Succubus Shadows gk-5

by Richelle Mead

  It was a big concession for Roman. Nephilim could inherit anywhere from none to all of their immortal parent’s power. Roman was very close to having as much strength as Jerome but still lagged behind just a little. Additionally, the types of power wielded by greater and lesser immortals differed. As a type of hybrid, Roman might not have been able to fight what Jerome could have.

  Jerome didn’t push that point further. “So, we still know nothing.”

  “We know that whatever did this isn’t one of ours,” said Carter quietly, speaking at last.

  “Yes,” snapped Jerome. “Which only leaves a billion other things it could be. Unless…”

  He glanced over at one of the chairs at their table. One moment it was empty. The next, Simone sat there. Carter didn’t seem surprised, but Roman and I certainly were. And she was especially surprised, as shown by her squeal of fear and befuddled expression. Being teleported by a greater immortal was not a pleasant experience.

  She was blond today, dressed in a plain blouse and pair of jeans. It was a sign of her agitation that she didn’t widen her neckline when she saw Carter. “What—what’s going on?” she stammered.

  “What’d you do to Georgina?” asked Jerome.

  Her eyes went wide. He might still wear the guise of John Cusack, but as he stared her down, it was easy to see that he truly was a demon of Hell.

  “Nothing!” cried Simone. She cowered back into her chair. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

  Jerome was up and out of his chair so fast, he might have teleported himself. He jerked Simone up as well and shoved her against a nearby wall, hand on her throat. I’d been in a similar position with him before and felt pity for the other succubus. No one else in the bar noticed, so Jerome was either glamoring them or making him and Simone invisible.

  “Do not lie to me!” he exclaimed. “What have you done? Who did you get to do this?”

  I could see his line of reasoning now. What Roman had sensed might not be demon or angel, but it wasn’t impossible that someone from our side could have worked with an unknown entity. It wouldn’t be the first time. Roman had caught on as well and leapt up to stand beside his father.

  “I swear, if you’ve hurt her even a little, I will rip you apart!”

  Simone’s fear was put on pause as she gave Roman a puzzled look. With his signature hidden, he only came across as a human to her. As far as she was probably concerned, he had no involvement in any of this—and no ability to back up his threat. Little did she know.

  She turned back to Jerome, cringing when she saw his face once more. “Nothing,” she said, her voice hard to understand with Jerome choking off her air. “I didn’t do anything to her, I swear it!”

  “You were trying to get Seth into bed,” said Roman.

  “That’s all! I didn’t do anything to her. Anything.” Simone’s face turned pleading as she spoke to Jerome. “You have to know why I’m here. It’s not to harm her.”

  Jerome’s face was still filled with terrible fury, but there was also a flicker of consideration in his eyes. He said nothing, and it was Carter’s voice that filled the tense silence.

  “She’s telling the truth,” he said.

  Jerome didn’t break his hold on Simone, but that calculating look was still in his gaze. “Do you know anything about her disappearing? Anything at all?”

  “No! No!”

  Jerome glanced back at Carter, who gave a swift nod. With a disappointed sigh, Jerome released her and stepped back.

  Roman looked doubtful, but he too had to know that if Carter vouched for her, it was gospel, so to speak. Jerome returned to his chair, downing his drink in one gulp. Roman joined him a moment later, but Simone remained standing, watching the whole group uncertainly as she rubbed her bruised throat.

  “I don’t know what’s going on, but if there’s anything—”

  “I’m done with you,” said Jerome harshly. He waved his hand in a type of dismissal, and Simone vanished as quickly as she’d arrived.

  “That was mean,” noted Carter, idly stirring his bourbon.

  “I sent her back to her hotel,” said Jerome. “Not to a desert island.”

  Roman’s anger had cooled a little, and he wore a calm, considering expression that looked remarkably like his father’s. “What did she mean when she said you knew why she was here? Why was I following her?”

  “I can’t report this,” said Jerome. He was speaking to Carter, like Roman wasn’t even there. “Not yet…not unless I have to. We can’t let any higher authorities know.”

  “And I can’t do anything at all,” mused Carter. “This is technically your problem.” He took a long drink, as though that would fix everything.

  “But you will,” said Roman boldly. “You’ll try to find her?”

  “Of course,” said Carter. One of his trademark cynical smiles lit his lips, replacing the grim expression from earlier. I suspected it was a cover-up for how he truly felt. “This place would be too boring without her.”

  For a heartbeat, I kind of liked this invisible watcher thing. Carter had no sense that I was there, and for the first time, I was able to truly study him without him looking back. He might have that annoying levity on now, but he’d already shown concern for my well-being. And I really couldn’t believe it was simply because he found me entertaining. What was his game? Those gray eyes revealed nothing.

  “Yes,” said Jerome dryly. “Who knows how we’ll get by without her maudlin misadventures.”

  Carter started to protest, but again, Roman came forward with an interruption. “Oh. That’s the other thing, what we talked to Erik about.” He gave them a brief recap of Erik’s observations and how I was only visited when I was depressed. Roman also described each of the incidents in as much detail as possible.

  Jerome and Carter exchanged looks. “With as down as she usually is, that’s not much to go on,” noted the demon. “But it might be worth a visit to the old man.”

  “Jerome,” said Carter in a warning voice.

  The two locked eyes again and had some sort of silent communication. When Jerome finally looked away, it was to casually pick up his latest drink. “Don’t worry. I won’t scare him. Much.”

  I wondered if he’d go to Erik right then, but I didn’t get a chance to find out. The world dissolved once more, and I found myself back in my prison. Aside from being terribly uncomfortable, I also felt exhausted. Studying the smiling, shining Oneroi, I could guess what had happened. In feeding off my dream, they’d taken some of my energy with it.

  “Dream…” I murmured, suddenly confused. I’d braced myself for some terrible outcome, but it hadn’t happened. “That wasn’t a dream. That was real. You showed me what was really happening. What my friends are doing.”

  “Some dreams are true, and some are lies,” said Two. I really wanted to slap him. “That one was true.”

  A story came back to me, the faintest memory from my childhood. Christian priests had long had a foothold in Cyprus when I was born, but old stories and rites had lingered. What were considered myths today had been held as fact back then. One such story said that dreams were sent to humans from one of two gates: one of ivory and one of horn. Those from the ivory gate were false; those from the horn gate were true. I didn’t know if that was just a metaphor, but the outcome apparently had some validity to it.

  “But why?” I asked. “Why show me true dreams? You’d torture me a lot more with another stupid nightmare.” That nightmare hadn’t been stupid. It had been agonizing, but I didn’t want them to know that. What was stupid was me suggesting how they should torment me.

  “Because you don’t know,” said One. “Soon you won’t know truth from lies. You assume everything that causes pain must be a lie. But you won’t know. Soon you won’t trust anything at all.”

  “I’ll know,” I said adamantly. “I can tell the difference.”

  “You believe what you just saw was true?” asked Two.

  “Yes. Absolu
tely.”

  “Good,” said One. “Then you’ve also learned another truth: it’s impossible for anyone to find you. You’ll stay here forever.”

  Chapter 12

  It occurred to me at some point that I wished the Oneroi would only send me false dreams. They hurt—no question—but there was a very, very small comfort afterward in knowing they hadn’t really happened. Yet, my next few dreams were true ones, and I was forced to keep reliving the past.

  One memory brought me back to fifteenth century Florence. At first, I felt a small blossoming of joy at repeating this. The Italian Renaissance had been a beautiful thing, and I’d been in awe watching the ingenuity of humans reawaken after the last few depressing centuries. Things were made that much more interesting because the Church was always pushing back against this artistic flourishing. That kind of conflict was what my kind thrived on.

  Another succubus and I had shared a house, living luxuriously off of a textile business we ostensibly managed while our merchant uncle (an incubus who was never around) traveled. It was a good setup, and I—going by the name of Bianca—was the favorite child of our local demoness, Tavia, thanks to conquest after conquest.

  It all started to go awry when I hired an eccentric and extremely good-looking painter named Niccolò to create a fresco for our home. He was flamboyant, funny, and intelligent—and had been attracted to me from the first day. Nonetheless, a sense of propriety and professional boundaries made him keep his distance. This was something I intended to change, and I frequently stayed with him while he worked on the wall, knowing it would only be a matter of time before he gave in to my charms.

  “Ovid didn’t know anything about love,” I told him one day. I was lounging on a sofa, caught up in one of the literary discussions we so often stumbled into. His ability to engage in these talks added to his allure. He looked up at me with mock incredulity, pausing in his painting.

  “Nothing about love? Woman, bite your tongue! He’s the authority! He wrote books on it. Books that are still read and used today.”

  I sat up from my undignified repose. “They aren’t relevant. They were written for a different time. He devotes pages to telling men where to meet women. But those places aren’t around anymore. Women don’t go to races or fights. We can’t even linger in public areas anymore.” This came out with more bitterness than I intended. The artistic culture of this time was wonderful, but it had come with a restriction of female roles that differed from those I’d grown used to in other places and eras.

  “Perhaps,” Niccolò agreed. “But the principles are still the same. As are the techniques.”

  “Techniques?” I repressed a snort. Honestly, what could a mere mortal know about seduction techniques? “They’re nothing but superficial gestures. Give your ladylove compliments. Talk about things you have in common—like the weather. Help her fix her dress if it gets mussed. What does any of that have to do with love?”

  “What does anything have to do with love anymore? If anything, those comments are particularly applicable now. Marriage is all about business.” He tilted his head toward me in a speculative manner that was typical of him. “You’ve done something with your hair today that’s extremely pretty, by the way.”

  I paused in return, thrown off by the compliment. “Thank you. Anyway. You’re right: marriage is business. But some of them are love matches. Or love can grow. And plenty of clandestine affairs, no matter how ‘sinful,’ are based on love.”

  “So your problem is that Ovid is ruining what love is still left?” His eyes drifted to the window, and he frowned. “Does it look like it’ll rain out there?”

  The zeal of this topic seized hold of me, making his abrupt interruptions that much more annoying. “Yes—what? I mean, no, it won’t rain, and, yes, that’s what he’s doing. Love is already so rare. By approaching it like a game, he cheapens what little there is.”

  Niccolò abandoned his brushes and colors and sat down next to me on the couch. “You don’t think love is a game?”

  “Sometimes—all right, most of the time—yes, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t—” I stopped. His fingers had slid to the edge of my dress’s neckline. “What are you doing?”

  “This is crooked. I’m straightening it.”

  I stared and then started laughing as the ruse revealed itself. “You’re doing it. You’re following his advice.”

  “Is it working?”

  I reached for him. “Yes.”

  He pulled back. This wasn’t what he’d expected. He’d only intended to tease me, proving his point with a game. Averting his eyes, he began to rise.

  “I should get back to work….” He was rarely thrownoff, and I’d disarmed him.

  Gripping him with surprising strength, I jerked him back to me and pressed my lips to his. They were soft and sweet, and after a few stunned moments, he responded, his tongue moving eagerly into my mouth. Then, realizing what he was doing, he drew away once more.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

  I could see the longing in his eyes, the desire he’d held back since working for me. He wanted me, but even a roguish artistic type felt it was wrong to do this with an unmarried, upper-class woman—particularly one who’d employed him.

  “You started it,” I warned in a low voice. “You were trying to prove me wrong about Ovid. Looks like it worked.”

  I put my hand behind his neck, pulling his mouth back down to my own. He still initially resisted, but it didn’t last. And when his hand began slowly pushing up the folds of my skirts, I knew I’d won and that it was time to retreat to the bedroom.

  Once there, he abandoned any attempts at decorum. He pushed me down onto the bed, the fingers that so deftly painted walls now fumbling to release me from my complicated dress and its layers of rich fabrics.

  When he had me stripped down to my thin chemise, I took charge, removing his clothing with a brisk efficiency and delighting in the way his skin felt under my fingertips as my hands explored his body. Straddling him, I lowered my face and let my tongue dance circles around his nipples. They hardened within my mouth, and I had the satisfaction of hearing him cry out softly when my teeth grazed their tender surface.

  Moving downward, I trailed kisses along his stomach—down, down to where he stood hard and swollen. Delicately, I ran my tongue against his erection, from base to tip. He cried out again, that cry turning to a moan when I took him into my mouth. I felt him grow between my lips, becoming harder and larger, as I slowly moved up and down.

  Without even realizing what he did, I think, he raked his hands through my hair, getting his fingers caught up in the elaborate pinning and carefully arranged curls. Sucking harder, I increased my pace, exalting in the feel of him filling up my mouth. The early twinges of his energy began seeping into me, like glittering streams of color and fire. While not physically pleasurable per se, it sparked me in a similar way, waking up my succubus hunger and igniting my flesh, making me long to touch him and be touched in return.

  “Ah…Bianca, you shouldn’t…”

  I momentarily released him from my mouth, letting my hand continue the work of stroking him closer to climax. “You want me to stop?”

  “I…well, ah! No, but women like you don’t…you aren’t supposed to…”

  I laughed, the sound low and dangerous in my throat. “You have no idea what kind of woman I am. I want to do this. I want to feel you in my mouth…taste you…”

  “Oh God,” he groaned, eyes closed and lips parted.

  His muscles tensed, body arching slightly, and I just managed to return him to my mouth in time. He came, and I took it all in as his body continued to spasm. The life energy trickling into me spiked in intensity, and I nearly had a climax of my own. We’d only just started, and I was already getting more life from him than I’d expected. This would be a good night. When his shuddering body finally quieted, I shifted myself so that my hips wrapped around his. I ran my tongue over my lips.

  “Oh Go
d,” he repeated, breathing labored and eyes wide. His hands traveled up my waist and rested under my breasts, earning my approval. “I thought…I thought only whores did that….”

  I arched an eyebrow. “Disappointed?”

  “Oh, no. No.”

  Leaning forward, I brushed my lips against his. “Then return the favor.”

  He was only too eager, despite his weariness. After pulling the chemise over my head, he ravaged my body with his mouth, his hands cradling my breasts while his lips sucked and teeth teased my nipples, just as I’d done to him. My desire grew, my instincts urging me to take more and more of his life and stoke my body’s burning need. When he moved his mouth between my legs, parting my thighs, I jerked his head up.

  “You said once that I think like a man,” I hissed softly. “Then treat me like one. Get on your knees.”

  He blinked in surprise, taken aback, but I could tell something about the force of the command aroused him. An animal glint shone in his eyes as he sank to his knees on the floor, and I stood before him, my backside leaning against the bed.

  Hands clutching my hips, he pressed his face against the soft patch of hair between my thighs, his tongue slipping between my lips and stroking the burning, swelling heart buried within. At that first touch, my whole body shuddered, and I arched my head back. Fueled by this reaction, he lapped eagerly, letting his tongue dance with a steady rhythm. Twining my hands in his hair, I pushed him closer to me, forcing him to taste more of me, to increase the pressure of his tongue upon me.

  When the burning, delicious feeling in my lower body could take no more, it burst, like the sun exploding. Like fire and starlight coursing through me, setting every part of me tingling and screaming. Imitating what I’d done to him earlier, he didn’t remove his mouth until my climax finally subsided, my body still twitching each time his tongue tauntingly darted out and teased that oh-so-sensitive area.

  When he finally broke away, he looked up with a bemused smile. “I don’t know what you are. Subservient…dominant…I don’t know how to treat you.”