by Debra Dunbar
Demons of Desire
By
Debra Dunbar
Copyright 2014, All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Formatting by Anessa Books
1
Most people don’t think of sex when they’re sweating in an airport baggage claim, but most people aren’t half succubus. I tried to keep my eyes on the endless parade of identical black bags, but my gaze kept drifting toward the three virile college boys staring at me. They’d been on my plane, and I’d been all too aware of their testosterone–fueled fascination for the entire two–and–a–half–hour flight.
Pick one, my naughty half urged.
Actually, she wanted all three of them, but I’d bartered her down to one. Not that I had any intention of screwing anyone in an airport. I’d eventually have to give in to her, but it would be on my terms. I was picky, where she most definitely was not.
Perspiration rolled down my back, gluing the light–blue tank top to my skin. The heat had hit me the moment they’d opened the aircraft doors, and the baggage claim wasn’t much cooler than outside. It was hot enough up in Maryland, but New Orleans was like being submerged in a hot tub. Of course, I would have braved the fires of hell to get away from Maryland — and away from him.
“So, what brings you to New Orleans?”
One of the college boys had finally worked up the courage to approach me. His friends stood back, watching and obviously holding their breath in anticipation of a smack down. Little did they know, my succubus side would never give a prospective partner the cold shoulder, and my elf side couldn’t tolerate rudeness in any way, shape, or form.
Did I mention I was also half elf?
I smiled. It’s not like I could help it. He was just so darned cute, and his attention so very flattering. “I’m here to visit an old college roommate. She transferred to Tulane a couple of years ago.”
“Cool. We go to Maryland — ‘Fear the Turtle’.” He gave a fist pump to emphasize the college’s sports slogan. “We’re here to party. Airfare is really cheap right now.”
Yeah. It was a million fricken degrees and hurricane season. If I hadn’t been escaping … no, I wasn’t going to think of him. Instead of replying, I turned to watch the bags circle by, concerned that I may have missed mine. Even my elf etiquette had its limits.
“We’re going to be down on Bourbon Street tonight. Maybe we can meet up?”
Of course they were going to be down on Bourbon Street. But even a first–timer like me realized the futility of trying to vaguely “meet–up” with someone on a street filled with hundreds of bars and wall–to–wall people.
“Sure,” I replied, watching the bags circle by. “I’ll look for you all.” My succubus side was irritated that I wasn’t already dragging this guy into the nearest alcove and having my way with him. I stalled her again with vague promises, well aware I wouldn’t be able to hold her back for long. I’d need to get laid in the next few days or she’d take control and I’d find myself with a less–than–desirable partner.
College Boy seemed to realize that the odds of actually running into me on Bourbon Street were the equivalent of winning the Powerball lottery. “We’ll be at Saints and Sinners.”
Channing Tatum’s place. It was on my short list of places to check out. I gave him another smile. “Okay. I don’t know what my friend has planned, but I’ll try and be there.”
That seemed to delight College Boy beyond all reason. He grinned and walked backward to join his friends. They hooted and slapped him on the back, casting quick glances at me as they walked toward the big glass doors. I waved good–naturedly then turned to see my bag coming down the line.
“Excuse me. Oh, crap!” I squeezed between two other travelers and reached for the handle, but my fingers slipped off. The bag dropped back onto the belt of the luggage carousel, firmly wedged between two black suitcases. I watched in irritation as my bag moved away. Now I’d need to wait for it to make a whole circuit before I had the chance to grab it again.
“I’ve got it.”
A tanned arm sporting a gold watch shot out and grabbed my bag, yanking it from the belt with a practiced grip. I followed that arm upward with my eyes. Trim guy. Fifties. Mostly bald with close–cut light–colored hair. Lemon–yellow polo shirt paired with khaki shorts. Business man, perhaps? Here for a convention or on vacation? He had nice, friendly blue eyes.
I reached out a hand to take the bag from him, and his eyes darted downward, lingering on my tank top, or, rather, on the breasts it barely covered. The succubus within me awoke, fixing this man with a hungry stare. Desire stirred, surfacing and arcing out in invisible tendrils.
No, no, no. I tried to rein her in. This man probably had kids my age. Either way, I could tell he was a nice guy. He deserved better than this, but my baser self didn’t agree. She was hungry.
The man’s eyes left my breasts and rose to meet mine. I saw the lust in them, along with confusion, and a bit of shame. I was ashamed too, but that emotion was drowned out by the thought of his mouth on mine, his … .
Married. Married. It was like an alarm bell, bringing my rational–self back into control. I didn’t care how hungry the monster living inside me was, I was not going to be responsible for this man breaking his wedding vows. Besides, he deserved better than a mind–blowing fuck in an airport bathroom that would yoke him to me for the rest of his life. He deserved better, and so did I.
“Thank you.”
I snatched the bag from him and nearly fell in my haste to get away. For Pete’s sake, I was in an airport, surrounded by people, and I was on the edge of having sex with a stranger who had been kind enough to grab my luggage off the conveyor belt. My face burned with embarrassment at the encounter, but I would have felt worse had we wound up naked in a public restroom stall.
I was out of control. Irix had been right, but his solution wasn’t something I could live with. I envisioned his mocking voice, his raised eyebrows when he gave me the I–told–you–so speech. I’d heard that speech all too often over the past month, but that wasn’t why I’d left. I could handle bossy; what I couldn’t handle was the way I felt every time he was near.
“Amber!”
There. By the doors. A young woman waved at me, her black hair pulled back, highlighting perfect cheekbones and warm, dark–brown skin. She bounced up and down on strappy sandals, all long legs and slim hips. I waved back and hustled myself toward her, shrieking as I grabbed her in a tight hug. Darci and I had kept in touch even after she’d transferred to Tulane, but I’d really missed her — my freshman roommate, my best friend. If anybody could help me find the Amber I used to be, it was Darci.
“Hurry, I’m double parked.” She disengaged and looked around for my luggage.
I grabbed the bag I’d dropped to hug her, grateful to be getting out of the airport. The heat and excitement of my escape had stirred up the monster inside, and the guys at baggage claim weren’t the only ones I was beginning to have lurid fantasies about. I hadn’t had sex in four weeks. This was New Orleans, a town of indulgences. I’d indulge, then hopefully the desperate hunger would taper off, and I could just relax and enjoy myself — like the old Amber.
We crammed my bags in Darci’s Jetta and took off, blasting the AC. Darci chatted on about college, a guy she was desperate to go out with, and what was on the agenda for today. She hadn’t been able to get the whole week off work, but I assured her I could manage on my own. My anticipation built thinking about po–boy sandwiches, Cajun music in the French Quarter, and a hot new dance club in the warehouse district. Already I felt the monster grow tam
e, distracted by the prospect of nice, normal human–type activities.
“So … tell me about this guy you’re running away from.”
Darci’s inquiry jolted me out of my happy space. Irix. Thick sable–brown hair that fell to his shoulders in back and brushed his jaw in the front, dark, golden eyes that seemed to see right under my clothing. He moved like a large cat on the prowl, and his smile held a promise of wicked carnal delights.
“He’s bad for me. And if I’d stayed, I would have wound up in his bed.”
“Oh, those are the best ones, aren’t they? Bad for you how? Because I’ve never known you to walk away from something bad.”
Only when it was something I couldn’t truly have. “He’s one of those guys who is completely addictive. I’d take it far more seriously than he would. I just don’t need that kind of emotional damage, thank you very much.”
Darci shot me a knowing look. “Oh, the tables have been turned! Amber, the queen of love–them–and–leave–them is in danger of losing her heart to a world–class womanizer.”
What? I was not that sort of girl! Well, I hadn’t been that sort of girl up until recently.
“I’m sorry I ever told you about that Zumba instructor from the gym. One guy does not make me a player.”
That’s when the problem began. I’d been so crazy about him, wanted him so bad. One date, one night of torrid passion, and it was all gone. I didn’t care if I ever saw him again. I couldn’t even remember what his name was. What I did have was the thin trickle of energy he’d supply me with for the rest of his life. And guilt. A whole lot of guilt.
I thought Darci was going to wreck the car from laughing. “One guy? One guy? Seriously, Amber, once you get them in the sack, it’s ‘adios my friend’.”
“I’m not … no way,” I sputtered. How could she think that? I’d had plenty of relationships. Yeah, none had lasted very long, but that wasn’t my fault.
“Oh, let’s see … Darius, Nick, Brent, Jason.”
“Jason dumped me,” I protested.
“Zac, Scott, Theo.”
“Hey, I dated Theo for a month. That’s not a one–night–stand!”
Darci made a “pffft” sound and waved her hand at me. “It took you that long to sleep with him. Remember, finals? Then he had the flu. Then you went on that ski trip. Once you guys did the nasty, Theo was yesterday’s news.”
My head whirled, and I stared at Darci open–mouthed. She was right. This problem of mine had been going on longer than I’d thought; I just hadn’t realized it. She glanced at me, smiling fondly.
“It’s okay, Amber. Doesn’t make you a bad person. Actually, I always thought it was kind of funny. Guys are usually the ones that do this; it was refreshing to see the tables turned.”
No, it wasn’t funny. It was just as shitty as when guys did it to girls. These were nice boys that I’d screwed over, that I’d hurt. I hadn’t realized it back then, but now the thought of it devastated me. I’d hidden some things from Darci — things she would never believe anyway, but I needed to let her know how terrible this made me feel, how I didn’t want to be that sort of person.
“It’s not okay. There’s something wrong with me, Darci. I want to have a long–term relationship. I want to meet someone nice, fall in love and commit to them. I’ll never have that, and it hurts. It hurts almost as much as how I treated all those guys.”
“You will fall in love. You’ll find the right guy, and it will all click into place.” She gave me a quick, mischievous look. “Now tell me all about this sexy scoundrel you ditched up in Maryland. I live vicariously through your tales of sexual conquest, you know. What’s his name?”
“Irix.” I didn’t want to think of him, let alone talk about him, but I knew Darci would never give up until she’d heard all the details.
“Oooh, exotic! Is that his first or last name?”
It was probably one of many names. I’d been told demons have quite a few and are very cagy about letting anyone know all of them.
“I’m not sure. It’s the only name he goes by.”
“Like Madonna, or Sting? How did you meet him?”
Now this was the tricky part. I couldn’t really say my demon parent had sent an incubus to teach me how to deal with my succubus side.
“My family contracted him as a sort of life coach for me. That’s why I can’t just avoid him. He’s there every day, following me around, pestering me to do this or do that. I told him to go home and leave me alone, but he won’t until he feels I’ve learned what I need. It’s his job.” And I got the feeling he was getting quite a kick out of it too.
Darci scrunched up her face. “Ugh. Totally hot does not outweigh bossing you around. That sucks. What happens if you just tell him to kiss off and do whatever the heck you want?”
Heat roared through me. I felt my face redden.
“Oh!” Darci chuckled. “You bad girl, you! Well, no need to worry. You’re safe here from Mr. Sexy Life Coach, and I’ve got all kinds of fun activities planned.”
* * *
2
Fun starts now.” Darci grinned as she parked.
A wide expanse of green spread as far as I could see on the opposite side of the street — the manicured lawn dotted with ancient, sprawling trees. My breath caught at the sight.
“My friend, Jordan, works for the Department of Parks and Recreation. I conned her into giving you a tour of Audubon Park.”
Jordan was short with an athletic build, dark red spirals of hair and a café au lait complexion. She grinned and pumped my outstretched hand enthusiastically.
“Darci tells me you’re an environmental biology major? I graduated last year, and I’m working on my Masters down here. You’ve no idea how glad I am to meet you. Darci is bored to tears with my ramblings about trees and wetlands.”
“Just biology,” I corrected with an apologetic smile. “I haven’t decided on a specialty, but I’m leaning towards botany.”
“Kindred spirits,” Jordan exclaimed, raising both hands. “New Orleans is heaven to us plant lovers. Let me show you around Audubon Park.”
There was a serene majesty to the place that captivated me in an instant. Gray Spanish moss draped from the trees. Instead of mown, manicured lawns, the foliage was a mix of indigenous plants. Water flowed throughout the park — as it did all over New Orleans. Ducks and other waterfowl loudly pestered visitors for food, waddling along as they begged. I was enchanted.
“Audubon Park was once a plantation. In addition to the usual trails and play areas, it harbors a huge selection of indigenous birds. Named for the famous James Audubon… .”
Jordan’s voice faded away, and all I heard was the sound of the trees — a low, soothing hum. Huge oaks, some over six–hundred–years old, spread thick, moss–draped branches low to the ground. Lagoons wound their way through the park, a reminder of the city’s below–sea–level elevation. The ironwork bridges and fountains irritated me by their presence. This was a place for earth and water, not human–wrought embellishments. Reaching out, I placed a palm against the thick bark of an oak, feeling its song through my skin. Something inside me shifted, and I felt myself sing back to the tree, achieving that sense of peace and alignment that always came when I worked with plants.
You may be old, but I’ll outlive you, I thought. I’ll watch your seedlings rise and fall, watch the waters nurture countless generations of your saplings.
Jordan had fallen silent, and I looked up to see the woman watching me, a quizzical expression on her face. Darci was over by a fountain, texting into her phone.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Jordan asked, walking close to put her palm on the bark alongside my hand. Her energy merged with the oak’s, strong and rich. “Wisdom and protection. The old gods whisper in their leaves.”
“Fertility and prosperity,” I replied, giving the tree one last caress. I had a few Wiccan friends in college and back home and recognized the reverent tone. Maybe Jordan was simply poetic in he
r passion for nature, but I got the sense her dedication delved into the spiritual.
“Do you practice?” she asked, confirming my suspicions.
“No, but I have an affinity for all things green.”
It was a weak explanation. What I felt wasn’t in the realm of religion or belief — it went into my very bones, into the blood that flowed through my veins. When I was in a forest, everything came together. I felt like I could lie upon the moss and melt into the earth itself. It was the one place where my crazy succubus side relaxed and stopped pestering me with her incessant needs. It was wonderful to know this place existed right here in New Orleans — a spot I could retreat to when I felt out of control and needed to center.
Jordan and I continued the tour while Darci lagged behind, still fiddling with her phone. I didn’t mind if she was playing Candy Crush or posting on Instagram. All this tree stuff wasn’t really her thing. It was a testament to our friendship that she was enduring this for me.
There was a parade of oaks, cypresses and other trees. I loved the Live Oaks the best — how their horizontal spread was nearly twice their height. They were the largest tree species east of the Rockies, from the red oak group of trees.
“Unfortunately, this one isn’t going to make it. We’re scheduled to take it down tomorrow, although there’s no real guarantee the disease won’t spread to the others.”
I felt it before I turned to look at the tree — a thick, sickeningly sweet aura. Black spots, like burns, dotted the bark of the Live Oak, and its leaves showed similar brown and black marks. It was as if someone had held a torch to the tree. I placed my hand on the bark — it confirmed what my eyes told me, and I jerked away in horror.
“Phytophthora ramorum.”
Sudden oak death. The plant pathogen was fungus–like in how it spread, covering the tree with cankers that bled thick sap. Under the bark would be discolored tissue and black lines. It was a death sentence, and the bane of every arborist. Removing the tree and surrounding soil was the typical response, but it often didn’t halt the spread. I worried for the old grove, but my greatest sorrow was for the sick oak.