Succubs on Top gk-2

by Richelle Mead

  "Shhh," he crooned, placing a restraining hand on my wrist. "Don't be afraid. Everything will be all right."

  "W-what are you doing?"

  He had an arm around my waist now and was moving his mouth toward the spot where my neck met my shoulder. His lips, when they touched flesh, were warm and full of promise. I trembled a little under that kiss and tried to figure out what was going on here.

  The short answer, obviously, was that something had gone wrong. I felt dizzy and disoriented enough to be at a frat party over at U.W. On top of that, this immortal—this strange immortal I barely knew—suddenly seemed more alluring than I'd imagined possible. Hadn't I come here to kick his ass? Why was I making out with him? Was this what ambrosia did to me? Were these my core traits—the power to get buzzed and take pleasure in sex? To become even easier than I already was?

  His hands moved down and unbuttoned my shirt so they could slide down and cup my breasts, which were just barely covered by the black mesh bra I'd bought with Dana. He kissed me directly now, his mouth pressing against mine. As his tongue delicately slipped between my lips, I tasted a sweetness akin to the ambrosia.

  Bottom line: it needs to be self-defense.

  So Carter had said, but suddenly I didn't really need much defending—unless it was from myself. My own hands were moving without my conscious knowledge to unfasten his pants, and our bodies were becoming entwined together on the soft cushions.

  Self-defense. Self-defense. Why self-defense? What was I forgetting here?

  Ah, of course. The dart.

  I pushed through the red haze muddling my senses, forcing clarity. The dart. The dart would stop Sol somehow, stop him from continuing to spread the poison of ambrosia. It would stop him from hurting people…like Doug.

  I battled through my disorientation and pulled my mouth away from Sol's, attempting to squirm the rest of the way out of his grasp. I won a little room but not much. He was still close.

  "No…" I gasped out. "Don't do this. Stop."

  Sol, regarding me with surprised amusement, shushed me. "You don't know what you're saying."

  "I do. Stop."

  I wriggled one arm free, one arm that then snaked to the pocket containing Carter's pouch. I needed the other arm free too, but Sol was holding it. Looking down, I suddenly saw that his wrist was bleeding. How had that happened? I hadn't caused it.

  "Georgina, you are about to be honored above all mortal women. Lay back. Stop struggling. No harm will come to you. You will enjoy this night, I promise."

  He moved his mouth back to mine, and again that blazing euphoria swelled within me. A traitorous moan of pleasure caught in my throat. Taking this as submission, Sol's grip on my restrained arm lessened, and I shifted it away just enough that both of my hands now touched the pouch. Yet, it was a hard battle. My motor control still wasn't all it should be. Kissing him, in that moment, seemed much more important than some silly pouch. My mind didn't want to focus on anything else.

  But I forced it to. Through sheer strength of will, I pushed the physical pleasure out of my head and instead replayed every consequence of the ambrosia I'd seen: Casey's devastation, Doug's wild swings from darkly frenetic exuberance to even darker depression, and finally his limp body in the hospital.

  Mortals are fragile things.

  Very fragile. And Sol played with them as if they were nothing. The smoldering coal of my anger began to burn again.

  He's a stronger immortal than you. Preying on you— especially when you belong to Jerome, so to speak— is a big no-no. You would be justified in protecting yourself.

  Again, I pulled my mouth away. "Stop," I said again more firmly. "I want you to stop. Stop doing this."

  "I'm not going to stop," Sol snapped. Anger marred his honeyed tone. His breath was heavy, and his chest heaved with exertion. He—or I—had removed his shirt, and I had a perfect view of that unprotected skin. "I'm not going to stop, and believe me, once I start, you won't want me to stop either."

  My fingers moved to open the pouch; the other hand slowly readied itself to reach inside. The ambrosia in my system dulled my reflexes, but I kept battling through it and sized up where in his chest his heart would be.

  "I've asked you three times to stop. Once should have been enough. No means no."

  "No means nothing from someone like you." He laughed a little, still not taking me seriously. "What's wrong with you? I thought you wanted to be immortal."

  My hand was inside the pouch, pulling the dart out. Sol and I both felt its power at the same time, just as he realized what I was. His eyes widened, but I didn't give him time to react. I didn't think or falter. Just as Carter had ordered, I simply took action—well, with a cheesy punch line, of course.

  "Been there, done that," I said, slamming the dart into his heart. For half a beat, Sol froze, unable to believe this was happening.

  And that's when things got messy.

  CHAPTER 20

  Striking Sol with that tiny piece of wood was like dropping a nuclear warhead into the room. The blast threw me off the couch, and I hit the floor with a jarring, painful thud. Small objects flew into the walls. Art tumbled to the ground. The windows in the room blew out in a sparkling shower of shards. And it was raining inside. Blood and glitter fell down around me in red, gleaming streaks.

  Mine wasn't the only true nature to be revealed. In the instant before Sol had exploded, I had felt him. Really felt him. Yes, he was part of a different system than mine, but he was no minor immortal player looking to stir up a little trouble. He was a god. A bona fide, honest to goodness god. Now, I should point out that gods come and go in the world based on belief. Godly power is directly proportional to the faith of their believers. So, those whose names no one remembers often walk around literally as bums, no different from humans save for their immortality. Sol, however, had had a fair amount of power. Not like Krishna power or God with a capital G power, but a lot. Certainly more than me.

  Holy shit. I had just destroyed a god.

  I straightened up from my fetal curl and looked around. Everything was still except for a light wind blowing in though the now-open windows. My skin and clothing were spattered with sticky scarlet blood, like I'd been at the wrong end of a paintbrush at the Mortensens’. My heart rate refused to slow.

  A moment later, I heard the pounding of footsteps on the stairs. Alec burst into the room, drawn by the noise and the shaking. He looked around, his lower jaw practically dropping to the floor as he came to a screeching stop.

  My intoxication had not passed with Sol's destruction. That fucking ambrosia was still in my system, and it was actually getting worse. Still, my anger at Alec was such that I again overcame my befuddled senses and reflexes, and with a speed that came as a surprise even to me, I sprang at him and knocked him to the ground. A moment's shape-shifting, and my short and slim frame suddenly held considerably more muscle and strength than its appearance suggested. I straddled Alec with my legs and arms, and panic blazed on his face when he realized he couldn't budge an inch from my grip. I hit him hard across the face. My coordination might have been off, but it didn't take much to apply brute force.

  "Who the hell was he? Sol?"

  "I don't know!"

  I hit him again.

  "Honest, I don't. I don't know," blathered Alec. "He was just this guy…he found me and made me a deal."

  "What was the deal? Why'd you bring me to him?"

  He swallowed, blinking back tears. "Sex. He wanted sex. Lots of lovers all the time. Didn't matter if they were guys or girls, just as long as they were good-looking. I wasn't supposed to touch them. I just hooked them up with the potion until they wanted to meet Sol. Then he, you know…"

  "Fucked them and dumped them," I finished angrily. I thought about Casey and the Abercrombie model guy in the coffee shop. I recalled Alec's desire to get me on the ambrosia but his reluctance to touch me, no matter how much he wanted to. I was meant for Sol. "So that wasn't ambros—er, potion in my cup tonig
ht. That really was some date-rape drug."

  "I don't know," Alec whimpered. "Come on, let me go."

  I tightened my grip and shook him. It took a moment since my fingers had a little trouble keeping hold. I had to work to maintain the fierceness of my face and voice. " What'd he give you? Did he pay you or something?"

  "No. He just…he just gave me more of the potion. All I wanted, so long as I kept the people coming."

  "And you gave it to the band," I realized.

  "Yeah. It was the only way…the only way we could get big. It's all I've ever wanted. To land a record deal and get famous. This was the only way."

  "No," I said. "It was just the fastest way."

  "Look, what'd you do to Sol? What are you going to do to me?"

  "What am I going to do?" I yelled, my anger rising through the drug. I shook him, knocking his head against the floor. "I should kill you too! Do you know what you've done to all these people? To the band? Doug's in the hospital right now because of you."

  His eyes went wide. "I didn't know that. Honest. I didn't want to hurt him…I-I just couldn't get the stuff on time. Not until I delivered you."

  He spoke of me and the other victims like we were commodities. I wanted to pick him up and throw him out the window. I could do it too. Humans were indeed fragile things, and while my succubus shape-shifting didn't have the power to maintain this ьber-strong shape all night, I could hold it long enough to do some major damage.

  Despite my normal abhorrence of violence, I have to admit that throwing people around a room is actually more satisfying than you'd think. After Dominique had died, I tracked down the corrupt doctor who had botched her abortion. I had changed from Josephine and wore the shape of an apish, seven-foot-tall man with bulging muscles. Storming into the doctor's small, sinister office, I didn't waste any time. I grabbed him as if he weighed nothing and tossed him against the wall, knocking down shelves of curiosities and so-called medical implements. It felt fantastic.

  Striding over, I picked him up by the front of his shirt and punched him hard in the side of the head, ten times harder than I'd hit Alec. The doctor staggered and fell but still had enough life to scramble backwards, crab-style, in an effort to get away.

  "Who are you?" he cried.

  "You killed a girl tonight," I told him, moving menacingly. "A blond dancer."

  His eyes bulged. "It happens. I told her. She knew the risks."

  I knelt down so that we were at eye level. "You cut her open and took her money. You didn't care what happened to her."

  "Look, if you want the money back—"

  "I want her back. Can you do that?"

  He only stared, shaking with fear. I stared back at him, shaking with my own power. I had the ability to kill him. To throw him again or snap his neck or choke the breath from him. It was terrible and wrong, but seized by my own rage, I couldn't control myself. Honestly, it's fortunate in the long run that most incubi and succubi have mild personalities more bent on pleasure than on pain. With the ability to take on any shape, we can be pretty deadly to mortals if we're pissed off enough. They can't really stand against us. This doctor sure as hell couldn't.

  But another immortal could.

  "Josephine," murmured Bastien's voice behind me. Then:" Fleur ."

  When I still didn't respond or loosen my grip, Bastien said, "Letha."

  My birth name penetrated the bloodlust pulsing through me.

  "Let him go. He isn't worth your time."

  "And Dominique isn't worth avenging?" I demanded, my eyes never leaving the wretched human before me.

  "Dominique is dead. Her soul is in the next world. Killing this man won't change that."

  "It'll make me feel better."

  "Maybe," conceded Bastien. "But it isn't your place to mete out punishment to mortals. That's reserved for higher powers."

  "I am a higher power."

  The incubus rested a gentle hand on my shoulder. I flinched. "We play a different role. We don't kill mortals."

  "You and I have both killed before, Bas."

  "In defense. Protecting a village from raiders isn't the same as cold-blooded murder. You may be damned, but you aren't this far gone."

  I released my hold on the doctor and leaned back on my knees. He stayed frozen. "I loved Dominique," I whispered.

  "I know. That's the problem with mortals. They're easy to love and quick to perish. Better for all of us to keep our distance."

  I didn't touch the doctor, but I didn't move either. Bastien gave me a gentle tug, still quietly reasonable.

  "Come on, let's go. Leave him. You don't have the right to end his life."

  I let Bastien lead me out. Once in the dark alley flanking the doctor's office, I shape-shifted back to my more natural-feeling Josephine form.

  "I want to leave Paris," I told him bleakly. "I want to go somewhere where there is no death."

  He put an arm around me, and I leaned into his soothing presence. "No such place exists, Fleur."

  In Sol's house, I still bore down on Alec, again empowered with the ability to crush his life if I chose. But Bastien's words echoed within me, and I realized with an ache how much I regretted my current hostility with the incubus. Regardless, he was still correct after all these years. Revenge killings were not my right. It was unfair for an immortal to take advantage of a much weaker mortal. I would be no better than Sol. And looking at Alec underneath me, I realized just how terribly young he was. Not much older than Dominique.

  And anyway, my strength and coherence were failing by the second. I leaned in menacingly to Alec.

  "G-get out," I mumbled through numbed lips. "I want you to get out. Out of Seattle. Don't ever contact Doug or anyone else from the band again. If I find out you're still in the city tomorrow night…" I struggled for an appropriate threat. My mental processes were grinding to a halt. "You, um, won't like it. Do you understand?"

  My bluff worked; he was clearly terrified. I climbed off him and sat crouched because I couldn't stand. He scrambled up, gave me a last terrified look, and tore out of the room.

  As soon as the door closed, I passed out.

  CHAPTER 21

  I woke up the next morning with the worst hangover of my life, and that's saying something.

  It was actually the cold air that woke me, blowing in through the shattered windows and whipping the curtains around. Seattle had mild winters, but it was still November. I shape-shifted on a heavy sweater and then noticed that Sol's blood had not disappeared from my skin during last night's transformation, the blood had dried to fine, glittering red crystals on me and everything else. I picked up his discarded silk shirt and discovered it did a pretty good job at wiping them off.

  The previous night was a blur, and I had trouble remembering the fine details. I supposed I could blame whatever mystery liquid I'd drank for that. Looking around at the wreckage brought a lot of the events back to me, and the rest I pieced together. Not wanting to linger in this place, I found my cell phone and called for a cab.

  As I rode back into Seattle, I decided I wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep some more. My shift didn't start until later; Doug was opening. Wait. No, he wasn't. Doug was in a hospital bed. Sighing, I directed the driver to take me to the bookstore.

  Three voice-mail messages waited for me when I arrived in the office. One was from the author we had doing a signing that night, E. J. Putnam. All was in order with his flight; he expected to be here as scheduled. The second message was Beth calling in sick. Jesus. Couldn't anyone stay healthy anymore? That put us down two people now. Warren wrapped up the messages, saying he'd be back from Florida later today and would stop in tonight. I decided to be mad at him out of sheer principle. I'd spent the last week dealing with chaos; he'd been golfing in eighty degree weather.

  I got the store running and then staked out a register. Short-staffing will keep a person busy, at least. It gave me little time to reflect on last night's events. Or Doug. Or the fact that Seth hadn't come
in today. Or my fight with Bastien.

  "Are you Georgina?"

  I looked up into the face of a pretty Japanese-American woman. Her face and build just barely crossed over into plumpness, and she wore her black hair in a high ponytail. Something about her smile seemed familiar.

  "I'm Maddie Sato," she explained, extending a hand. "Doug's sister."

  I shook her hand, astonished. "I didn't know Doug had a sister. "

  Her smile quirked a little. "Lots of them, actually. We're kind of spread out around the country. We all sort of do our own thing."

  "So you came to…see Doug?" I hesitated to bring up such a delicate subject, but why else would she be here?

  She nodded. "I've been with him this morning. He's doing great and said to tell you hello."

  That was the best news I could have received. "He woke up."

  "Yes. He's grumpy and punchy but otherwise fine. He said he has some CDs in your office he wants. He asked if I could pick them up."

  "Sure, I'll show you," I said, leading her toward the back. Wow. Doug's sister. "How'd you find out about Doug?"

  "Seth Mortensen called me."

  I stumbled and nearly walked into a display of gardening books. "How do you know Seth?"

  "I write for Womanspeak magazine. Seth had some questions about a feminist organization that he needed answered for his book, and Doug gave him my e-mail address about a month ago. So, we've been in touch a couple times. When Doug…got sick, Seth tracked down my number in Salem and called last night. "

  Part of me felt a little jealous that Seth had an e-mail correspondence with her that I hadn't known about, but I immediately quashed such feelings. What he'd done had been terribly considerate. And typical of him. Quietly efficient and kind. I led Maddie into the office and found the CDs in a drawer.

  "Did you drive up last night or this morning?"

  She shook her head. "Actually Seth picked me up."