“Um,” I said, trying to sort through my emotions. I was sitting at the bottom of a waterfall of lust, confusion, nervousness, and worry. I hoped Stan was able to at least distract himself with the free magazines or Wi-Fi at The Internets. Finally, I pointed at my office.
“I stuck the box in the file cabinet, at the very back. I didn’t really know what else to do with it.”
“Cool,” Chloe said, walking with a slight skip into my office. I heard the drawer slide open, heard the folders scrape as she moved them. After a second, she came back with the familiar blue box that I’d received from a pair of fairies who had asked me to help them find some missing children. Well, they’d actually asked me to find the demon that had kidnapped the kids, but I hadn’t been much help when it had come to the demon. The kids I’d been able to help, with the aid of Chloe, Mel, and a witch named Merrin. The demon had nearly made me electrocute myself and had fed me to a vampire for fun.
Unworried about the Tiffany-blue box being some sort of trap or trick, Chloe leaned against her desk, tugged at the ribbon, and tucked it into her pocket. She wiggled the tiny lid off the box and peered inside. On a delighted, “ooh,” she reached in and pulled out a tiny plastic magnifying glass. The handle was so small it disappeared between her thumb and index finger; the lens—a cheap, cloudy-clear plastic—was barely larger than a fat man’s thumbnail. I could have gotten the stupid thing out of any cereal box. I squinted at it.
“That’s it?”
“Yep!” Her response didn’t match the cynicism of my question. When she didn’t elaborate, I gestured at nothing with my right hand.
“What am I supposed to do with it?”
She held it up to her eye like it could actually help her read small print or fry an ant. “Clearly you use it to find something.”
Chloe handed me the toy before closing the blue box and setting it on her desk. She watched me inspect it and laughed, a cloud of affection leaking out of her; it was tinged with something a little more than platonic tenderness. I tucked the magnifying lens into my pocket, crossed my arms and looked her over.
“Are you mentally undressing me?”
“Yeah.”
“Well. This is certainly different.”
“Eh,” Chloe shrugged and pushed away from the desk. She flipped the lights off as she got to the doorway and then stood there, holding the door open for me. I didn't move from my spot, half-convinced she would grab my ass again.
“I just have a lot of energy to burn off.” She waggled her brows and jerked her chin toward the stairwell. “Come on. If I’m not getting lucky, I’m dropping you off at home and you and Stan can work this off yourselves.”
“I think sex with you would be less awkward.”
“Well, then let’s have at it, babe!” Chloe stepped into the room, started to shut the door. I laughed and shook my head.
“I don’t…usually see you that way. I mean, right now I do, but it feels like cheating.”
“On Owen?”
“No.” I said, shaking my head. “That’s not exclusive. I just mean, we’re friends—we’re best friends. Having sex on the office couch because we’ve been whammied by a succubus… It seems wrong. It’s not quite drunk driving, but we shouldn’t be behind the wheel.”
“You’d rather drive a stick. I gotcha.” When I barked out a laugh, Chloe pulled the door open again and waved a hand at chest level between the office and the hallway. “Let’s go, then.”
We found Stan sitting alone in the corner of The Internets, a small to-go cup in his hands. His eyes were fixed on a dark-haired couple four tables away. The girl was small with scraggly hair and pretty, hazel eyes. I couldn’t see her full face over the shoulder of the man hunched awkwardly across her table, but she looked angular, androgynous. Her brows were drawn down and the annoyance within her felt familiar somehow, but I couldn’t place it. She wasn't human but I didn't know what she was.
The annoyance was almost liquid, a thick blob at the forefront of her gooey psyche. Other emotions—all her other emotions, it seemed—were there, too. It was like someone had dumped an entire fruit salad into a gelatin mold that hadn’t quite finished setting. Her emotions were sweet, little bits of candied fruit, and her annoyance particularly reminded me of a chunk of pear. Pity was a slightly smaller chunk of pineapple floating just behind the annoyance-pear.
The closer I paid attention, the more I noticed the man wasn’t human either, but he was painfully, embarrassingly desperate. The girl’s pity made perfect sense in an instant.
"Mel's here again," I mumbled, confused. Chloe followed my gaze and nodded, stepping toward them. I shook my head, grabbed her arm. "You get Stan. I want to make fun of Mel some more."
Chloe rolled her eyes over a smile and moved toward my ex. We followed similar trajectories until a few tables away, when Chloe broke off and headed for Stan. The fruit salad jiggled madly, an apple slice of panic pushing against the edges like it was trying to escape. I frowned at the girl, watched as she shoved her chair back and darted away, disappearing around the corner toward the bathrooms. She was bony under her baggy clothes, and I tried to decide if that was normal for whatever type of creature she was, or if she’d been forced to live on the streets like a homeless youth. It was proof that just because you had powers didn’t mean you could get through life as successfully as Madeline or Mel.
Feeling a little sorry that she was suffering the double whammy of vagrancy and now being hit on by Mel, I wondered if she was the cause of his desperation. Was she turning him down out of some street-kid code of not getting yourself stabbed and left in a ditch? Usually, Mel didn't give off the stab-and-ditch vibe, but lately that wasn’t the case.
If this was what being Mated meant, I could understand why Mel had seemed so terrified of the prospect.
I got closer, twitching as I stepped into his storm cloud of anguish, which was edged with a dark lining of pain. Frustration sparked out of him, nicking my skin but only just hot enough to irritate. When I stepped up next to him, Mel turned his attention away from the bathroom hallway and watched me in silence for a moment.
He was clean-shaven this time, but his shirt was buttoned all the way up to the very top, with the exception of a button between his pecs. Chloe and Stan closed in, but Mel didn’t turn to them immediately.
"You ready?" Chloe asked. Mel perked up, but it felt hollow.
"You know I am, baby, let's do this," he said, still sitting down.
"What?" Chloe asked, just as confused by the waver in his come-on as I was. Mel’s emotions dipped a little more toward sadness.
"Nothing. Never mind. I should go."
"No luck with the girl?" Chloe asked, pitching her voice the way you’d talk to a sad child.
"The... She was... No. She has a boyfriend. Probably. I think." Shoulders hunched, he looked up at Stan and I felt a stab of jealousy shoot out of him and into my gut. "You three all going home together?" Mel asked.
“Not exactly,” Chloe said. Stan had turned his attention to the bathroom hall, curiosity and a bit of worry dominating his thoughts. His lust seemed to have mostly washed away with the drink he’d ordered, and it made me a bit sad. I found myself surprised by my reaction; the sadness then turned to shame when I realized a tiny part of me had considered using Stan to our mutual advantage and ridding ourselves of the leftover lust energy.
A bit disgusted with myself, considering our history, I looked Mel up and down, mulled over tossing him a bit of pity sex to quell the urge. As I actually took the time to inspect him, though, I realized that it was somehow even less appealing than usual. While his emotions were no longer torturous in a physically painful way, I could not actually convince myself that I wanted to sleep with him. The idea sat somewhere on the Scale of Unappealing Things between necrophilia and having sex with a beloved family pet.
Fighting off the urge to vomit as I remembered that he was, in fact, occasionally dog-shaped. I took a step back.
"Can we go?"
"I'm Stanley. I guess we're leaving, but it was nice to meet you."
"You too, Stanley. Enjoy your night." On a bitter pout, Mel got to his feet, stepped around us and headed dejectedly toward the door. I noticed Stan wiped his hand on his pants when Mel had stepped outside. Maybe Stan wasn’t immune to whatever Mel was putting out, after all.
##
I’d been lying in bed awake for somewhere around an hour, and it was starting to get tiring. Not the type of tiring that put me to sleep, apparently, but tiring nonetheless.
Chloe had dropped Stan and me off, promising us we’d both feel better after we slept. Stan had gone straight to the kitchen, taking his restlessness out on the dishes he hadn’t gotten to do before we dragged him out of the house. I’d cooed at Sonny some before jumping in the shower for some me time.
It hadn’t helped one bit.
Whatever Madeline had crammed into my brain wanted another warm body. It wanted biting and kissing, hair pulling and back scratching. I was acutely aware at ten-past midnight that Stan was sleeping peacefully down the hall, an attractive prey. I could feel my foot hanging off the side of the bed, jerking arrhythmically as I considered the faint feeling of calm coming from my sleeping ex.
I was about thirty seconds from calling Chloe and asking to belatedly take her up on her offer when I realized I had another option. Owen had given me a card with his mobile phone number scribbled on it. My body froze in place at this realization, the gleeful shock momentarily paralyzing me. I swear I didn’t squeak like a mouse as I tangled and then untangled myself from the sheets in my rush to get my purse from the front room. Stan’s emotions stayed nearly flatlined as I pounded down the hall, grabbed my purse and hustled back to my room.
I shut my door and then moved into the bathroom and closed that door, too. Leaning back on the edge of the counter, I felt my foot start its tapping again as I dialed Owen’s number. He answered on the first ring, which surprised me. I think part of me thought he’d be sound asleep.
“Yes.” His voice was calm, no-nonsense and wide-awake.
“Hey. It’s Gwen.”
“Hello,” he said, a smile creeping in. “You’re up late.”
“Are you up—I mean, did I wake you?”
“No, you didn’t wake me. And I’m not up, but I could be,” he said. I gave a breathy laugh.
“Well, I can’t sleep. I was hoping you could help me with something.”
“Something serious?”
“Sex,” I said before my brain could explain to my mouth how we should all work together to make this not only not awkward, but possibly also not desperate or tacky. Owen’s silence made me think that he was just as shocked at what I’d said as my brain was. After a few moments, in which something rattled like a grocery store basket full of canned food, he sighed out and spoke.
“Really?” Instead of the confusion I’d expected, I could hear that he was pleased.
“Yeah. I was going to be diplomatic, maybe make up a story about there being a bat in my attic and how you should bring a tennis racket and help me take it out but we’re both consenting adults. So… Do you consent?”
“Absolutely.” There was a predatory tone in his voice that made my insides sizzle.
“I have company but I could probably be at your place in forty-five? Are you there?”
“In forty-five?” He paused and I heard something heavy slap onto a concrete floor on his end. “Yeah, I will be.”
“Perfect,” I said. Without thinking, I hung up and rushed for the bedroom. My haste was dangerous and I nearly brained myself yanking the open bathroom door. It didn’t occur to me until I’d already changed out of my pajama pants that hanging up like I’d done had probably been pretty rude.
Chapter Sixteen
I perhaps drove a bit too fast on the way to Owen’s place, but I didn’t see any cops, and if they saw me they didn’t seem to care. I parked in the driveway next to his sedan, reminded myself that it would be uncouth to stick my hand down his pants before saying hello, and knocked. It took him a minute to open the door, but the smell of him freshly showered wafted out as he did.
I was pretty sure that, had I been a man, that alone would have shrunk my underpants two sizes. It was like being in high school again, all hormonal and barely in control of myself. With a mildly embarrassed smile, I stood in place, giving a little wave. Leaning in to kiss my cheek, he wrapped his arm around my back and tugged me over the threshold.
Doing my best to control the urges inside me, I stayed facing the living room, hands clasped over the handle of my bag in front of my hips. Owen stepped around me toward the kitchen, and I noticed his left hand looked like it had been scraped up and cleaned.
“What happened?”
“Walked into a door. Do you want something to drink?” Catching my frown, he smiled. “No wine, I promise.”
“Were you fighting?”
“No drink, then?” he asked, pausing at the entrance to the kitchen. Realizing he was refusing to answer, I found a bit of irritation had erupted into the lust clouding my brain. That was probably for the best, though, considering I have no willpower when it comes to sex or food. We stared at each other for a few moments, before he tipped his head. “Are you really that worried about me?”
“I…guess.” I wasn’t sure. He looked fine, and nursing him back to health wasn’t exactly why I’d driven thirty-five minutes north in the middle of the night. When I continued to stare dully, he smiled at me, turned to face me completely, and stepped forward. That was enough of an invitation for my hormones, apparently—they took over.
I dropped my bag on the floor and practically flew the short distance between us. I leaned up into him and found his mouth open and ready for me. The kiss was desperate, and he made a small sound of surprise when I began to do exactly what I’d told myself not to and grabbed the waistline of his pants. Amusement flooded out of him and I found myself smiling when he spoke.
“No gun this time.”
“Smart man,” I purred as I tugged at the button of his jeans with one hand, the other already moving his zipper downward. Evidently he hadn’t been sure before that moment that I’d really come over just to have sex; I felt a bump of confusion before lust and desire took him over. He moved his hands to my shirt, pulling it up, his rough knuckles pressing against my underarms when I didn’t immediately let him undress me. As I finally got his button undone, he shifted, jerking away from me except for his hands on my shirt.
I opened my eyes to snarl at the delay, and his face was mischievous. I wanted sweaty, fast sex and he was playing games. He pulled at my shirt again and danced his hips out of the way when I reached for his pants. At my annoyed sigh, he laughed.
“You got to be in control last time. I think it’s my turn.”
I blinked at him, not sure if I disliked the idea or if I was just objecting because my hormones worried that might slow things down. Finally, I sighed as though the concept bored me and pulled my arms up. Stepping forward, he pressed the open front of his pants against my belly, blocking my access in case I decided to cheat. He tugged my shirt up halfway and pushed the collar back over my hair, leaving my arms trapped up in the air. I felt my bangs feather downward as the shirt moved back far enough to leave my face free. He cupped my cheeks and leaned in for a kiss that was far gentler than I wanted in that moment.
I felt silly standing there with my arms above my head, but he moved to slide his palms up the sides of my arms, making sure to keep our hips pressed together. He pulled away from the kiss after a few more seconds and moved to nibble along my jaw, cupping his fingers around my elbows before moving to gently hold my wrists.
“Why the booty ca
ll?” he asked, very close to my ear. I sighed out, completely unable to understand what he’d said for a few seconds. He waited patiently for my brain to catch up and then moved on to kissing my neck as I mumbled out a response.
“Saw a succubus today. Feeling amorous.”
His lust slammed to a halt like a car crash. Pieces of it broke away, flying off into the atmosphere, coating my skin and making me feel warm. Annoyance and suspicion replaced the lust, immediately cooling the warm spots on my skin. My eyes fluttered open and I watched him lean his upper half away from mine, letting me go. His expression was pleasant enough, but he was no longer interested in kissing or undressing me.
We stared at each other for a moment, before I glowered and tugged my shirt completely off, lowering my arms.
“What?” I asked. He lifted a brow.
“You saw Madeline?”
“Yeah, she called to…” Realizing that he had every right to be suspicious of me in that moment, I took a deep breath. “Oh shit.”
He watched me patiently, making no move toward or away from me. I shook my head.
“I forgot.”
“What did you forget?” he asked, a touch too calmly. Had I not been pressed against him, I would have been unable to catch the nearly imperceptible threat behind the words. It sobered me somewhat that he could be so worried about what Madeline might throw his way that just mentioning her name made him suspicious of me. I stepped back, stuffing down the tiny impulses still begging me to pull his pants off and finish the discussion later. I considered putting my shirt on, and then decided it didn’t matter.
“Shit,” I said again, feeling a laugh slip in. “Madeline called to apologize for sending her guys here and putting me in danger. She also said to get a message to you.”
“Did she?” The question was rhetorical, his suspicion growing around us both. It was a tingle in the air, like you might feel right before lightning strikes next to your feet.
“She’s not the one killing people. But there is another succubus in town who is. Her name’s Norma Laby and, coincidentally, she’s stalking my ex-husband.”
Business With Pleasure (Empathy in the Preternatural PNW Book 2) Page 16