catharsis of real punishment, of paying for his crimes. Right now, I needed the same thing.
“I deserve it,” I told Seth.
His voice was cold. “Well, I'm not going to give it to you right now. You can't dictate what I feel. Sorry.”
My mouth started to drop open, unsure what to do with this turn of events. The ringing of my cell phone interrupted my rumination. I glanced at my purse, then let the phone go to voice mail. A moment later, it rang again.
“You should answer it,” Seth told me.
I didn't want to talk to anyone. I wanted to crawl into a hole. But I got the phone and read the display. No one I recognized. Sometimes that was Jerome. If I didn't answer, the demon was likely to teleport on over, and that was quite possibly the only thing that could make this scenario worse.
“I'm sorry,” I said softly to Seth, just before I answered. I didn't know if I was apologizing for the interruption or what I'd done with Bastien. “Hello?”
“Hey, Georgina. This is Wyatt.”
It took me a moment. From Doug's band. “Hey, how's it going?”
“Bad. I didn't know who else to call. I'm at the hospital with Doug.”
My heart stopped. “Oh my God. What happened?”
“He, uh, took some pills.”
“What kind of pills?”
“Not sure. But he took a whole bottle of them.”
Wyatt's news spurred Seth and me to action. It was funny how tragedy could override anger. Whatever unresolved issues ensnared us, we put them on hold as I drove us downtown.
Wyatt had briefly told the rest of the story as I'd left my apartment at a run. Alec hadn't come through with his latest shipment. Doug had crashed again, plunging into that frightening darkness I'd observed before. Wyatt didn't entirely know what had triggered the overdose. He blamed everything from a suicidal urge to a desperate attempt at recapturing the high through other means. The emergency room had pumped his stomach, and the doctor said he was okay for now, but he hadn't yet regained consciousness. Wyatt had called me because Doug had no family here, and no one knew how to contact the ones who lived out of town.
Corey and Min were there when we arrived. They elaborated a bit more for us and said there was no change in Doug's condition. Seth stayed silent, but I could tell he was as concerned as I was.
I asked if I could see Doug, and a nurse told me I could. I entered the room alone and found him asleep, hooked up to tubes and a bleeping machine. I had watched medical technology change over the years, from leeches to defibrillators, but that didn't mean I felt comfortable with any of it. Machines that kept people alive rubbed me the wrong way. They weren't natural, even if they did good.
“Oh, Doug,” I murmured, sitting at his bedside. His skin was pale, his hand cold and clammy. The bleeping machine registered a steady heartbeat, so that was something. None of the other readouts meant anything to me.
I watched him, feeling helpless. Mortals, I thought, were fragile things, and there was nothing I could do about that.
Many, many years ago, Bastien and I had worked at a dance hall in Paris. Dancers in those days were almost always prostitutes too, but I hadn't minded. The opportunity had provided me with both succubus energy and monetary income. Bastien had been a bouncer and ostensibly my lover. This allowed him to sing my praises, bolstering my reputation and sending me a large clientele.
“There's a young man who shows up every night,” the incubus told me one day. “He has ‘virgin' stamped all over him, but he's rich too. I've talked to him a few times. He doesn't like the idea of paying for sex, but he's completely obsessed with you.”
The news pleased me, and when Bastien pointed out the gentleman, I made a lot of eye contact with him throughout the performance. Sure enough, a manservant of his discretely solicited me on behalf of his employer afterward, and I hurried to prepare myself backstage.
“Josephine,” called a voice beside me. I turned and saw another dancer, an especial friend of mine named Dominique.
“Hey,” I told her, grinning. “I have a nice prospect I've got to get to.” Her grim face made me pause. “What's wrong?”
Dominique was small and blond, with an almost waifish appearance that made her look like she wasn't getting enough to eat. That wasn't a surprise, however. None of us in that profession ever got enough to eat.
“Josephine . . .” she murmured, blue eyes wide. “I need your help. I think . . . I think I'm pregnant.”
I stopped in my tracks. “Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure. I . . . I don't know what to do. I need this job. You know I do.”
I nodded. From the wings, Jean—the man who took cuts from our liaisons—yelled at me to hurry up and meet my young man. I gave Dominique a quick hug.
“I have to go do this. I'll find you later, okay? We'll figure something out.”
But I never really got a later. The young man, Etienne, proved to be adorable. He was much younger than my apparent age, and engaged to be married. He was torn on the issue of sex. Part of him felt he needed to be pure for his bride; the other part wanted to be experienced on his wedding night. That was the part that won out, the part that brought him to my bed and gave me the succubus bonus of both a moral corruption and an energy yield.
He resented me for both my lifestyle and my hold over him, but that didn't stop him from coming back every day for the next few weeks.
“I hate you for this,” he told me one day after we'd been together. He lay back against the sheets, in a sweaty, postcoital repose. I stood near the bed, putting my clothes on while he watched. “Marry me.”
I laughed out loud, tossing my hair—then honey blond and curly—over one shoulder.
He flushed angrily. He had dark eyes and hair and a perennially brooding look. “Is that funny?”
“Only because you hate me in one breath and love me in the other.” I smiled as I laced up my undergarments. “I suppose there are a lot of marriages like that.”
“Not everything's a joke,” he said.
“Maybe not,” I agreed. “But this comes pretty close.”
“Are you turning me down?”
I pulled my dress over my head. “Of course I am. You have no idea what you're asking. It's ridiculous.”
“You treat me like I'm a child sometimes,” he declared, sitting up straighter. “You're not that much older than me. You have no right to act so wise . . . especially since you're a . . .”
I grinned at him. “A whore?” He had the grace to look embarrassed. “And that, sweeting, is the problem. Never mind your family's scandalized reaction. Even if we managed to pull it off, you'd never get over that. You'd spend the rest of our marriage—which would probably be shortlived—obsessing about all the men I'd been with. Wondering if one of them had been better. Wondering if I'd done something with them that you thought was new and novel with you.”
Angry, he stood up and pulled on his pants. “I would have thought you'd be grateful.”
“Flattered,” I said coldly, “but nothing more.”
That wasn't entirely true. The truth was, despite his youthful certainty and mood swings, I liked Etienne. A lot. Something about him appealed to me. Maybe it was because all that emotionality and pride came from an artistic nature. He painted as a hobby. There it was again, my unfortunate obsession with creative men. Luckily, at that time in my life, I had enough sense to avoid deep entanglements with humans.
“I wish you could choose who you love,” he said bitterly. “Because I wouldn't choose you, you know. But, here we are. I can't stop thinking about you. I feel like there's some pull to you I can't fight.”
“I'm sorry,” I said gently, surprised at the small ache in my heart. “Wait until you're married. Your wife will make you forget all about me.”
“No. She doesn't even compare.”
“Plain?” Egotistical of me, perhaps, but I heard it a lot.
“Boring,” he replied.
Then I'd heard a scream, a bloodcurdling, horror-filled scream. I forgot all about Etienne and tore out of the small, dank room. Down the hall I ran until I found a congregation of people and the source of distress.
It was Dominique. She sprawled over a narrow pallet, lying in blood. “My God,” I gasped, kneeling beside her. “What happened?”
But I already knew. I didn't need the forthcoming explanation from the other dancers. I had neglected her pleas for help a couple weeks ago, caught up in my own whirlwind romance. So she had sought her own solution, as so many lower-class women often did. Unfortunately, there were no machines or sanitizing in those days. An abortion was a dangerous, often deadly, business.
“Oh God,” I said again. I had never lost the need to appeal to my creator, despite my theoretical renouncement.
I clutched her hand, not knowing what to do. A halfdressed Etienne appeared in the crowd. I looked up at him desperately.
“You have to go get a doctor. Please.”
Whatever injured pride he harbored over my rejection, he couldn't refuse me in that moment. I saw him make motions to leave, but Bastien grabbed his arm. “No, it doesn't matter.” To me he said: “She's gone, Fleur.”
I looked at Dominique's young face. Her skin was pale, eyes blank and glazed over as they stared at nothing. I knew I should close them, but suddenly I didn't want to touch her. I dropped her hand, slowly backing up, staring in horror.
It was by no means the first time I'd seen a dead body, but something struck me about it then I'd never really considered with such shocking clarity. One moment she was here, the next she wasn't. Oh, the difference one heartbeat could make.
The stink of mortality hung in the air, painting the awful truth about humans. How short their lives were. And fragile. They were like paper dolls among us, turning to ash in the blink of an eye. How many had I seen come and go in over a millennium? How many had I seen pass from infancy to a gray-haired death? The stink of mortality. It threatened to overwhelm the room. How could no one else sense it? I hated it . . . and I feared it. Feeling suffocated, I backed up farther.
Both Bastien and Etienne reached for me in some fumbling attempt at comfort, but I wanted none of it. Dominique, barely out of childhood, had just bled her life away in front of me. What fragile things humans were. I had to get out of there before I became sick. I turned from those who would console me and ran away.
“What fragile things humans are,” I murmured to Doug.
The feeling that welled up within me now as I sat beside him was not sorrow or despair. It was anger. White-hot anger. Humans were fragile, but some of them were still in my care. And whether that was foolish or not on my part, I could not shirk my duty. Doug was one of my humans. And someone had nearly cut his time short.
I stood up, gave his hand a last squeeze, and strode out of the room. From the shocked glances Corey, Min, and Wyatt gave me, I must have looked terrifying. I hit the pause button on my righteous fury when I noticed something. “Where's Seth?”

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