No matter how hard I try to shake off the dragon’s blood and goo, it doesn’t work. With a knot in my stomach, I spiral down at full speed toward the parking lot, my wings utterly useless.
I blink hard as the parking lot’s asphalt gets closer and closer…
Well, this is gonna hurt.
It wouldn’t be the first time I shatter every bone in my body. Pain, I can handle, but with everything that’s going on right now, I don’t have the luxury of time. Healing from such a severe injury typically takes me several days.
Fuck.
Submitting to my fate, I close my eyes and clench my jaw, twirling my body midair to aim my back at the ground. Despite my healing abilities, I always protect my face. What can I say? It’s my money-maker. That, along with my chest.
Here goes nothing.
I brace for impact, prepared to feel excruciating pain explode throughout my entire body, but nothing happens. Am I still falling? Confused, I crack one eye open.
Around me is bright blue light forming what appears to be some protective capsule.
What’s going on?
“Out of my way!” comes Rachel’s voice.
The magical capsule disappears instantly, and I’m lying flat on my back, right next to an iguana with long yellow spikes, slits for eyes, and a small belly that expands with every labored breath.
What is that ugly thing?
Rachel comes bolting toward me and the iguana at full speed, the terrified expression on her face making me think she’s running away from something.
“Oh, no!” she says the moment she reaches me.
“I’m okay—” I say, squeegeeing bloody slime off my face with my hands.
But Rachel doesn’t even acknowledge me.
Instead, she bends over and scoops up the iguana, its massive tail dangling over her elbow. Her lip trembles like she’s on the verge of crying. “You hurt him!”
My eyes almost pop out of my face. Is this kid for real? I sliced myself out of a fucking dragon, and all she can think about is some fucking lizard?
I’m about to ream her out when I notice the puncture wound on the iguana’s throat.
Holy shit.
Is that the dragon?
Jumping up onto my feet, I rush toward Rachel. Meanwhile, Ace, Drax, and several other people I don’t recognize form a crowd.
“Here, let me help,” comes a boy’s voice.
The guy, seemingly the same age as Rachel, steps forward and spreads his fingers over the iguana’s neck. Soft green swirls spill out from his fingertips and engulf the iguana in Rachel’s arms. The second the colorful magic disappears, the iguana’s eyes enlarge and it shuts its mouth, the crease of it forming what resembles a smile.
Beaming, Rachel turns to the young male witch. “Wow, thank you!”
He smiles at her and offers a brief nod.
Is this actually happening? From where I’m standing, I did what was needed to protect myself, along with everyone else. And now I’m the bad guy for hurting the thing? It might be cute now, but it wasn’t cute when its giant teeth were chomping down next to my thighs.
“Seriously?” I blurt, no longer able to contain myself. “I saved your lives.”
“Actually—” Rachel says, but the witch nudges her in the ribs and she stops talking.
Biting my tongue, I turn to Ace, but he locks his fingers together and looks away. All that’s missing is him whistling a tune.
“Did you turn it into a lizard, or was it a lizard to begin with?” I ask, swallowing my resentment.
“It was a lizard first,” says the witch.
The kid seems sweet, but after nearly getting my skin melted off inside the beast’s stomach, I’m lacking a bit of patience. He must sense my irritation. Politely, he bows his head and folds his hands over his belly. “Thank you for your help. If you hadn’t brought him back to the ground, I may not have gotten a clear shot.”
“You did this?” I ask, pointing at the spiked creature.
Again, he nods.
I wouldn’t peg him for a witch at all. He looks like your average teenage guy—tall and lanky, torn jeans, converse sneakers, shaggy chestnut hair, tanned skin, and a blue hoodie that looks like it hasn’t been washed in weeks.
“So, if I hadn’t pissed the dragon off in the first place, you would have had a clear shot.”
He smirks, and it’s obvious he doesn’t want to piss me off.
I like this kid.
“What’s done is done,” he says. Awkwardly, he reaches toward his face and scratches the skin above his lip. That’s when I see it—the ring.
“You’re one of us,” I say.
Surprised, his eyes dart to my hand, where, unlike him, I’m not wearing my ring.
Clearing my throat, I stick an open palm out at Rachel. She reaches into her pocket and hands me back my ring. I slide it back on.
“We’re all on the same team,” I say.
The kid hesitates, his big brown eyes rolling toward Drax, Riskus, and even Mr. Mushroom who keeps sniffing the iguana’s hanging tail.
“They’re with me,” I say.
He doesn’t argue. I’m certain he can tell that when I say something, I mean it. And if I say my people are trustworthy, he has no reason to question me.
“I can appreciate that,” he says, “but they won’t be allowed in the meeting.”
Rachel frowns, possibly having realized she’s not part of the ring club, either.
“What meeting?” I ask.
“The Battalion meeting taking place this evening.”
He hesitates, his gaze searching Rachel and Drax. “They won’t be able to attend.”
“I’m aware,” I say sharply. “But I can. So where is it?”
Without smiling, he throws his chin out at the grungy bar next to the motel’s head office. “Meet me there at seven, and I’ll show you the way.”
Chapter 23
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I’m not surprised that the only way into the meeting was through some magical portal enabled by the Battalion rings. Not that it matters. I’ve been around enough magic lately—I’m getting used to the whole portal thing.
Rachel wasn’t happy about not joining us. She’s made friends with Zane, the teenage male witch, and must want to impress him. Hey, I don’t blame the kid. By the sounds of it, she doesn’t have many friends, so this could be a great thing for her. But as much as she wants to contribute to this battle, there’s no way she could have made it through the portal. Only those who wear the Battalion ring can pass through.
Poor girl.
She’ll have to sit tight with Drax and the others until Ace and I get back.
The crowd is getting thicker by the minute.
Witches, fae, and a handful of vampires gather inside the open space, whispering about Zerachu, the Dark Hall, and the End of the Divide. It all makes sense to me now that the rebellion would include all races—not merely vampires. What was I thinking? Everyone is aware of vampire corruption, and everyone is affected. That means we all have our part to play, regardless of skin color, background, or magical abilities.
I gaze around the room at the low ceiling, the musty carpet, and the yellow walls. Small windows sit below the ceiling tiles, which tells me we’re in a basement.
“This is outrageous!” shouts an old witch.
Then, the woman next to him paces in small circles. “Never in a million years…”
An enormous four-eyed demon steps between the two of them, and the woman stops pacing before bumping into his belly. “Talkin’ about it ain’t gonna fix nothing. We need to make a plan.”
The old male witch glares up at him with a tight jaw engulfed in a ratty beard. “Would you shut your—” He stops himself and spins around before any more offensive words can come spilling out of his mouth.
It’s difficult to imagine Devania allowing someone like him to be a part of the Battalion, but I’m willing to bet that panic is what’s bringing out the worst
in people.
Ace leans into me. “They aren’t usually like this. They’re scared.”
Aren’t usually like this? For Ace to say that means he’s attended one of these meetings before. How often do they occur? Does Devania make an appearance, too? Is it limited to San Halos and surrounding areas, or do people come here from all over the world? Given the fact that I walked through a portal to get here, there’s a good chance I’m nowhere near San Halos anymore.
The room seems to contract as more and more people appear through the circle of bright green light. Some carry luggage, others cling to their wands.
“This is bad,” comes a deep yet feminine voice.
I turn sideways to find a woman standing next to me with arms crossed over her frayed leather jacket. Down the side of her neck is a tattoo of a skull with a red rose in its mouth. She squints at the crowd with her black-outlined eyes, almost as if assessing the crowd’s worthiness. But when she senses me watching her, her features soften.
I have that effect on people.
Turning to me, she pulls her long chestnut hair over one shoulder and takes me in… my mouth, my chest, my hips. If we weren’t standing in a crowd full of unofficial heroes, I’d throw my Lure at her and drag her someplace quiet.
“I’ve never seen you before,” she says, almost suggestively.
She doesn’t smell like any demon I know—the only scent I’m getting off her is a sweet, fruity perfume, which means there’s a good chance she’s a witch.
I tilt my head to the right. “How unfortunate for you.”
Hey, I get that I’m hot. Considering I chose this body, I can say that. I also know that I tend to attract attention without my Lure, but her response seems more impassioned than what I’m used to.
“You’re a succubus,” she says, matter-of-factly.
How did she figure me out so quickly? “I am.”
Gnawing at her plump bottom lip, she gives me a full up-and-down. “You look like you need replenishing.”
Is this happening? While I’m used to having feebles throw themselves at me even without my Lure, having someone approach me so nonchalantly while knowing full well what I am is new to me.
“I do,” I say.
Without another word, she grabs my wrist and leads me around the crowd. I turn my head back in time to spot Ace watching us with a tense jaw.
Is he jealous? The guy barely even knows me. Not that it matters. I’m not passing up a good meal over someone else’s feelings.
She leads me through an open door and into a small kitchenette. Ensuring no one is around to see us, she clicks her fingers and makes the wall next to the fridge swirl as if it’s nothing more than wet paint floating in the air. She pulls me in and I wince. But much unlike drywall, the surface isn’t hard, and I slip right through as if the wall is made of water.
Does she expect me to do the same?
The passage leads us into another room—one much smaller that could be mistaken for a broom closet. The light above us hangs by an old wire, the dim bulb swaying from side to side. Around us are cardboard boxes covered in cobwebs, and beside them, more boxes.
Good thing I’m not a romantic.
I’m about to make some sarcastic remark about how talented she is at the romance game when she spins on her heels and her long wavy hair follows. Everything around me instantly fades. The only thing I can focus on now is my hunger.
“All right,” she says, as if I’m wasting her time. “Fuck me.”
I swallow hard, taken aback by her brazenness.
“You do understand what I am, don’t you?” I ask.
Why am I even talking? She asked me to fuck her. That’s what I should be doing.
She rolls her eyes and holds her hips like an impatient schoolteacher. “I know what I’m dealing with. This isn’t my first rodeo.”
Maybe not for her, but it is for me.
Why the hell would anyone specifically seek out succubi sex? I mean, don’t get me wrong—my sex is worth chasing time and time again. But not all succubi are like me in the sense that they let their victims survive.
Most don’t.
So how can this woman be so bold? How does she know that I won’t drain her like a swimming pool before winter?
Sighing, she unbuttons her jeans, pulls off her jacket, and slips off her T-shirt. Her breasts, round and creamy, sit inside a black-and-red–stitched bra. Without even bothering to look at me, she gets out of her jeans, along with her panties, and stands tall with her legs slightly parted.
It’s a stance that says, Are we gonna do this, or what?
In the middle of her belly is a pentagram belly ring, but I don’t focus on that for long. My eyes drop toward her freshly shaven kitty and my claws snap out.
With shoulders hunched forward like a predator on the verge of pouncing, I take a step forward.
“Wait,” she orders.
I’m not used to being given orders, but I like it.
She throws her chin out at a bag next to my feet. “Grab the pink one.”
My right eyebrow pops up. The pink one? What the hell is she talking about? Leaning sideways, I use my boot to kick the side of the bag so it opens wider.
Inside are crystals, pouches, a few pocket spell books, and two large—
Oh, I get it now.
Smirking back at her, I bend down and pull out the pink strap-on. I quickly unzip my pants, drop them next to hers, and tighten the harness around my thighs and bare ass.
“This what you want, you little witch?” I say, grabbing the toy by the shaft.
The silicone texture feels soft in my hand, and if it weren’t for its hot pink color, it would look like the real thing. With a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips, she turns away from me, spreads her legs, and places her palms against the back wall.
“Fuck me hard, you hear me?” she says.
I grab her hard by the hair and thrust my pelvis into her ass. The strap-on swings forward, slapping her hard between her legs and slipping against her kitty. “I don’t take orders from anyone, are we clear?”
She moans and makes a smacking sound with her lips.
With the dong in one fist, I slide two fingers between her legs to feel how ready she is.
Oh, she’s ready.
I press the tip of the dong where she wants me to, coating it with her silkiness, and push the entire thing inside of her. Digging her fingernails into the wall in front of her, she throws her head back. A soft cry escapes her mouth, and I pull my hips back, allowing my new toy to partially slip out. Grabbing her by the hips, I push in again, her sweet cry amounting to a pleasured moan.
With her ass, she follows my movements, almost as if trying to get me to go harder.
I move faster, and harder, until the sound of clapping fills the small space around us.
“Fuck,” she breathes. “Right there.”
I pump harder, forcing her to clench her muscles to keep from planting face-first into the wall. “This what you want? Yeah, you fucking take it.”
Her voice heightens in pitch, indicating she’s about to get off.
I get even rougher with her, and that’s all it takes.
She slams her white-knuckled fist into the wall, arches her back, and shouts out.
I immediately grab her by the hair and pull hard enough for her to wince in pain. “Shut up.”
There’s no telling how thin these walls are, and the last thing I want is for the entire underground rebellion to eyeball us when we come stepping back into the main hall.
Although she stops shouting, something else happens.
Something weird.
With her hips still thrusting, she murmurs a bunch of jumbled nonsense.
Shit… I broke her.
Doesn’t matter. Now’s my chance. I’m about to flip her around and enjoy my meal when I realize what’s going on: she’s speaking in Latin. Why does that matter? Witches speak in Latin when they’re…
Are you shitting me? Is she casting
a fucking spell?
I pull out of her, the dong covered in warm silk, and push her face into the wall.
“What the fuck?” she says, her mouth partially squished. “Why’d you stop?”
I wasn’t born yesterday—far from it. First, witches use Latin as their primary language for performing spells; everyone knows that. And if they aren’t speaking in Latin, they’re letting out random words that sound a lot like it.
Second, I’ve heard of witches like her. They use the intensity of orgasms to cast some of the most powerful spells ever known to witches. Her use of succubus sex means that whatever spell she’s trying to cast is unlike anything I’ve seen before.
How could I have missed this?
She glares at me from the corner of her eye as large squiggly veins protrude from her temples. She’s fuming, which is either because I cut her orgasm short or because I cut her spell short. Or maybe a bit of both.
Who cares?
I’m the one who should be pissed. I was about to feed and she distracted me. Who is she, and what’s her deal?
“Why are you trying to perform sex magic?” I ask, my fingers still wrapped in her hair.
Breathing out hard, she tries to push me off. “What do you care? You’re a succubus. Everyone knows succubus demons don’t give a shit about anyone else but themselves.”
Rude.
Is that what people think of me?
Well, who gives a shit?
I push her harder into the wall until a hairline crack splits down the drywall. “You gonna talk, or would you prefer to get your vocal cords crushed?”
Her face is now three shades darker than it was seconds ago.
“Okay, okay,” she mumbles.
Shoving her one last time, I let it go.
She grabs at the back of her head, then reaches for her inflamed cheek.
“My name’s… my name’s Cassidy.”
I don’t give a shit about your life story. Get to the point.
I should feel bad for hurting her, but I don’t. Being used by someone is something I don’t tolerate. If there’s one thing I hate more than being lied to, it’s being made to feel like a moron. The stunt she pulled made me feel both, not to mention frustrated beyond belief.
Lethal Blow: (Succubus Hitwoman Book 2) Page 12
