Predator

by Liz Meldon

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Acknowledgments

  Predator (The Hunt, #1)

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Author Newsletter

  Thanks for reading!

  About the Author

  Predator

  The Hunt, #1

  Liz Meldon

  Copyright 2018 Liz Meldon

  Published by Liz Meldon. All rights reserved.

  License Notes

  Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. References to persons and places are for fictional purposes only, and are not linked to anyone outside of the author’s fictitious world. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to purchase their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Predator (The Hunt, #1)

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Author Newsletter

  Thanks for reading!

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to my fantastic beta reader Amanda for all your love and support. You were the first eyes on Moira and Severus’s story, and your enthusiasm pushed me onward. Much love to my phenomenal proofreader Phoenix, for catching my errors with poise and tact. As always, much love to my author besties group, my sun and stars, and my parents for being incredibly supportive of this journey. A huge shout-out to the amazing #bookstagram community for all your love and support! Last, and certainly not least, a great many thanks to my readers. Without you, there’s nothing but me and my imagination.

  Predator (The Hunt, #1)

  Black and Blue.

  Chapter One

  The night began as it always did—with a sharp, jerky knock on his hotel room’s door. His gaze dropped to the electronic clock next to the bed, the red numerals blazing back. 9 PM. On the dot.

  They were seldom ever more than a minute or two late, and if they were, Severus knew they weren’t coming at all. Women tended to honour punctuality like it was a lost art, and he appreciated it. For Severus, these nightly visits were a necessity, a breath of life. He didn’t need his time wasted, but since he’d been in the business for years, more than his ladies would ever know, he had a handy black book of backups to call on, to schmooze, if necessary.

  Crossing the room, he adjusted his skinny black necktie for optimal knot rigidity: not so loose that he looked like any old uncultured schmuck, but not so tight he’d remind his date of her husband. Happy medium. A quick sweep of his hand across the bed smoothed out the creases he’d left when he tied his shoes earlier. Unless otherwise specified, Severus preferred to get to the pre-booked hotel room first. He wanted to set up, to scope for exits, and let his natural charm ooze into the walls, the carpet, the linens. Whenever clients had a hand in crafting their date night atmosphere, it was like walking smack into a wall of stress. No thanks. Not optimal.

  Besides, most of the women who saw him wanted to surrender control, no matter how desperately they clung to it in their day-to-day routine. They were the ones who ordered his services. They chose the time, sometimes the place. Yet once they stepped into that hotel room, they belonged to him. Severus sold himself on the fantasy of surrender, the safety of giving oneself over to another and truly letting go.

  Little did his clients ever realize just how much they were letting go every time he touched them—he, an incubus whose strength, his very existence, relied on their life essence.

  But that was another matter for another time—and Severus had long stopped thinking about it. For him, what he did came as naturally as breathing. Their lives were his nourishment. It was as simple as that.

  Running a hand over his coarse black hair, he squared his shoulders and caught one last look at himself in the closet door mirrors. Wearing his suit, his hair neat and his facial scruff tamed, he was the epitome of many a human fantasy. What they didn’t see was the paleness in his cheeks, the lack of vibrancy in his usually black eyes, tonight merely a dark grey, getting duller by the hour. It had been four days without the touch of a human—and Severus was feeling the effects.

  He had only himself to blame, of course. He had decided to go on a four-day gaming bender with Alaric while his friend and roommate had time off from the bar. Video games these days were just so well done, so addictive—so violent. So enraptured were they in the wartime simulation, four days had blitzed by without either Severus or Alaric realizing, excluding the odd nap here and there, and he felt like shit.

  So, tonight, Severus planned to take a little more from dear Pamela Prescott than he ordinarily would have.

  Grasping the doorknob, he turned it gently and opened the door with all the composed elegance required of him. There she stood, a widow in her early fifties, prim and proper as ever. They had been doing this little song and dance twice a month for a year now. In that time, he’d almost grown fond of her.

  “Pamela,” he crooned, stepping aside and letting her in. “Ever the vision.”

  She tittered, a delicate hand over her mouth as she breezed by. “Oh, I’m sure you say that to all the girls.”

  Well, yes. “Never.”

  After he locked the door behind her, they exchanged a few pleasantries—which mostly included Severus asking about her day, her week, her garden. Sometimes she brought him fresh produce alongside her usual payment, especially if he’d looked a bit run-down when they last met. However, given it was only early spring yet, she’d just begun the replanting. Come August, he would have more giant fucking zucchinis than he would know what to do with.

  Pamela Prescott stood at an impressive five foot seven, shorter without her heels, and dressed like every day was a fashion parade. She’d finally started to treat herself after cancer took her husband three years prior, and every article of clothing Severus would soon peel off her body came with a designer label. She never balked when handing over his nightly fee, though the envelope was lighter this evening; no sex, only oral foreplay and some pampering. He never questioned why a regular changed up their routine, but merely sought out ways to ensure that it would still work for his purpose instead.

  Sex was, after all, the quickest, easiest way for an incubus to refuel. The idiots in eras gone by used to fuck their victims to death, and so their reputations as demonic leeches had been born. Severus preferred a different approach. Many clients, always changing, time between visits with regulars. He took just what he needed for a quick boost, and should he sense them too weak to continue, he’d sever all ties and send them on their merry way. Despite being a demon, he couldn’t have humans dying on him. That would tank his online reviews. Website flooded with hate mail. Police interest—or worse. No thank you.

  After all, as one of the few male escorts in Farrow’s Hollow, he needed to maintain a stellar reputation to keep up this little game. What kind of modern incubus or succubus wouldn’t take the escort route? Fools, that’s who. Severus was paid handsomely to sustain himself, to feed his body and fuel his supernatural abilities. He couldn’t ask for a better profession.

  “Is there anything you would like to discuss first this evening?” Severus inquired once he had tucked the payment envelope away somewhere discreet. When Pamela shook her head, he offered what he knew was an unassuming smile—sweet, caring. Despite his towering figure, broad and firm with muscle, many of hi
s clients came over and over again—literally—because he presented himself as someone who cared. He spoke softly but decisively, using the information he’d ascertained in phone exchanges, paired with years of experience reading human body language, to present precisely what these women paid for. So, hands threaded together behind him, he nodded. “Then let’s begin.”

  Despite being a regular, Pamela was always a bit nervous at the beginning, her body stiff and her breath falling in uneven, rapid gasps. However, as soon as he situated himself behind her and trailed his hands down both of her arms, she quieted. Severus started with her jacket, a lightweight mauve garment with pearl buttons, which he carefully folded and set on the dresser. Next came her skirt, which he unzipped from the back and let pool at her feet. Then the blouse, silky soft and dripping with expense. He trailed his lips along the nape of her neck, his body tingling to life at the caress.

  An incubus needed no more than a ghost of a touch to glean a human’s life essence. In his line of work, Severus was afforded much more than that.

  Pamela shivered under his hands, her head tipping back against his chest as he undid her bra next. Now that her skin was exposed, he wouldn’t break contact, always touching, caressing, licking, biting, until he’d had his fill, recouped his waning strength—and his client was satisfied, of course.

  Thankfully for him, it didn’t take much to please humans. Just as some spiders secreted a venom to numb their prey, or vampires emitted a toxin that deluded their victims into thinking their bite was pleasurable, an incubus had a number of talents at his disposal. First and foremost, skin-to-skin contact was like a drug to humans. His clients derived immediate pleasure from it, their senses heightening, their cunts dampening, their minds succumbing to indulgence without realizing they were being tricked by a demon.

  Succubi had the same gifts, though he’d always thought they had it easier; men, especially human men, were so easy to please. One stroke of a succubus’s finger and they’d be hard as a rock.

  Women required more fine-tuning—a little more time. It was why Severus always began his sessions with a massage if he could. Not only would it relax the client, but it allowed him to take almost all he needed in a matter of minutes.

  Because she’d requested no sex this evening, Severus undressed her slowly, rubbing his hands across her body, grazing his nose along her throat, up to her ear—taking what he needed, the hum of life flooding his veins, sharpening his senses.

  No one had ever explained what, precisely, he stole from humans. Life essence had been the best term he could concoct, for while he couldn’t see it, he could feel it, and if he took too much, the human would die. Whether it was their soul he was sampling, or something else entirely, Severus didn’t ask questions—not anymore. He just drank it in, inhaled it, stole it with every touch. He let it course through his body, reinvigorating what had dulled and weakened since his last caress.

  By the time he walked her over to the bed, the pink had returned to his cheeks. His irises were nearly their full black once more. Strength pulsed through his limbs, the beast within stirring faintly, and he would only feel better as the session went on.

  After arranging Pamela on the bed, he knelt at the foot of it, threw her legs over his shoulders, and tasted her. Drank of her. Took from her. Straight from the fucking source. She cried out, moaned, thrashed about as she always did. His lazy exploration of her naked body while undressing her would bring her to the brink, and in just over a minute Severus had her climaxing against his mouth.

  A quick glance at the mirror as he sat back told him he had reached an acceptable fullness. He’d be at his usual strength for a day or two, and then diminish with each hour that followed until he touched another human. Before he’d started escorting, Severus had relied on drunken rendezvous and the odd “accidental” brush of physical contact in public. Now, however, he needn’t worry when he’d get his next fix. Women were beating down the door to give it to him.

  “Oh, goodness,” Pamela gasped, her chest heaving as Severus turned his attention back to her. She propped herself up on bony elbows. “I don’t know what’s come over me… That was… I…”

  “Your promptness is never a bad thing,” he said with a dark chuckle, relishing the way her cheeks flushed a brilliant red. “Do you want me to do it again? We have plenty of time left.”

  Forty-five minutes of the full hour she’d bought, actually. After she stumbled through a rejection to his offer, Severus nodded.

  “How about a bath then? I’ve all your favourite scents.”

  “Oh, Russ, you do spoil me.”

  “I try,” Severus murmured. He ignored the usual roil of disgust at the sound of his escort name uttered aloud before helping Pamela to her feet and steering her toward the room’s en suite bathroom. After settling her on the closed toilet, he drew her a bath, chatting with her more about the garden, her weekly book club meetings, and that vile neighbour of hers who let his yappy little dog piss all over her front lawn.

  Within three minutes, Severus had her soaking in a hot bath. Together they watched the lavender bath bomb explode in a cloud of purple and gold beneath the water; his cousin Cordelia had told him they were all the rage with human women these days, so he’d added a few to his supplies. True to form, most clients had lost their collective shit over them.

  He couldn’t understand the appeal, but he was nothing if not a man who knew how to please.

  When it suited him.

  After the bomb had turned the bathwater purple with flecks of gold, Severus got to work on washing Pamela’s long black hair, edged in a pale grey along the crown of her head and at her sideburns. He massaged her neck, her shoulders, still taking from her, topping up his reserves so that they overflowed, all the while listening to her ramble on about, well, everything.

  In all honesty, a big part of his job was just listening to women talk. Sure, they hired him for sex, for pleasure, for surrender, but in the end, most of his clients just wanted to be heard. Had he not been harvesting their life essence to boost his own, he would have found the task quite tiring. As it were, Severus left each encounter energized and alive.

  Jacket off, beige dress shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and tie loosened, he worked every inch of her once more, diverting a hand to the crest of her thighs when she climaxed again—if only to make it seem legitimate, like she had a reason to come with his hand caressing all the right parts.

  At fifty minutes into their session, he helped her out of the bath, her skin wrinkly and her knees weak. She would be fine tomorrow, though perhaps, given her age, it would take until the evening to recover.

  Human bodies, for all their frailties and weaknesses, were remarkably resilient. They were programmed to survive, designed to protect themselves from all the dangers of the world. Severus knew for a fact that the clients he touched bounced back. Recovery time varied, of course. He had age limits for a reason. Naturally, to avoid the law, he served no one under eighteen—teenagers wasted much of their essence on other pursuits anyway. He also set a cap at fifty-five. Sure, everyone was different. Some women older than his limit might be able to withstand the process, but he couldn’t risk it. His refusal wasn’t out of kindness or charity; Severus preferred repeat clients to new ones, and he couldn’t very well have his regulars waste away on him.

  Pamela Prescott scheduled an appointment for two weeks from that night—the same as always. Every other Thursday, nine o’clock sharp. He needed to help her dress more than he usually did, and Severus didn’t trust her to stumble to the lobby by herself, so he walked her down with an arm around her waist. She wore a dreamy smile the whole way, as they all did, their bodies inundated with pleasure. Still, perhaps he ought to have eased off toward the end. Her ankles wobbled in her heels and her speech slurred somewhat.

  Maybe he should have had her sip something from the minibar. She certainly looked and sounded drunk as he led her through the enormous hotel lobby. Severus caught the eye of the woman working
the front desk, nodding as he passed. As if on cue, her cheeks blushed a charming poppy-red. They had a little arrangement—or so she thought.

  Claire worked the night shift and had fallen for his easy smile on her first day three years ago. Sometimes he’d stop by for a chat, touching her wrist innocently, fueling her with desire for him. In time, she had responded to him like they were lovers, when, in actuality, he’d never once bedded her. The arrangement was most beneficial; she felt the simple pleasure of his touch, and Severus carried out his business without anyone knowing what sordid things happened in room 212 three to five nights a week.

  Outside, the air cool and crisp, he gently lowered Pamela into an awaiting town car, ignoring the concerned looks from the doorman. Careful not to touch her directly, he gave her arm a squeeze and smiled. “We’ll see each other soon.”

  “Yes please,” she said, words elongated by a moan as she arched toward him. Severus skirted her outstretched hands easily enough, giving her home address to the driver, and then closed the door before she tried to climb on top of him. As the car sped away, Pamela stared at him through the rear window—tinted, but not enough to shield her from his enhanced sight.

  He waited until the car disappeared around the corner at the end of the street, the nighttime atmosphere slowly heightening around him. Located near a hell-gate, Farrow’s Hollow boasted an impressive population of demons who blended seamlessly with the local humans. Their steady influx over the years had turned what could have been a mid-sized, slow-going city into a party hub. You couldn’t walk ten feet without bumping into a demon these days. In fact, he passed one on the way back inside the hotel, but the demon refused to so much as flick his soulless gaze in Severus’s direction.