by Sarah Winn
THE SUCCUBUS
by
Sarah Winn
TORRID BOOKS
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An Imprint of Whiskey Creek Press LLC
Copyright © 2007 by Sarah Winn
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Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.
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ISBN: 978-1-60313-002-8
Credits
Editor: Chere Gruver
Printed in the United States of America
WHAT THEY ARE SAYING ABOUT
THE SUCCUBUS
“The author has interesting, complex points of view that will keep the readers interested. Good job! I can recommend this book as an appealing read!”
Brenda Talley, The Romance Studio
Other Books by Author Available at Whiskey Creek Press:
www.whiskeycreekpress.com
The Succubus
Part One:
She Who Comes In The Night
Chapter 1
Lord Kendrick, the Baron of Tewsbarrow, couldn’t help sneering as he watched a servant lead his sodden nephew from the hall. Sir Daniel indeed. What fool had knighted such a lackwit? The young man had been so bedazzled by the prospect of becoming Kendrick’s heir that he’d stared about the hall like a wide-eyed child at his first fair. Until he’d gotten so drunk he could barely see.
Kendrick should have expected Daniel to be like his father, good for nothing but waving a sword about. But that meant he could easily be used. Kendrick’s plan should succeed, if only Isabel would do her part. What was wrong with her? She was beautiful enough to rule all men’s hearts but dumb as a cow. He was sick of her mewling and whining and had begun to truly regret marrying her. She better play her part correctly tonight, or he’d turn her pearl white buttocks red.
He drained the last drop of brandy from his cup and rose to his feet. Unlike his nephew, Kendrick had been careful not to overindulge tonight, still he lurched as he took a step, and immediately adjusted his tunic to be sure his malformed leg did not show. Seeing his tall, well-built nephew had only reminded him of the injustice of being born the eldest son, the heir, and a hopeless cripple. Everyone had thought him unfit to be the baron, especially his younger brother, but he’d shown them. And he’d show them once again by producing his own heir for Tewsbarrow. If he could bestir his timid little wife.
Kendrick returned to his solar at the end of the hall and over to the corner where a circular stairway opened into the tower. He hated the twisting stairs that led to the upper chamber, so he’d given Isabel the room on the same level as the solar, even though that put her closer to his sleeping quarters than he liked.
He found her slumped on a stool. Her long black hair flowed down her back in soft waves and she wore a dark fustian cloak. He assumed she’d obeyed his command to wear nothing else, although she’d wrapped the cloak so tightly around herself he couldn’t tell for sure. A quick glance around her chamber showed him she’d sent away her doting maid, Tess. So perhaps, Isabel had accepted her duty.
Then he noticed her nervous fingers twisting a fold of the cloak and heard the teary quality in her voice as she asked, “Has he gone to bed then?”
He debated what method to use with her. Would she respond better to sternness or cajolery? He decided it would be best not to cause tears. She could work herself into an addled state if she started crying. “Everything is going as planned,” he said in a pleasant voice. “Daniel drank a great amount of ale during the meal and the brandy afterward. One of the servants had to lead him to his bedroom.”
Her head came up. Is that hope I see in her eyes? “Perhaps he’s had too much to drink, and I won’t be able to ah-ah—”
Kendrick had difficulty concealing his impatience. “Just do as Esmeralda showed you. He’s a hale and hearty young man, he’ll respond.”
“I peeked into the hall tonight. He’s very large.”
Kendrick pressed the lips together to keep from screaming at her. After taking a deep breath, he said, “You didn’t let anyone see you, did you? I’ve told everyone you’re ill.”
She pulled her lips into a pout. “It’s hard to stay in my room all day, pretending to be sick.”
He forced himself to smile. “If you do your duty tonight, tomorrow you’ll feel like sleeping the morning away.”
She didn’t smile back.
He held out his hand. “Come, my dear. It’s time.”
She blinked up at him. “Shouldn’t we wait a little longer to be sure no servants are about?”
“I’ll check the hallway before you step out.” He gave his hand an impatient shake, and true to her bovine nature, she placed hers in it and stood. He led her into the solar and over to the wall covered with a large tapestry showing hounds attacking a stag. He pushed the tapestry aside and opened the door that had been installed when the new hall, containing apartments for upper servants and guests, had been built. Since the ground level of the great hall was devoted to storage, its first floor was level with the second story of the new hall and the hidden door opened into the end room and not the passageway, giving Kendrick a way to move secretly between the buildings. Since marrying Isabel it had proved a great convenience.
* * * *
Isabel stopped before the closed door of the strange man’s bedchamber. This was the moment she’d been preparing for since her marriage. It was time to do her duty to her husband and the baronetcy. She could hear her frantic heartbeat and feared she might faint or perhaps hoped she would. What she was about to do seemed wrong to her, even though Kendrick said it wasn’t. But he was her lord and master and the welfare of her family depended on his good will. She could not go against him.
Kendrick, who was standing just behind her, lightly touched her back, and whispered, “Pretend he’s a prince sleeping under the spell of a wicked witch, and only you can awaken him. Use your imagination, my dear, and you might enjoy yourself.”
She looked back at him, astonished he would even suggest such a thing. He smiled, as he did when treating her like a stupid child, and gave her a slight push. After taking a deep breath, she reached for the iron lever that would open the door. She heard her husband clumsily moving back so he couldn’t be seen. Did he fear Sir Daniel might be awake?
The door slowly opened. The hinges had apparently been greased for there was no squeak. Isabel held the door so it wouldn’t open too widely and peered around the edge of it. A fire had been lit against the nighttime chill that came with the harvest season, and she could see the outline of the large bed against a far wall. The curtains had been left open and she saw the silhouette of a man’s body. He was lying on his back and the rumbling of deep breathing sounded like that of a sleeping man.
She looked back at Kendrick who impatiently waved her onward, so she stepped into the room and softly closed the door. She moved toward the bed, waiting after each step to see if the man stirred. As she drew closer, she studied his profile. A broad forehead, a straight nose, a strong chin with no wrinkled skin under i
t. A cover had been drawn halfway up his chest, but his shoulders were bare. Even in repose he looked powerful. One arm had been thrown up beside his head and muscle bulged in his forearm. Suppose she startled him awake and he swung that thick arm at her?
Still several feet from the bed, she whispered, “Sir Daniel.”
He didn’t move.
She stepped closer and spoke louder, but his heavy breathing continued without interruption. For a moment she was relieved he didn’t awaken, then she realized she had no further excuses. She had to do it. But how to proceed? What had Esmeralda done?
Isabel peeled the covers away from his body and stared in awe at the width of his chest, the slimness of his waist and hips. Even his legs were muscular. His male member looked large despite its limpness; the problem she must overcome. Pulling the sides of her cloak out of her way, she gingerly crawled onto the bed.
Daniel dreamed someone far away called his name. Then the bed moved. That wasn’t right. I am alone, aren’t I? Why can’t I open my eyes? He’d drank too much. Much too much. But he’d been the honored guest.
Cool air bathed his naked body. The covers had been cast aside. What is happening? He managed to crack one eye open. A black shape hovered over him like a large bird with its wings partially furled. Dim flickers of firelight bounced off glossy feathers. No it is hair. Is the figure a woman? The dark robe opened and firm breasts jutted out.
Did my uncle send a castle wench to warm my bed? Am I too drunk to use her? How embarrassing. Why doesn’t she speak? Why can’t I speak to her? This must be a dream. A drunken revelry.
Ice cold fingers touched and then spread out on his chest. The shock caused the breath to shoosh from his lungs. No dream could do that. No human woman could be so cold. Has a demon come to my bed, a succubus? He’d never believed the tales of female demons coming in the night to steal a man’s seed. Was I wrong?
The icy fingers rubbed through the hair on his chest. The fingers grew warmer and his skin colder. Is she draining the heat from my body? Did she come to steal my soul—my life? She wasn’t a large demon, if he could just move his arm he could bat her away, but his limbs were leaden. She had cast a spell over him.
Why is this happening? He wasn’t a bad man. He’d always tried to do his duty to God and his liege lord.
Her fingertips found and rubbed his nipples. Some of the coldness left his chest. Perhaps she didn’t mean to kill him. But if she sought to arouse him, she was doomed to failure. Her spell had left him with too little feeling. Her hands continued to move in languid circles from his chest, across his stomach, coming ever closer to the center of his manhood. She touched him there. Her fingers were now warm and soft, very soft.
She held his flaccid cock in one hand and massaged his ballocks with the other. The heat she had collected in her fingers moved into his balls and on to his cock. Amazingly, it grew firmer. As her hand closed around the new firmness and moved the skin back and forth, it seemed as if all the feeling from his deadened limbs collected there.
Stop, stop, he silently yelled at his traitorous body. He didn’t want to impregnate some hag from hell.
Silken hair brushed his upper thighs. She’d lowered her head. The stroke of her tongue sent fire though his cock. She lapped across the tip and around the sides. Then her lips closed around him and her tongue began a sensuous massage. Her suction pulled his cock to ever greater size and stiffness.
The pressure stopped and he opened both eyes. Pushing the sides of her robe further back, the demon straddled him. Shadows hid her face, but he clearly saw her ivory thighs on either side of his hips. He realized she was about to impale herself on his cock. She did intend to steal his seed. He sought to evade her, but his body remained leaden. She began rubbing the tip of his cock against the warm, sticky skin between her legs and his battle was lost.
Slowly she inched down over him, tightly encasing him in hot slickness. He could think of nothing but the pleasure he felt. Her thighs began to contract and relax as she moved up and down on him. How was it possible for a man to lie in near paralysis and yet feel such intense pleasure? She increased the speed of her movements and a beastlike grunt came from his throat. It was the only sound he could make.
Then she sank down to fully cover his shaft and began to rock her hips back and forth so vigorously that he feared she meant to do him physical damage, but he could not fight or protest. He could only lie helplessly as the tempest built within him. He felt a spurt of relief and she stopped moving and clamped around his cock with rhythmic contractions surely intended to milk every drop of his manhood. And he could only groan from the pleasure of it.
When his cock shriveled, she sighed and dropped to the bed beside him. He felt her now warm body nestled against his. The covers were pulled over their nakedness, sealing out the cool air. He quickly fell into a deep sleep.
Isabel had remembered Wanda the Witch telling her it was best to lay down for a while so the man’s seed wouldn’t fall out, so she laid beside Daniel’s warm body and felt surprisingly content. Kendrick was always telling her how stupid and inept she was. She hoped this would finally silence him. And it hadn’t been as difficult as she’d imagined.
After Daniel’s member had grown to its full size, she’d really feared she couldn’t do it. But touching his firm skin, rubbing her fingers through the thick hair on his chest, and perhaps even his musky scent had caused something strange to happen. It had made her want to feel him inside her, and then she’d become wet and slick so she could slip down over him. He had stretched her and filled her as she’d never been filled before, and she’d liked it so much that she’d almost lost control of her own body, only at the last minute remembering the way Esmeralda had told her to pump his seed from him.
It wouldn’t be difficult to do this every night for a fortnight. She only hoped the potions Kendrick was slipping into Sir Daniel’s brandy wouldn’t do the young man harm.
* * * *
In the next room, Kendrick carefully repositioned the dragon’s head that concealed the peephole in the St. George bas-relief. It had worked. His stupid wife had actually followed Esmeralda’s instructions and gotten the results Kendrick had ordered. Still he couldn’t help feeling a bit disgruntled over the enthusiasm she’d shown for the chore. She never bounced around on top of him like that.
Ah, well, as long as she accomplished his objective, he supposed he shouldn’t begrudge her a little pleasure while doing it. His nephew was impressively hung.
Kendrick limped toward the door. Now he had to get the slut out of Daniel’s bed or she’d fall asleep, stay there until morning, and ruin everything.
Chapter 2
Daniel awoke the next morning with the aching head and dry mouth that always followed a night of heavy feasting, but his cock was crusted with dried juices. Last night’s mysterious visitor had been more than a dream, but was she human?
The servant his uncle had assigned him brought hot water and urged Daniel to hurry with his toilet, or he’d be late for the main meal of the day. Lord Kendrick, he explained, liked the meal served promptly at eleven o’clock and was displeased with any who were late. Daniel hurriedly shaved and dressed and rushed over to the great hall. The trestle tables were set up, and the gathered diners stood at their places beside them.
As Daniel reached the table at the head of the room, his uncle came out of the solar directly behind it. He stopped beside the high-backed chair at the center of the table, motioned for Daniel to move to his right side, and nodded to the priest. Father Clemens said a short grace. Lord Kendrick sat and everyone followed his example.
Daniel looked at the faces along the table and tried to connect them to the jumble of names he remembered from last night. Fortunately, there were fewer people here today. Some of last night’s guests had been knightly tenants and their families. Apparently they were not invited to spend another day at the castle.
He became aware of how quiet the room was. Servants moved about efficiently carrying
platters of food and pitchers of ale, serving the diners as unobtrusively as possible. Once food was piled on the trenchers, everyone attacked it vigorously, but no one talked. This was good for Daniel’s aching head, but unlike any meal he’d attended in the halls of other castles. Usually, voices rose to a boisterous roar as everyone conversed with their tablemates or even with people at other tables.
Finally, Lord Kendrick put down his knife, took a long swallow from his ale horn, and turned toward Daniel. “Father Clemens tells me you did not attend mass this morning.”
Daniel felt heat in his cheeks, which was silly since he was a grown man and had the right to miss mass if he chose, but he did not want his uncle to think he made a practice of drinking until he could not rise the next morning. “Ah, no, sir, I’m afraid I overslept this morning.”
“Perhaps you’re not used to the hours we keep.”
“Oh, we start at first light at Bettany, and I usually have no trouble rising.”
“Ah well, you had a long journey and then I kept you up late last night. I’m sure you needed the rest, but I want you to know Father Clemens has mass every morning at six.”
The meek priest nodded and smiled at Daniel encouragingly. Daniel smiled back. “I look forward to attending.”
Waving the leg of a roasted duck about, Kendrick said, “I don’t often go myself but I wanted you to know the services are available here at Tewsbarrow.” He took a large bite of the duck.
Daniel fastened his attention on his food to hide the wave of irritation he felt toward his uncle. At first it had seemed as if the man were chastising Daniel for not attending mass, but then he readily admitted he had not gone himself. Of course, with his crippled leg he might find walking to the chapel too arduous. Daniel didn’t know what to think. At least the strained silence in the room eased as small, soft-spoken conversations broke out around the various tables. Apparently everyone had been waiting for Lord Kendrick to speak first.