Heaven.
Curving my wrist, I reach even deeper, and she digs her fingernails into my arm. Blood trickles down my skin, which is always a good sign. She’s no longer thinking with her mind. A raw, primal urge has taken over, and she wants my fingers more than she wants to breathe.
Right now, I want the same thing.
Grabbing her hand above her head, I reach even deeper, my arm thrusting harder, and harder. She humps the air as I fuck her, and my succubus teeth hover close to her jaw.
She’s so wet, and hot, that I find myself forgetting who I am.
“Fuck me,” she breathes into my ear.
Goose bumps erupt all over my body as the high kicks in. I lick her neck, her shoulder, and run the tips of my pointed teeth across her chin. When she lets out another loud moan, I insert a third finger and curl them to hit her pleasure spot.
“Oh my God. Yeah, right there,” she breathes, pulling me hard against her. “Right there!”
I move in and out as her body moves with my hand until she throws her head back and screams out as loud as she can. I slap a hand over her mouth to prevent her voice from carrying down the alley. Through my fingers, she breathes heavily, her now strapless shoulders bouncing up and down. Her cheeks are so red it looks like she ran a marathon.
With one smooth slip I pull out, and her body jolts as if an electrical current shot through her.
Her release covers my hand—it smells sweet and sour—and I grab her by the throat again. She bites her lower lip and stares into me as if I’ve injected her with heroin. And while I’d love to go at it again, it’s something else that I want. With my thumb, I pull her plush lip down and kiss her hard. My favorite purple mist comes spilling out through the corners of our mouths as I enjoy my euphoric meal.
It energizes me instantly, making me want to suck harder. I can feel my hair lighten to a white and my eye color starts to change. If I don’t stop now, I’ll kill her.
It takes everything in me to stop—she tastes so fucking good I could suck her dry.
Clock Dragon.
Clock Dragon.
I have a mission.
Punching a hole through the brick wall behind her, I pull away. She lets out a quivering breath before her knees buckle. I catch her midfall, admiring the dazed look on her face, and slowly position her limp body atop the alleyway’s cobblestones.
When she wakes up—and that’s a big when—she’ll have no recollection of what happened.
With any luck, her loser boyfriend will find her before some homeless pervert does.
Ah, hell. I’ll send someone her way before I go after Clock Dragon.
I look around to make sure I don’t have an audience, then tear off my jacket, my shirt, and my pants until I’m left standing in my bra and underwear. I go on to do the same to the woman. As I remove her clothes, her gold necklace shimmers, taunting me. So I take it off, along with her heavy diamond-encrusted earrings. She won’t look as good as I did in a leather jacket, but I can’t leave her out here half-naked. So I dress her back up in my clothes.
Sometimes, I surprise myself with my moral compass. It’s cracked, broken, and even shattered most of the time, but every once in a while, I’m capable of thinking about how my actions might affect someone else.
Her dress slips on as if it were custom made for me, and her heels fit perfectly. I clasp the necklace around my neck, throw my cheap TruMart earrings into the dumpster, and latch hers onto my ear lobes.
Staring down at her, I sigh. “You dodged a bullet tonight, sweetheart.”
I run a hand through my hair, messing it up, flick my bra straps so that they hang off my shoulders, and loosen one of my heel clasps. Then, I turn away and walk out into the brightness of the city street.
As I come out, a man standing next to a brand-new BMW punches the air with this phone in his fist. “What the fuck, Jess? Where the hell are you? Why’d you leave your phone here? Fuck. She said she was right here.”
Her boyfriend, I presume.
My timing is perfect.
Without hesitating, I stumble toward him, my messy hair making me look either high or like I’ve been attacked. My intention was to portray the latter, though admittedly, feeding does give me a high.
I can only hope he doesn’t recognize the dress I’m wearing. If she’s as snooty as I first thought her to be, she likely buys a new dress every time she goes out. He scans me from head to toe, so I flail my arms in a panic before he gets a good look at me.
“Please,” I say, my voice heightening in pitch. “There’s a woman in there—” I point toward the blackness of the alley. “We… we were attacked. Please—”
Again with my kickass acting skills.
I don’t even have to finish my sentence. His face blanches and he pushes himself off the door of his car before bolting straight into the darkness.
The moment he’s out of sight, I run my fingers through my hair to remove the tangles, raise my bra straps, and refasten the clasp of my heel. With my chin raised high, I walk across the road, my hips swaying from side to side.
“It’s showtime, motherfucker.”
Chapter 11
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The screeching sound of tires against asphalt reverberates around me as the BMW comes skidding to an immediate stop, its front bumper nearly knocking my legs out from under me. The young male driver shakes his fist behind his wheel, opens his window, and sticks his head out.
“Watch where you’re walkin’, you dumb bitch!”
With a single glare, I get him to retreat into the safety of his car like a turtle into its shell.
Fucking prick. He ruined my moment.
Rolling my shoulders back, I fix my dress and climb onto the sidewalk, next to a massive lineup that extends down to Tulip Palace—another famous club in San Halos.
People eyeball me as I approach the club, likely wondering how privileged I must think myself to be to walk up to the front of the line.
“Back of the line,” the large, gorilla-shaped bouncer says without even looking at me. While that might sound like an insult, it most certainly isn’t. The guy’s ripped… like pro wrestler ripped, and if I wasn’t in such a rush to get to Clock Dragon, I’d probably want a little taste.
“But you don’t—” I start.
“Back of the line, no exceptions.”
He puffs his chest out farther than his chin, then clutches at his tablet—presumably his guest list—and points at the line.
Why won’t he even look at me? While I don’t need eye contact to seduce men, it sure as hell gets things rolling.
“Wow, those arms—” I say, reaching for his bicep.
He jerks back, my fingertips barely grazing his rock of a muscle. “I’m not gonna tell you again, lady!”
It appears the nice approach isn’t working. I guess it’s time to bring out my bitch.
“Are you blind?” I say.
He huffs and drops his tablet against his waist. “Excuse me?”
His eyes hover over my head and still toward the line. What the hell is wrong with him? A succubus—the epitome of absolute beauty—is flirting with him and he acts like I’m nothing.
To me, that’s more infuriating than an arrogant guy. At least arrogance can be knocked out of the way, but this guy won’t even give me a chance. Inconspicuously, I sniff the air around me to get a good whiff of him.
Definitely a feeble.
What the fuck gives?
If I weren’t a succubus, I’d think maybe he was gay. But with my beauty and my powers, sexuality means squat.
My frustration gets the best of me. “I said, are you blind?”
In an instant, another bouncer with bright orange hair and freckles to match steps out of the club and positions himself between the two of us. He places a large hand on the bulky bouncer’s shoulder and another on his waist. “What the fuck is going on here? You’re stalling the line.”
“Your bouncer friend here refuses to
look at me,” I say. “That’s awful client service if you ask me.”
I must sound like a total whack job to the people waiting in line behind me, but I don’t give a rat’s ass. I have a job to do, and no one is getting in the way of that.
“The fuck is wrong with you?” says the redhead. “Derek’s blind.”
I point a finger at the sky and part my lips to defend myself, but something unusual happens… nothing comes out of my mouth.
Someone right behind me shouts, “Get in line!” and my shoulders jerk forward.
Seems I’m pissing everyone off.
“Listen,” I say, reverting to my abnormally sweet self. “I believe there’s been a misunderstanding.”
Placing a hand on my hip, I jump to plan B and throw my Lure at the redhead instead.
He clears his throat, having obviously felt my energy, and shifts the weight of his body onto one leg.
That’s my cue. I take a step toward him, making my hips sway out like a cat about to pounce and reach for his muscular forearm. “Listen, I’m terribly sorry for the misunderstanding. I’ve recently changed my hair, so it’s understandable that you might not recognize me. But I’m certain you wouldn’t want the media finding out that you denied Miss Vanpolis entry into your club, or that you made her wait in line.”
I have no idea where I came up with that name.
“Oh, um—” he stammers.
The blind bouncer clears his throat, then moves his mouth over to his tablet and says, “Miss Vanpolis.”
A woman’s monotone voice responds, “No data found.”
The redhead stares at me, and I stare back, refusing to back down.
“Sorry, Miss Vanpolis. I’m not sure what happened. Someone must have made an error. Please accept my apology on behalf of Rova Nightclub. Derek here will sign you in. Isn’t that right, Derek?”
He squeezes Derek’s shoulder, and that’s when I realize his hand was there the whole time. My Lure must have transferred over to Derek through the redhead.
Derek nods like a brainless goat and reaches for my hand. When I give it to him, he stamps the back with a red-inked stamp—a large V drawn inside a circle.
“Have a great evening, Miss Vanpolis,” he says, his voice sounding different now.
I give them both a crooked smile, then turn my face toward the lineup as a way of saying, And that’s how it’s done.
As I enter the club, the music’s loud beats send vibrations into my feet, up my legs, and into my head. Young men and women sporting noticeably expensive suits and dresses grind against each other with elegant drinks in their hands.
If I were to search the place, chances are I’d find celebrities I know. But none of that matters now. What’s important is that I find Clock Dragon, so I can get a better understanding of what I’m going up against. This whole thing would have been so much easier if he’d stayed home. I could have snuck in through his bedroom window and taken care of business with no one ever knowing.
Blue, green, and purple lights flicker to the beat of the music and I blink, thankful I don’t have a severe sensitivity to light. The club scene isn’t my thing. I’m more of a dive bar kind of girl. Give me a pool table, a bottle of whiskey, and a few feebles to toy with and I’m happy.
As I make my way across the club, several glowing eyes turn my way.
Vampires… everywhere.
What the fuck?
“You look lost!” someone shouts over the deafening bass.
Turning around, I spot a young guy in a black silk button-up shirt, black dress pants, and shiny shoes to match. His dark blond hair is combed backward so perfectly you’d think he took an entire bottle of gel to it.
He smells fresh, so maybe he did.
“I’m not lost,” I say.
His eyes search my lips, my chest, my legs.
I’m not even using my Lure, and I don’t have time for this.
“Do you VD?” he asks, licking his lips.
“I’m sorry?” I say.
He pulls his face back and stiffens his posture as if he’s revealed something he shouldn’t have.
“Oh. Sorry.” He twirls a finger around his ear. “I thought you were someone else.”
He turns away, and I spot two bloody bite marks on his neck. I wrap a firm grip around his wrist before he takes off. “Where’d you get those?”
What I wish I could ask him is, How the fuck are you still alive?
He yanks away from me, his features hardening. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
And with that, he disappears into the crowd. How the hell is a feeble with fresh vampire marks walking around? Vampires aren’t known for being merciful to their victims.
The deeper I enter the club, the more uncomfortable I become. Vampires eyeball me from every side, no doubt sensing that I’m fae.
Maybe this was a bad idea.
Or maybe I need a drink.
Leaning over the nearest bar I can find, I call the bartender over. A young woman with pale skin, perky breasts, and high cheekbones glides her way over as if traveling on an invisible skateboard.
Her eyes are cold and lifeless, and I can smell the rotten scent of death off her before her fangs make an appearance.
“Vodka,” I say. “On the rocks. And not the cheap shit. Make it four drinks… In one glass.”
Her arms move to reach for the booze under her belly, but her eyes remain glued on me. Still staring, she slides my drink across the bar and it lands in my hand. “We don’t sell cheap… shit.” The last word comes out of her mouth as if it’s foreign to her.
Maybe it is. Who knows? She could be some cryptic bitch from the Middle Ages who was recently awakened to be hired as a bartender.
Nothing’s impossible these days, especially in San Halos.
With the cold glass against my palm, I hesitate. Technically, I’m working, which means I shouldn’t be drinking, but if I don’t get some alcohol in my system, I’m afraid I might tense up and do something stupid. So I close my eyes and chug the cool liquid, enjoying every second of the fiery burn in my throat. Then, I dump the ice cubes into my mouth and crunch them like peanuts.
She’s still watching me.
I’m tempted to tell her to go fuck herself—that sort of hatred only comes out when I’m dealing with a vampire—but instead, I point to my mouth as ice chips fall out. “Sexual frustration. Wanna help me with that?”
At last, she rolls her eyes and hovers away.
The moment I slam my glass back down, I catch a familiar whiff.
Clock Dragon.
He moves through the crowd with several gangster-like dudes around him and makes his way to a red velvet curtain. Some private room. It’s protected by another handful of security guards with padded chests, broad shoulders, and hands larger than my face.
No way am I getting inside. It’s one thing to work my Lure on a couple of bouncers at the front door, but it’s quite another to manipulate my way inside some private meeting that’s no doubt protected by countless guns and knives.
So instead, I lean back in my chair, trying to get a good look at Clock Dragon, but all I see is the back of his head before he disappears behind a brown-skinned man twice his size.
But these big guys aren’t what I’m worried about.
What freaks me out the most is the man I spot at the end of a long, rectangular table. He sits with his fingers crossed in front of him, an elevated chin, blood on his bottom lip, and a cold gaze I’d recognize anywhere.
Lucius Retnich.
Chapter 12
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This pain is not unlike being punched in the ribs by an ogre. The blows get rougher until at last, I’m shaken out of my dream.
“The fuck?” I say, cracking an eye open.
Next, the pungent smell of weed enters my nostrils.
Drax sits in front of me with bloodshot eyes and two thick arms crossed over his chest. “Seriously?”
Moaning, I wipe
gunk from the corner of my mouth. “Seriously, what?”
“Where were you last night?” he asks.
Sitting up, I rub the back of my head, then glance down at my dress.
“Oh,” I say.
“Oh? Alex, are you drunk?”
I flick a wrist at him and stand up, but catch myself on the back of the sofa before I tumble over. “Maybe.”
“Maybe? Where’d you go?”
“I don’t remember everything,” I admit. “Went to Rova Nightclub—”
“Rova—” Drax starts, his reptilian eyes almost popping out of that snakehead of his.
“It’s a long story. I went after the guy… You know. Him. Well, I followed him. Wanted to see what he was involved with.”
“The guy who saw you in Adam Shaw’s house?” Drax asks.
Is my drunken gibberish that bad? That’s what I said.
I nod. “Yeah… Think I left after that. Went to another bar. Fuck. I don’t know. I don’t remember.”
A vivid image flashes in my mind.
Lucius Retnich—slender, blond, high cheekbones, and long fingers that would make any piano player envious. He’d sat there staring straight ahead, tapping the large table in front of him as if trying to play a musical piece.
“Lucius Retnich,” I say, staring at the floor.
Drax stiffens and slaps his hands on his hips. “Wait. What? You saw him? You sure it was him?”
He moves to the other sofa, sits down, cracks open a can of Pepsi, and lights up what remains of his joint. He puffs hard, smoke floating around his red eyes, and focuses on me as if I’m the only thing in the room. When I don’t answer him, he relights the tip of his joint, inhales deeply, and coughs.
“Do you think I’m an idiot?” I say. “Of course I’m sure it was him.”
He puts his joint down on one of my New York City coasters and raises his hand in submission. “I’m just saying… The dude’s been gone for how long now? Why would he be back? And what would he be doing in Rova Nightclub?”
Sighing, I throw my head back into my sofa.
Lucius Retnich used to run San Halos’s Underworld, along with numerous surrounding cities. So what was he doing at Rova Nightclub? Is he back in the business? The guy’s been around for centuries. Only last year, he disappeared. Rumors are he got sick of having to babysit everyone so he took off, cleared his name, and started a new life as most vampires do.
Mortal Blow: An Urban Fantasy Series (Succubus Hitwoman Book 1) Page 7
