Contents
Title Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Epilogue
Special Offer
AN EXCERPT FROM BEAUTY & BEAST
Man-Panty Threat
About the Author
Filled with dread, I stared at the computer screen.
I let my head thud back against the wall, relishing the small burst of pain. There’s something to be said about using bodily harm as a distraction from the lovely mess my life had become—even a concussion sounded pretty good right now. I hovered over the accept button of the video chat request. If I died tonight, I might as well clear things up first. I sighed and clicked.
“Claire! I was worri—what the hell did you do to your wall?” Camilla blurted.
I actually smiled. God, I missed her. You knew you were talking to your best friend when she could flip your mood in three seconds flat.
“Oh this,” I waved my hand majestically toward the teal offense to art everywhere. “I sponge painted. You’re not a fan of this masterpiece?”
“It’s a monstrosity. Where are you?”
“My new mansion, found this pre-furnished beauty on Craigslist.” I picked up my laptop. “Allow me to give you the virtual tour.” And tour I did, all three-hundred ramshackle square feet of it. I swept aside the annoying bead curtains—literal strings of ornaments hung from the door frame. “And here’s the modern plywood flooring, a real minimalism treasure. The fine splinters are what sold me.”
Honestly, it looked like a thrift store threw up, everywhere. I was just glad it had electricity.
Camilla remained suspiciously quiet. For a moment, I figured we lost the connection until I heard her mutter dios mio when the camera spotted my “top of the line” appliances. A mini fridge, a scratched aluminum table from the seventies, and a plug-in stove top didn’t exactly scream luxury. I hoped she didn’t realize the water jug in the corner meant I had no running water.
“Does it have a bathroom?” She asked, voice carefully void of judgment, which spoke volumes.
“In the main house.” I replied.
“So you’re living in a garage?”
“I think shed is the more appropriate term…” I set my computer on the cot and sat down, hugging my knees to my chin. I adjusted the screen which revealed the Camilla signature single brow raise. I almost shuddered.
I pursed my lips, resisting the urge to nervously chew them; I really needed to work on my poker face.
Camilla upped the ante with a second raised brow.
“OK, so I got kicked out of the dorms,” I admitted.
“Are you fucking serious?” Camilla yelled and began ranting in rapid Spanish. After ten seconds or so she continued in English. “I’ll kill them. You want me to kill them? I’ll fucking kill them for you.”
I laughed. “Please don’t. I mean it sucks, but at least I have my own place now.” And a newfound appreciation for not living in a car. Being evicted from the dorms with only twelve hours notice was not a high point in my life.
“Can’t you fight this? That shit has to be illegal.”
“I already looked into it and it’s not only legal, it’s encouraged. No one wants their kid rooming with a Supe. Honestly, I’m just glad they didn’t retract the scholarship… anyway, my living conditions aren’t the problem.”
After a pregnant pause, “I still can’t believe this is happening to you.”
“You and me both.” I hugged my knees tighter. Logically, I realized making myself as small as possible wouldn’t actually allow me to disappear. I’d have to face my first Supernatural class soon, regardless of any diminutive body positions I could manage.
“I mean, you’d make a seriously lame Supe.” My best friend joked. “You can’t even climb a flight of stairs without wheezing. You’re like the most human muchacha around.”
“Yeah, thanks Camilla. Great encouragement.” My lips twitched, ruining my stern expression.
“Hey, I’m just saying on a scale of one to Supernatural you’re pure muggle, honey.” We grinned at each other. It was amusing because it was true.
As fast as the warmth of humor touched me, it faded. I had no business associating with monsters.
“What about online classes?” She asked.
Like I hadn’t thought of that. I’d been pulling my hair out for the last week trying to get out of this debacle. I pushed the irritation back into its box and reminded myself that she was only trying to help. At least she wasn’t begging me to drop out for a semester like my mom had.
“Online was my first line of defense. I got them all switched except for my Business Management course. I’m so far down the waitlist I might as well not be on it.”
When I glanced up, Camilla’s face was scrunched. Without makeup, she looked vulnerable, almost naked.
“Well you could always just drop the class.” My best and technically only friend said, peering into the corner of her computer screen while applying lipstick. She popped her lips. “Refund that shit.”
I shook my head.
“Not an option. I need to be a full-time student for my scholarship. But it’s OK, it’ll be OK, Supes are people too.” I reassured myself. “Just,” I took a deep breath. “You know,” I grimaced as I recalled the footage of a jaguar feral’s first change we were forced to watch in Health class. “Scary people.”
“I get your car if you die, right?”
“Not funny.” I smirked. “And yes.”
“I want it in writing!”
“And notarized. Ugh, I should probably get ready.” I swiveled the laptop to face the rest of the shed and began puttering around the room in search of my keys and notebook. I raised my voice for the crappy computer microphone’s benefit. “Thanks for the pep talk, ya jerk!”
“Damn straight! I should be an inspirational speaker or some shit.” I glanced at the screen just in time to see her raise her chin and peer off into the distance in mock self-importance. “But seriously, bring some pepper spray. And enough snacks to get through the night.”
“Yes, Mother.” Like I ever left the house without food. Or pepper spray. Not that it would do any good against something that could rock me with the force of a Mack truck. I snagged my keys and clipped them onto the carabiner hanging from my belt loop.
“Ooh, bring garlic spray! Or whatever keeps the vamp boys from vanting to drink your blood.” she finished in a mock Dracula accent that clashed with her own Spanish lilt.
I tugged on my wool sweater and popped my head through the top. “Hilarious.” I said, flatly.
Camilla sobered. “Text me when you get home, OK?”
“You sure?” I blew my mused hair out of my face. “It won’t be done till two or so.”
“Two! Didn't you say your class started at ten? What kind of class lasts four hours?”
“The kind that only meets once a week.” I smiled at her horrified expression. I couldn’t even picture Camilla, who dropped out of high school to get her GED, sitting for four hours with a stuffy professor yapping at her. Well, not without causing a riot.
“Your college is loco—cuatro horas! Anyway, I’ll be up clubbing till dawn,” she said. “You know, I never really thought about how all Supes are forced on the vampire schedule for that segregated shit. It’s kind of fucked up.”
I gave my generic it is what it is shrug. Monsters and humans didn’t mix well. Nevermind that I was physically as human fragile as they come. G
etting lumped with creatures that could kill me in a split second was my life now.
As my tense shoulders lowered from that fake shrug, I remembered who I was talking to—no need to pretend that it didn’t bother me. “Everything about this situation is fucked.”
Like being thrown into the Supernatural caste because my great-great-grandmother got it on with a second rate incubus. I would never have known I was a Supe, if it wasn’t for science. My generation got the privilege of being subjected to mandatory DNA testing to enter some schools, certain jobs, and government positions of power.
“Well, at least you know why the boys want all up in those ovaries despite that wallflower situation you’ve got going on.” She lifted a hand to the camera and made an all-encompassing motion toward me.
I smirked. I could go without showering for a week and still have a guy throw his phone number at me—I know this because I’ve experimented with ways to repel the opposite sex.
To be honest, my strange appeal to men is one of the reasons Camilla and I worked so well. There's never been weird jealousy between us because I wasn’t insecure about having such a drop dead gorgeous friend, and she didn’t have to deal with male advances around me. Win-win.
But this whole succubus thing did explain a lot. I never understood why men found me attractive considering my Plain Jane factor, and I didn’t mean in comparison to Camilla. In a room of my peers I landed smack dab in the middle of the bell curve, in fact, I often went out of my way to not be noticed in the looks department.
But Supernatural seduction voodoo in my blood? Yeah, that actually made more sense. Especially since I didn’t have a friendly personality to supplement my appeal.
I had a theory about why a lot of hot girls are total bitches.
It’s the fault of the people who salivate over them. You gotta lay down the law; being nice or polite is a weakness that only encourages unwanted attention. I’d be less of a bitch if I didn’t have to worry about getting my motives twisted. Sometimes you just have to be rude.
“It’s cheating by the way,” Camilla continued. She lined her eyes with kohl one-handed while staring into a compact. “Such a waste if you ask me. If I were you, I’d have a harem of hot boys begging to be with me. Just imagine if you actually wore make-up.”
“Yeah…and that’s exactly what I’m trying to avoid.” I flipped through a notebook to see how much space was left. Satisfied, I stuffed it in my satchel. “I’m not going to spend my time slathering bronzer on my face unless I’m getting paid for it. Besides, we both know, left to my own devices I end up looking like the Joker. We can’t all be professional make-up artists with freakishly large social media followings. Did you ever get that sponsor by the way?”
“Practice makes perfect, my friend,” Camilla said, applying smoky eye shadow. If I tried that it'd look like a shiner. “And yeah I got it, oh, and this nail polish company wanted me to endorse their products but they seriously chip within five hours. I kind of want to put them on blast and warn my viewers.”
I shrugged. “Up to you, but make sure no money is exchanged. You don’t want to be in breach of contract or something like that.”
“No shit. I may not be a college girl but I’m not that dumb. At least consider putting in your contacts. Pleeeeaaase,” she begged.
I scoffed. “No thanks.” Besides, the nerd look and bushy Hermione Granger hair was all by design.
Camilla shrugged. “Eh, whatever. I don’t mind being the hot one.”
“Thanks for taking that bullet.” I grinned. “My hero.”
“Hey, it’s human nature to want to look your best.” She said.
Considering all of Camilla’s jobs required her to be stunning, I didn’t argue with her frame of experience. I couldn’t fault my beauty guru of a BFF for being unable to understand, that sometimes, looking my best is the last thing I wanted.
“Your paltry rules don’t apply to me, muggle. According to the federal government I’m only 99.9976% human.” That’s right I memorized it. That’s how many times I read the email that upended my life.
“Ninety-nine the fuck did you just say?”
“Right?!” I stood up and paced across the room. “My fae blood is less than one hundredth of a percent. I’m being thrown to the wolves, possibly quite literally, for some supreme .0024 bullshit.” Oh God, I really didn’t want to think about the very real possibility of meeting members of Red Crescent pack tonight. Technically, my current location was one of their territories.
Ironic, since Colorado was the home of Unity Tower. Though with their bloodthirsty, warmongering mentality, they were in fact unifying the wolves. Join or die, might as well be their motto.
I focused on less frightening events to complain about, “And I have to get a special driver’s license. Not to mention I’ve gotta be on some government list. And my job opportunities will plummet. College has ruined my life.”
Why was I whining like a little bitch baby? I had a tight lid on this until I began unloading on Camilla. Now I had word vomit and I couldn’t stop. I might as well be a balloon with a leak, spazzing out around the room—too bad it wouldn't end until I completely deflated.
“And I thought I was the dramatic one,” Camilla chortled. “What is so bad about men throwing themselves at you? Just snag a rich sugar daddy.”
“What’s so bad, she asks?” I plopped back on the bed/cot/creaky piece of shit. “There’s not much literature on succubi so I’m walking blind. I mean I probably won’t exhibit anything beyond human standards since my mom didn’t, and she has more of the fae blood than me, but I might be at risk for this weird estrus cycle that pumps some sort of aphrodisiac pheromone in the air. And who knows what else, really?”
“Freaky.”
“Tell me about it. I’ve been having nightmares about this fervor bullshit since I found out about it. What if I start some sort of kinky sex fest in public? I could get brought up on rape charges not to mention basically raping myself via proxy.”
“Rape charges?” Camilla lifted her brows.
“From what I’ve gathered from the trustworthy source of the internet, it’s like a supernatural drug and everyone loses their shit.” I explained. “As the drug dealer, I’d be responsible for all the craziness that goes down while they’re under the influence. Including sexual violence.”
“Damn girl, that’s some twisted shit. Like what if it sets off around a family function?”
I froze, wide eyed.
“Oh God, I didn’t even think of that…” My stomach sank. “Why would you even put that shit in my head? Now I’m more paranoid.”
“Relax, chica,” Camilla said. “Stop counting your babies before you bang. You said it yourself that your odds are good that you’ll stay boring and not kinky at all. Verbatim.”
“I don’t think you know what that word means,” I gathered my unruly hair up in a bun.
“Not even! That’s literally what you said.”
“I need to get you a dictionary.” I glanced at the time at the corner of the screen. “I should head out soon. Oh! Speaking of weird sex fests, you are not going to believe the kinky shit I found in the nightstand.” I paused for a second, “Well OK, phrased like that it’s probably obvious.”
“Ew Claire!”
“It’s HUGE, like forearm sized. And there are handcuffs too, as in plural. I’m pretty sure one of the housemates was using my shed as a sex dungeon before I rented it and now they’re too embarrassed to ask for their toys back.” I cackled. “I think I’ve narrowed it down to two suspects.”
Camilla shook her head. “And here I thought you were busy studying and getting a higher education, not solving the mystery of The Annihilator.”
I checked the time again. “Speaking of. Got to go.”
“OK, be safe and remember to text me.”
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t forget to give Paula gas money this time,” I teased.
“Ugh it was one time! You should move back here. I miss my designated dri
ver,” Camilla whined.
I patted my pocket to make sure I had my phone. “Let’s just say carting your drunk ass around is not something I get homesick ab—”
“Boo!” Camilla threw a wadded up tissue with eyeliner residue on it. “Guera mala!”
A twinge of homesickness smacked me right in the gut. Having grown up in a place where being the white girl made you the minority; my name might as well have been Guera growing up. The Spanish slang became a fond endearment in the Alvarez household.
I missed Camilla’s family more than my own.
I laughed it off. “Alright that’s my cue. Love you!” I blew a kiss. “Thanks for letting me vent.”
She mimed grabbing the kiss out of the air and proceeded to have a pretend make out session with her hand. “Wow lesbiana! We’re just friends!”
I flipped her off and grinned while exiting the video app.
A few moments after my laptop closed shut I remembered what tonight entailed. The smile dropped off my face. The reprieve had been nice while it lasted, but now it was time to join the ranks of the Supernatural.
Anxiety slithered in my belly, twisting my intestines. I had a bad feeling about tonight. I rubbed my face in an attempt to wipe away my instincts screaming at me to hide from monsters, not walk right up to them and introduce myself as the bottom of their pecking order.
I took a deep breath, collected my things, and walked out the door.
As the lock sunk home, I silently prayed that this class wouldn’t end up killing me…
Half an hour later, I parked my car with ten minutes to spare for locating the classroom. On the ride over I came up with a Claire Sommers is definitely not a baby-back-bitch list as follows:
Moved across country all by myself.
Got even with Leticia Rodriguez.
I’m a grown ass woman who gets shit done—despite lame health.
I “accidentally” spilled ice water on that guy’s lap for squeezing my ass.
Taught myself to drive stick shift.
Could totally have a harem (if inclined).
I breathed long and slow, wanting to rid myself of the churning deep in my gut. If I didn’t get myself under control, I’d sweat through my shirt… but you know what? I was Claire Sommers, a verifiable badass for the six aforementioned reasons. And no one cares if I sweated through my shirt. Partially because I’ve gotten pretty good about blending into the background, but mostly because, that’s right, I was a badass.
The Fervor: A Sinful Supes Story Page 1