Mortal Blow: An Urban Fantasy Series (Succubus Hitwoman Book 1)

by Eliza Hendrix

  “Oh, um, sorry,” I mumble, brushing past her.

  Thanks for ruining my angry exit.

  Finding an ATM isn’t difficult to do in San Halos. So I get the cash and mumble to myself the entire way back, pissed off by the amount of work this stupid Gorton is making me do. Am I being immature? Maybe. Okay, definitely. Especially for a thousand-year-old succubus. I wasn’t always like this, but ever since that awful day… seeing his hollow, lifeless eyes… I haven’t been myself. It’s as if I’ve reverted to being a teenager. Every little thing pisses me off and I’m always in the mood to punch someone in the face. I’m sure the alcohol abuse isn’t helping, but it’s the only thing that numbs the pain. And I need to forget. I can’t stand seeing all that blood in my mind… Seeing his angelic face for the last time. Losing everything I cared about.

  I swallow hard, fighting back tears.

  When I return to the Gorton’s cell shop, I walk up to the counter and throw the cash in his face.

  His eyes pop wide open, but that’s about it. It’s frustrating how little emotion these demons express.

  “Thanks for nothing,” I say, slamming my hand into the box of cell phones.

  Two phones immediately go flying upward and across his shop. The rest of them come pouring out of the box when the cardboard splits, but I don’t care.

  The Gorton’s brows come close together. “Hey!”

  Staring him in the face, I grab the first cell that hits my hand and slip it into my pocket. He grimaces at me as if expecting me to pick up the loose phones off his counter, but I don’t give a shit what he thinks, and after what he put me through, I won’t waste another second in here.

  I tug at my leather jacket and turn away.

  Before exiting, I spin back one last time to flip him the bird.

  He looks so furious that I can’t help but smile.

  Fucking jackass.

  “Ow!”

  My elbow smashes into something squishy and I hop sideways. In front of me is an old woman with a veiny hand over her left eye. She stumbles to stand upright on Relik Street’s interlock sidewalk and winces like she ate a sour gumball.

  With difficulty, she bends down and picks up the cane she must have dropped. The moment she stands upright, something in her back snaps and she squeals. But it must not have hurt that much. She glares at me and balls a bony fist.

  “Shit, I’m sorry—”

  “What’s wrong with you?” she shouts. Her voice is so shrill that I pull my face back.

  “It was an accident, lady.”

  Not seeming to care, she scowls even harder, causing her face to bubble with what appears to be a hundred creases and wrinkles. Without warning, she jabs her cane in the air at me and starts shouting a bunch of nonsense.

  “I said I’m sorry,” I say, my patience thinning.

  Around us, people stop walking to watch the scene, which is making things even more awkward. Obviously, this lady doesn’t understand the meaning of an apology, so there’s no point in trying to remedy this with words.

  Doing my best to ignore her shouting, I try to walk past her, but she slams her cane into the brick wall, blocking my way.

  I’m all for respecting my elders, but I apologized for my mistake. This woman’s being a bitch.

  “Get the fuck out of my way, you old hag.”

  Inch by inch, she lowers her cane, her eyes disappearing behind wrinkled folds. I’m about to leave when she says, “Slut.”

  Okay.

  Now, Red is building.

  Who does she think she is? I clench my teeth, telling myself that slapping an old woman upside the head won’t do me any favors, especially when so many people are watching. So instead, I blow air out of my nostrils, ball my fists, and count to three.

  And that’s when I see it.

  She smirks, revealing a small canine tooth and eyes as black as coal.

  Now this makes sense. A siren. Why didn’t I sense it? Maybe the smell of her old decaying body masked it from me. Sirens hate me. They always have. And not me personally, but succubi in general. The war’s been going on for a long time, and it all boils down to one thing: jealousy.

  Sirens age. They lose their beauty, which means they lose their powers. I don’t age—I’m immortal, and I’ll always be beautiful… and maybe a little vain, but with good reason.

  I let out a forced laugh through the side of my mouth—a sound meant to signify, You’re such a pathetic waste of my time—and shove her cane out of my way. She stumbles backward, trying to make it look like I’m the bad guy. A few people gasp, but it doesn’t faze me. If only they knew what she really was. Besides, I’m a hot chick and she’s an old bitter woman with a hideous look on her face. I think it’s safe to say that most fertile people will gravitate toward taking my side.

  At long last, the curious crowd scatters.

  Slipping my sunglasses back on, I start up my new phone, adjust the basic start-up settings, and send Jamieson a text:

  It’s me. New number. No jobs until further notice.

  Chapter 6

  ──────────

  My phone beeps over and over again.

  Why not?

  Are you drunk?

  Alexis, you know you’re my baby girl.

  Jamieson’s trying to sweet-talk me, likely under the impression that I’m having a female mood swing. The irony is that I don’t get periods. I haven’t in centuries. I guess succubus fertility has an expiration date, too, but Jamieson doesn’t know anything about that. Letting him think I’m being hormonal is my way of getting back at him for acting so high and mighty all the time. Everyone’s afraid of a hormonal bitch.

  Ignoring his texts, I shove my phone back into my pocket. I have to focus on finding the guy who saw me at Adam’s house. After that, I’ll get back onto Jamieson’s payroll.

  I close my eyes, rebuilding the image of him in my mind when his neck tattoo comes into focus again. It’s hard to ignore with how unique it is—a dragon with a clock.

  Clock Dragon. That’s what I’ll call him for now.

  My phone goes off again, vibrating against my thigh nonstop. If I weren’t so focused on getting this job done, I’d let it vibrate longer.

  Irritated by the distraction, I pull my phone out and see Jamieson’s number scrolling across the screen. He almost never calls. If I don’t pick up now, he won’t stop hounding me.

  Flipping the phone open, I press it to my ear.

  “What’s up, Jamieson?”

  His voice comes out smooth and flirtatious. “Hey, darling, how’re you doing?”

  “Darling? Jamieson, what do you want?”

  “Look, Alexis, if I’ve said anything to offend you—”

  I cut him off. “You didn’t. Honestly. I have something I need to take care of and it needs my full attention.”

  The line goes quiet until finally, he says, “Are you sure, love?”

  It comes out sounding like a question pulled out of a different conversation. Why is he being so nice? Something’s up. It’s almost like he’s taunting me… trying to get me to sink my teeth into his bait.

  Jamieson knows me too well, and his charming voice breaks me. “Okay. What? What’s going on? Spit it out,” I say.

  “Well,” he says. “I have something you’re going to want to see.”

  “I told you I’m busy.”

  He pauses. “Suit yourself, love.”

  Grinding my teeth, I squeeze the plastic of my phone until something cracks. “I’ll be there soon.”

  He hangs up, and although I can’t see him, I’m certain he’s got a smug smile on that pretty face of his. I suppose Clock Dragon can wait an hour. I dip my phone back into my pocket and make my way to the subway, past the metal walls that smell like stale urine, and deep into the underground station.

  When the train arrives, I hop on the back and plop myself down into one of its plastic chairs. It’s uncomfortable and enough to make me wish it were nighttime so that I could fly over
to Jamieson. I don’t make a habit of flying around in the sky, but I have done it on several occasions.

  Okay, on many occasions. If anyone found out, they’d report me. Every shadow dweller knows that our number one priority is to ensure we don’t expose ourselves to feebles.

  If someone breaks this rule, they have to explain themselves to the vampires, and everyone knows that vampires aren’t forgiving. While the Council of Elders might technically be the ones in charge, everyone knows that vampires run the show. Why? Because they’ve been around for as long as anyone can remember and they reproduce like fucking rabbits. That makes them the mafia of the Underworld. If you cross one, you cross them all, and if you reveal yourself to a feeble, you’re basically crossing them because you’re fucking with their source of food.

  Silent, I sit with arms crossed, while in front of me, three young guys sit across an entire row of seats, throwing jabs at each other.

  Why didn’t I bring my baseball cap? I quiet my breath, hoping I’ll go unnoticed. The one downside to being a succubus is that the moment a man or woman gets a good look at me, they want to talk to me. They want more than that, but they start it off with a conversation.

  Sometimes I just want to be left the fuck alone.

  Through the window behind the three guys, I glimpse my reflection: black hair pulled back into a high ponytail, piercing blue eyes, high cheekbones that could easily have me mistaken for a vampire, and plush pink lips.

  To any feeble, I’m considered beautiful.

  Hell, I’m fucking hot. The first week after my transformation, I spent days staring at myself in the mirror, wishing I could duplicate my new body and fuck myself for weeks.

  “Hey,” comes a rugged voice.

  Without turning my head, I look over at the guy in the middle. Clearly, he’s the one with the most testosterone and the most confidence. He elevates his square jaw and stares at me hungrily.

  Ignoring him, I shift my position and lean my head against the window behind me.

  He seems to enjoy that I want nothing to do with him… most guys do. It’s the chase they want. Others simply like it when a chick’s a bitch.

  “Where’s your boyfriend?” He elbows his buddies and lets out an obnoxious laugh. “I mean… He shouldn’t let you travel all by yourself in this dangerous city.”

  I cock an eyebrow. “Why’s that, Peppermint?”

  He doesn’t seem to find this funny, but his red-and-green-striped shirt was begging to be insulted. Besides, I want him to feel small. I fucking hate it when men insinuate that women shouldn’t be left unescorted by a male. “Think I can’t handle myself?”

  He nudges his buddies again. They laugh but avoid eye contact with me. It’s obvious Peppermint is in charge. His friends are either more respectful than he is, or they can sense that I’m not the kind of woman to put up with bullshit like this.

  Peppermint licks his lips. His eyes crinkle with amusement and he lowers his gaze to my chest. “Oh, I bet you can handle yourself.”

  How late would I be for my meeting with Jamieson if I took care of this little shithead?

  “Did your mother teach you to talk like that?” I ask.

  He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he stares at me with such intensity it’s obvious he’s picturing dirty things. He searches my chest, my hips, and then my lips.

  Guys like him can be handled in one of two ways.

  1) I could beat the shit out of him until he cries for his mom.

  2) I could fuck him and feed.

  While they’re both satisfying options, the latter is the one option in which I get to feed. And with how angry I’ve been lately, a good meal is what I need.

  Leaning forward, I squeeze my arms around my breasts to make them pop out. He follows my bait, almost salivating. Beside him, his friends laugh uncomfortably and the one nearest to him punches him in the shoulder.

  “Dude, leave her alone.”

  It’s too late. He’s already pissed me off, so now, it’s time for my Lure.

  It takes a few seconds for his face to change completely. He stiffens his posture, loosens his jaw, and watches me as if I were Cleopatra risen from the dead.

  “Fuck… You’re… You’re gorgeous,” he says.

  “And you’re a bad boy,” I say, biting my lower lip. “Whaddaya say we get out of here?”

  Although I’m directing my Lure onto Peppermint, his buddies are getting some of it, too. A few jumbled words come out of their mouths, but it doesn’t make much sense.

  The moment the subway comes to a stop, I grab Peppermint’s hand and step out into the subway station. We’re right underneath Second Street, which is where I’m headed to find Jamieson, anyways.

  This won’t take long.

  As I lead him to the men’s washroom, my heels clacking against the cement floor, his friends follow us like puppets on strings.

  “You two,” I say, pointing a finger at them. “Wait here.”

  They nod like robots and stand in the middle of the subway, looking like total morons. I know what they’re thinking: If we sit here like good little boys, we’ll get our turn, too.

  They can dream.

  While feeding off all three at once would be intense, I’m not up to doing it with feebles. It takes a lot of concentration not to kill one, let alone three.

  Peppermint doesn’t say a word as I lead him toward the men’s washroom. He already has a boner, and he’s breathing so loudly I wonder if I’ll even get to have my way with him before he explodes in his pants.

  The moment I bust open the washroom door, a few guys pull their dicks inside their pants and bend forward to cover themselves.

  “Whoa, lady.”

  “Yo, man.”

  “Get out,” I say coldly.

  They zip their flies and run out of the bathroom, heads turning toward me as they exit. The moment they’re out, I lock the door, grab the man by the face and push him up against the tiled wall, right beside one of the urinals.

  I lick his neck, then nibble his ear and whisper, “What’s your name, bad boy?”

  “T-T-Tommy,” he stammers.

  “Tommy,” I breathe, cupping the bulge in his pants.

  A deep moan exits his mouth, and he closes his eyes. “Holy shit…”

  Giving him an expressionless stare, I unzip his jeans, reach inside, and pull him out. He’s hard, hot to the touch, and jabs me in the stomach. Teasingly, I tickle my fingernails down his shaft and he shudders. When he’s about to close his eyes, I grip him and his entire body jolts.

  He wants this so bad it could kill him.

  But he isn’t getting anything yet. I find the more I tease my toy, the more satisfying my meal is—for me and for my prey.

  I watch him squirm against the tile wall as I slowly unzip the front of my jeans. Although I don’t show it, I’m dying to have him inside of me. When I get hungry—and now I’m fucking starving—a primal instinct takes over, making me want to fuck more than anything in the world.

  His face swells with excitement, and he looks like he’s about to stroke out. I sway my hips from side to side, allowing my jeans and panties to drift down my legs. They don’t even have the time to reach my ankles. With popping jaw muscles and a wild look in his eyes, he lunges at me and grabs me by my naked waist.

  If I weren’t so hungry, I’d put him in his place, but the truth is, my Lure makes me want this as badly as he does. Together, we stumble across the bathroom until my bare ass hits the wall behind me.

  He can’t wait.

  He doesn’t.

  Gripping my throat as tightly as he can—which doesn’t feel like much coming from a feeble—he spreads my legs apart, grabs his manhood, and shoves himself deep inside me. The feeling is out of this world… a euphoria only succubi understand. I moan as he hits me deep, my voice making him thrust even harder. A wet, squishing sound fills the bathroom as he pumps, and I run my fingers through his short hair.

  “Fuck me, Tommy,” I say.

&nbs
p; He gets so aggressive about it that my ass slaps against the cold wall behind me. With my chin resting on his shoulder, I glance up at the mirror across the room. In it is Tommy’s bare, muscular ass thrusting back and forth between my spread legs. Cupping a hand at the back of his neck, I smile up at my own reflection as my black hair and blue eyes turn white.

  It’s happening.

  Slowly, my horns pierce through, sticking straight up into the air.

  “Fuck me,” I breathe, wanting him deeper… harder.

  His rapid breath beats against my neck as he slams me into the wall.

  “Harder,” I say.

  He does as he’s been told, his face glistening and turning a deeper shade of red.

  “Yeah, right there,” I say, heightening the tone of my voice to please his ego.

  He likes his women feminine—I can sense it. He also likes the sound of his own name on my lips.

  I can be exactly what he wants me to be.

  “Oh, Tommy,” I cry out. “Give it to me, Tommy. Yeah, baby, right there.”

  The clapping grows louder and louder, ricocheting off every wall around us.

  In an instant, his entire body contracts and he lets out a deep moan as he releases himself inside of me. Right as he gets off, my euphoria explodes tenfold and I grab him by the face, kissing him hard.

  He stumbles backward and falls to the floor, bringing me down with him. Still straddling his waist, I suck on his mouth, pulling out his succulent life force.

  At first, I taste my prize, but as the energy revitalizes me, I suck harder and harder, wanting to consume him in full. The only problem is… if I don’t stop in time, I’ll kill him. And although part of me wants to hurt him for being such a pig earlier, he’s still a feeble, and I’d be murdering an innocent man in cold blood.

  Digging my claws into the tiled floor, I push myself off and growl at the ceiling in frustration. Under me, he lies still, his glazed eyes fixated on me as if I were his lifelong fantasy come to life… which I probably am.

  I rip my claws out of the tiles and pull him out of me. But all of a sudden, he groans—the sound a stark contrast to the pleasured groans from earlier—and clutches at his chest.