by L. L. Frost
I skirt around him and duck through the red curtain at his back. Immediately, the music swells louder, the air hot and heavy with perfume and the musky sweat from exertion. Excitement and lust lick along my skin, just waiting to be pulled into my belly to fill the quickly emptying space.
The cheeseburgers I grabbed on the way here did little to curb my hunger. All that wonderful energy I pulled in yesterday barely warms me now, the reserves that should have easily lasted a week depleted to dangerous levels in under twenty-four hours.
Nostrils flaring, I sift through the junk food scents of humanity in search of ozone and thunder clouds. That Kellen guy has to be here. He wouldn’t have gone through so much effort to get my attention and then make himself hard to find.
But, like last night, the crowd masks him.
“Hey, baby, love the look,” a man shouts as he shimmies up to me. Through his mesh shirt, silver studs wink from his nipples. “Dance with me!”
“No.” I push past him, aiming for the back hall where Kellen took me last night.
By the time I get there, my open blouse clings to my skin, sticky with other people’s sweat. A good succubus would be out there reveling in the press of so much exposed skin. But tonight, it grosses me out.
I want a bath. With bubbles. Preferably pink ones that smell like cotton candy.
Anger spikes anew. No expensive bubble bath for me. It’s locked out of reach by this asshole demon who can’t admit defeat with grace.
The bright lights of the hallway reveal two doorways. I march to the first and fling it open, startling a pair of humans inside who sit at a round table. A fridge and sink take up one side of the room, with a filtered water dispenser shoved in the corner. A break room.
A man in one of the club’s black uniform t-shirt’s drops his half eaten sandwich and stands. “Hey, you can’t be back here.”
I focus on him. “Where’s Kellen?”
“Who? No one here goes by that name.” He scoots around the narrow space to stand in front of his fellow employee. Unlike the bouncer, this one seems to take my exposed chest as a threat. “You drunk? Need me to call you a cab?”
Eyes narrowing, I blink slowly. I’m not wrong, am I? This is the only place I’ve skimmed energy from lately. I practically starved myself to death locked up in my apartment for an entire month while I got the plans together for my bakery. And before that, I only went out with the cousins to demon approved feeding grounds or did ride-alongs to dreamland.
My wings shift beneath my skin, a mild grate of irritation against my spine. “Tall, sexy as fuck, red hair.” I hold my hands up, about two and a half feet apart. “Shoulders like this.”
He straightens with recognition, and his gaze becomes even more weary. “Oh, you must mean Mr. Cassius. He doesn’t see people without an appointment.” He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a business card, passing it over. “Try calling in the morning.”
His doubtful tone tells me he expects my call to be shuffled off. I must not be the first deranged woman to come hunting his boss. Snapping the card out of his hand, I tuck it into the cup of my bra where its hard edges poke against my breast.
“Is he here tonight?” As the man’s shoulders stiffen, I smile. Answer enough for me. Kellen’s here somewhere. “Thanks.”
I close the door and shove down hard on the handle, bending it far enough to lock them inside. Can’t risk them following to escort me from the premise before I find Kellen. Humans can be meddlesome.
I check the second door at the end of the hall, unsurprised to find the management office dark and empty.
Back out on the dance floor, I search the sea of bobbing heads for one in particular, but find it impossible to distinguish features through the strobe lights. Pushing my way through the dancers, energy prickles across my skin like firecrackers. The temptation to suck it in almost overwhelms me.
I wiggle away from the hungry grasp of hands and make my way to the DJ booth. A thick, red rope cordons off the square platform. With no security in sight, I duck under the paltry barrier and walk around to the back, where a short flight of stairs leads up.
The DJ casts me a startled glance as I join him at the top. He yanks off one side of his headphones and covers the microphone. “You can’t be up here.”
“I’m just taking a look.” I stare out over the crowd, locating a VIP section on one side, close to the bar. But none of the occupants have Kellen’s distinctive red hair.
“You need to leave.” The DJ waves an arm, and one of the security guards peels away from the dance floor, creating a wide path as he shoulders his way through the crowd.
For an odd moment, as the song transitions, everyone on the dance floor freezes and a glyph glows across their still forms. The light forms two swirling storm clouds with a third folding back on itself. Freezing in place, my eyes lift to the balcony over the front entrance where Kellen’s mark glows on the wall, obvious now for anyone who knows what to look for. The source of that prickly energy I felt, stinging against my skin. Last night, I would have known what it meant and left immediately. But it hadn’t been active last night.
Kellen, backlit by his demon mark, grips the railing and stares across the dance floor at me. Beside him, Tobias’s arms drape over the rail as he slouches next to Emil who stands rigidly at his side. Kellen’s arm extends toward me, fingers curling to beckon me to them.
For a moment, the temptation they present shakes my resolve. An unlimited buffet for me to lose myself in. Giving in now means never being hungry again. My belly aches to be filled. But then the platform shakes as the security guard reaches the DJ booth, his feet heavy on the temporary stairs as he stomps up them.
I snap back to reality. Adeline Boo Pond will not be owned. Even by such scrumptious man candy.
Arms lifting, I pop my middle fingers up at them in the universal sign language of Not today, assholes.
Kicking off my high heels, I chuck them at the security guy’s head, then climb onto the narrow ledge of the DJ booth and swan dive into the crowd below.
***
I keep a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel all the way out of town. My foot on the gas twitches, and I glance at the speedometer to make sure the needle stays perfectly at fifty-five.
Somewhere in the crush of dancers, I lost my shirt, and getting pulled over by the human police right now, low on energy and half naked, would be the icing on the cake of my horrible day.
Luckily, the cell phone strapped in my thigh holster made it through the gropes of hundreds of hands, and I was able to call Landon when I got back outside.
Either he hasn’t heard about my situation, or he has nothing to lose by allowing me to crash at his place tonight.
Spotting the neon-orange rooster, I pull off the dark highway and into the drive-thru of Bucket-O-Wings. Only one car, probably an employee’s, sits in the over-bright parking lot. Rolling down my window, I slow to a stop at the speaker.
It hisses with static, and a bored voice comes through. “Bucket-O-Wings, where life tastes better deep fried. How may I help you?”
I lean out the window. “I’d like two twelve-piece buckets, six biscuits, and a large potato salad, please.”
“Crispy, extra-crispy, or crispy-supreme?”
“Crispy-supreme.” Landon likes an equal amount of breading to meat ratio.
“Will that be all?”
Nibbling my lip, I scan the menu. “Do you have any of the strawberry cheesecake pies?”
“One, moment.” The speaker hiss cuts off, and a full minute ticks by before he comes back. “We have apple or custard pie.”
Shoulders drooping, my nose and eyes sting as I fight back tears.
My bare feet hurt against the car pedals, I’m sticky, and I’m pretty sure the sour stench that keeps wafting past my nose comes from somewhere on my body. Not getting my favorite fast food dessert is the final straw in my horrible day. I can’t deal anymore.
I slump back in my car.
&n
bsp; “Ma’am?” The bored voice sounds more impatient now. “Did you want the apple or custard pie?”
I sniffle and wipe my nose with the back of my hand. “Custard, please.”
“Ma’am? I didn’t catch that.”
I lean back out the window. “Custard pie, please!”
I don’t even like custard pie, but I’m getting dessert, damnit!
“That will be fifty-three twenty-five at the first window.”
At the window, I hand over my credit card, ignoring the gawking stare of the pimple-faced teenager as he ogles my boobs.
“You having a good night, ma’am?” he asks as he passes back my card.
“No, not at all.” I shove it back into my wallet and throw it in the passenger seat.
“You just come from a party?” He holds out three large bags of food, the sides bulging. As I twist to put them in the passenger seat, his voice rises with sudden excitement. “Or are you on your way to one? Can I come?”
“Nope.” I roll up my window before he can ask any more questions and pull away from the window, one hand searching in the bags for my box of pie.
By the time I pull into Landon’s driveway and climb out of my car, sweet custard coats my tongue and my spirits feel brighter, artificially lifted by the sugar boost. Who said food can’t cure problems? Even my belly feels less hollow.
Juggling the fast food bags, I push open Landon’s front door. Plastic bottles roll down the hallway, pushed into motion by my entrance, and I kick more out of the way to close and lock the door behind me. Landon might not worry about security, but with the day I just survived, I want the extra precautions against intruders.
“That you, Boo?” Landon yells from the back of the house.
“I brought food.” Careful of where I step, I follow the sound of gunfire and explosions.
Landon’s horde of discarded water bottles covers the floor, accumulated over the last month while I worked on my business plans instead of coming over to clean for him. Empty cardboard crates line one side of the hall, interspersed with stacks of old pizza boxes.
The scent of fresh, clean greenery adds an odd counterpoint to the mess. I squint as I walk into the kitchen, bright with indoor grow-lights. The blue tips of my hair lift on a gentle breeze, bringing with it the cleansing sweetness of violets and golden rods.
Potted plants cover every available surface, lush greens with pops of vibrant flowers. Stone fountains burble throughout the room, adding to the sense of an outdoor garden.
Vibrant colored wings flutter as I disrupt the butterflies, and dozens of the jeweled bugs fly into the air to swarm around my head. Annoyed, I swat them away. Stupid creatures should go into hiding at the first hint of demon. Instead, they seem drawn to our scent like moths to a flame.
Some demons, and I shudder to think of it as I flick an especially persistent blue one away, like to eat butterflies. Their small life-force feels like pop rocks on the tongue.
Gross.
An enormous, flat-screen television illuminates the living room and the mummified demon who hunches on the couch, tapping away at his game controller. How Landon finds time to tend to his butterfly garden, but not go into dreamland to feed himself, I will never understand. Demon needs to get his priorities straight.
“Here’s your food.”
“Thanks, Boo,” he grunts, eyes fixated on the screen. “You bring me some energy, too? I’m pretty hard up right now.”
“Then go into dreamland, stupid.” I brush more empty water bottles off the other side of the couch and curl into the corner, body sore and ready to sleep. “There has to be some of your usual contacts taking a nap.”
“Not until they reach level fifty in Hell & Heaven. My feeders are hardcore.” He glances at me and frowns before his attention returns to the game. “I like the slut look. You finally making connections on the human plane?”
“Shut up.” I tug the blanket off the back of the couch and pull it around my shoulders. Next, I snag a pillow off the floor and wedge it against my stomach. Its lumpy stuffing doesn’t sooth me the way my purple-sequined pillow does. I study Landon’s profile, ruggedly handsome even in starvation. “Hey, do you know a demon named Kellen Maximus Cassius?”
Landon fumbles his game controller, and online, his half-naked elf soldier takes a headshot. His head turns far enough for me to glimpse the sunken hollow of his Monarch-yellow eyes. “No clue.”
Liar. But past experience tells me that when he doesn’t want to talk about it, no amount of nagging will sway him. With a sigh, I hug the pillow closer to my belly. “Thanks for letting me stay the night.”
“Anytime, Boo.” Distracted, he reaches for a piece of fried chicken. “Besides, you’re feeding me.”
“Yeah.” Knees against my chest, I wrap my arms around them. I miss my pile of pillows at home. But at least I can always come back to my mentor.
(un)Expected
“Boo, wake up.”
I groan as Landon shakes my shoulder. “What time is it?”
“Just after eight am.” He shakes me again. “Get up.”
“Go away.” My whole body aches, skin tight and itchy. Shivering, I huddle closer around my lumpy pillow, kick weakly at him, and connect with a solid thigh.
With a grunt, his hand disappears from my shoulder. In the next instant, he yanks my blanket off. Wound up inside of it, I fly off the couch and pain explodes through my body as I hit the coffee table, then land on the floor. Empty water bottles rain down on top of me, adding insult to injury.
I lurch to my hands and knees, glaring around blearily until I find Landon on the opposite side of the room, out of range. Even with only the television’s light to see by, he appears healthier, the hollows of his face filled in. His matted white hair from earlier now glows with vitality.
My eyes drop to my skeletal arms, covered in skin that resembles paper mache. “Damnit, asshole, you took too much!”
He holds up his hands in self-defense. “I’m sorry, I was distracted while I skimmed you.”
“Do you know how hard it is for me to fill up?” My wings rustle against my spine, ready to spring forth as I stare at all that stolen energy rolling around inside of him. “I’m going to eat you down to dust and bone.”
He snaps straight and points at me. “Okay, one, no you’re not, so keep those wings sheathed. I have a hundred years on you, Boo.” He points at the kitchen. “And, two, there’s a meal waiting for you in the other room, which is why I woke you up.”
Vertebra popping, my head swivels, and I blink at the bright kitchen. My attention returns to him. “What are you talking about?”
For the first time, I notice the television’s black screen, a sure sign his gaming system sat on pause long enough to lapse into sleep mode. But he doesn’t glow with enough energy inside to indicate he actually went hunting in dreamland while I slept.
He flicks the blanket at me, and I flinch back. “To the kitchen with you. I have people to kill and biscuits to eat.”
Painfully, I climb to my feet, kicking empty chicken buckets out of the way. The box of biscuits sits in the center of the coffee table next to a bowl of potato salad, the plastic spork sticking up from the center like a flag pole.
My stomach growls, but not with the desire for human food. Landon drained out every spark of energy I managed to glean yesterday, leaving me back at square one. As I turn toward the kitchen, the jeweled flutter of butterfly wings draws my eyes, and I shudder with disgust, fingers already twitchy to catch the repulsive bugs.
Resigned, I march toward them. “I’m never bringing you food again.”
“Don’t say that, Boo.” The couch creaks as Landon resumes his seat. “No one else cleans up after me.”
Blue wings flutter in front of my face, one of Landon’s more prized creations. It struggles as I form a loose cage around it with my fingers, the black tips of its wings ticklish against my palms. My stomach rolls. I really don’t want to eat it, but its energy warms my cold hands, a
small precursor to the warmth that will suffuse my body once I suck its tiny life force away.
As I bring my cupped hands up to my mouth, a throat clears to my right. Jumping, I spin to face the kitchen table, releasing the butterfly. Instead of escaping, the stupid thing flutters back in front of my face to be caught again. I swat it away and stare at the demon in Landon’s kitchen.
Emil König sits at Landon’s chintzy kitchen table, a blight among all the greenery as the frost from his skin creeps across the potted plants nearby. Frozen butterflies lay on the ground next to his polished black loafers. Landon must get the same danger warnings from this demon that I do; otherwise, he would already have chased Emil from the house.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Mr. König, how unexpected.”
He straightens the cuffs on his black suit jacket. “Sarcasm is the lowest form of humor, Miss Pond.”
“Then, please, find me unbearable and leave.” I rub the goosebumps on my arms and shiver, wishing for the thin warmth of the couch blanket.
Emil’s bright-blue eyes flicker over me. “I see Kellen was correct in his assessment of your inability to feed yourself.”
“I’m very troublesome.” I bare my teeth at him. “Far too bothersome for someone like you.”
“Have you given up on the bakery idea then?” He arches one translucent eyebrow as he reminds me of his hold over my prospective loan. “It’s a silly idea, anyway. Obviously something you’re not suited for.”
“Oh?” Anger spikes through me as I step toward him, the tiles cold beneath my bare toes. “And you know so much about what I’m suited for?”
He leans back in his chair, knees spread wide as if he sits behind his desk at the bank, ruler of his kingdom. “If you can’t even take care of yourself, why would I think you can take care of a business? You’re a succubus, it can’t be that hard to feed.”
“You know nothing about me.” Gaze dropping to his mouth, I lick my lips.