by Lucy Lyons
“If nothing else,” Oz said, starting to lighten a bit, “you know that while you’re here, you’ll be able to keep yourself from starving.”
“I guess,” Isabel said. “I’m assuming this isn’t just going to be a few days.”
“Until further notice,” Oz told her. Isabel sat down on the edge of the bed and looked around her room.
“You do realize that I have friends and people in my life, right?” she said as she met Oz’s gaze. “People who will miss me if I just disappear.”
“I would recommend that if you’re going to meet with any of your friends and family, you keep it to the women,” Oz told her. “I can’t guarantee if you meet with any males who know you – even if they’re family – that they won’t be sexually interested in you.” Isabel stared at Oz.
“If I meet with my Dad …?”
“He will react the same way your boss did, in all likelihood.” Isabel shuddered, involuntarily imagining it. It’s not fair! What did I do to deserve this? She took a slow, deep breath.
“So only women,” she said.
“Until you’re better able to control your output, yes,” Oz said, nodding. “Once you’re fully adapted to being a succubus, you might be able to go around male friends and family without having to beat them off of you with a baseball bat.”
“But if I have control over their minds, I can just tell them to stop it.” Oz smiled.
“Just trust me on this one,” he said. “Men will continue to have a difficult time controlling their impulse to hit on you. All men.”
“Can you do me a favor?” Isabel looked at Oz.
“Depends on the favor,” he said.
“I’d really like some space,” Isabel told him. “I need to kind of … figure things out.”
“Of course,” Oz said. He smiled slightly. “If you get lonely, or hungry …” his smile deepened, and Isabel looked away, feeling embarrassed at the knowing look in his eyes.
He left the room, and Isabel let herself fall back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Nothing at all in my entire life is normal anymore, she thought bitterly. Her body was changing; she had caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror on the way to the bedroom she would be staying in at Oz’s house, and could have sworn that she was slimmer, more svelte. Even though she didn’t have the burning, stomach-churning need for sex that she had felt earlier, she could still sense the pulse of her new appetite deep down in her brain.
Oz had said that because he was part of what had turned her into a succubus, he was able to command her. But the vampire and Isabel’s brain balked at the idea that had also taken part in her strange conversion: would he have the same ability? With any luck, I’ll never know. Isabel shuddered, thinking of what Oz had told her about how the vampires treated the succubi; they wanted to recruit.
“I wanted to change my life but this is ridiculous,” Isabel said, shaking her head against the mattress. She had wanted to get a different job, or find someone she could maybe consider dating in the long term – not to turn into a supernatural creature that fed off of sexual energy, never slept, and had to be careful around the men in her life she wasn’t interested in sexually.
“It’s not fair,” she murmured, turning over onto her side and curling up into a G shape, her knees almost to her stomach, her flatter stomach. The fact that she was losing weight without doing anything different in her life, so much so that her clothes were starting to not fit in a matter of only two days since she’d had her one-night stand with Oz, truly unsettled her.
She didn’t feel physically tired, but as Isabel kept her eyes closed, trying to think, to wrap her mind around everything that had happened to her in such a short time she found herself drifting off. Absently, she thought she might as well appreciate the ability to sleep while she still had it, just before her thinking slowed with her breaths, and she slipped into a deeper doze.
Chapter Eight
“I feel ridiculous,” Isabel told Oz as they strode through the mall, in the direction of Nordstrom. He’d insisted that she wear sunglasses and a hat, that she pull her hair back under the cap he had given her and wear the most shapeless dress that she had brought to his mansion. It was nearly dusk, and she felt more conspicuous in the “disguise”.
“The sunglasses keep you from eye contact with people,” Oz explained. “The hat shields your hair. The clothes cover up your body. It was either this or try and order everything online without knowing what your new size is.” Isabel pressed her lips together and took a deep breath, following him still.
Two days since she had agreed to stay at his house, under his protection, Isabel had realized that none of her clothes – not even her underwear – fit. She had slimmed down at the waist, thighs, hips, and paradoxically had gone up at least one cup size in her breasts, almost overnight. If it weren’t for Oz’s patient explanations, she would have already rushed herself to the doctor.
Her irritation at the confused and frankly wondering looks she caught other mall patrons giving her was compounded by the fact that she could feel her hunger rising. Isabel had tried to eat two huge meals already: a big breakfast of eggs, pancakes, bacon, oatmeal, and yogurt, and then a lunch of pasta, steak, salad, and wine. But no matter how much she ate, it seemed, the hunger kept gnawing at her. Isabel glanced at Oz, a few steps ahead of her. She would have to “feed” again soon, and the fact filled her with resentment.
Of all the things that Isabel had tried to adjust to since she had started the transformation, the fact that she had to have sex regularly, that it was like eating instead of something she could enjoy whenever she could get it, was the most unfair. Isabel stared at Oz’s back, knowing that she was going to end up in his bed that night – and that she would enjoy it, that she would be a fully willing participant – and almost, but not quite, hating him for that fact. It wasn’t his fault, strictly speaking; Isabel knew that. But she knew she should be more grateful to him; that he was willing to take care of her, to finance her life and even provide her with the regular sex she needed to stay healthy.
They stepped into Nordstrom and Oz made a beeline for the service counter, reaching back without looking for Isabel’s hand. She put her hand in his, and felt a little tingle from her fingers to her shoulder, all the way through her spine. She had begun to suspect that things were different with Oz – not just because he was an angel instead of a regular human, but something more. But as quickly as things had changed, it was too much to try and evaluate.
“We need all female assistance,” Oz told the customer service manager at the desk. “We’re going to be spending quite a bit of money in multiple departments, but it’s imperative that all our customer service people are women.” The manager raised an eyebrow at that, looking at Isabel, and she gave him a wry smile from behind her sunglasses. The man frowned, peering more closely at her, and Isabel could see the brief flicker of confused lust on his face. Okay, so maybe the stupid, ugly disguise was a good idea.
“Of course,” the manager said. “If you can tell me which departments you’ll be shopping in today, I’ll make sure to have someone on hand in each one to assist you.”
“Intimates, women’s shoes, and jewelry,” Oz told the man. Isabel squeezed his hand reflexively at the last category, even as the manager nodded his assent and stepped over to the phone on his desk to make the arrangement.
“Jewelry?” she tilted her sunglasses down on her nose just enough to meet Oz’s gaze.
“My money, I can spend it how I want,” Oz told her.
“If you think that this is going to obligate me–”
“You already have to do what I say,” Oz interrupted her, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Why would I need to obligate you?”
Isabel took a slow breath and exhaled sharply through her nose.
“Fine,” she said. “But don’t … don’t think that this makes me … indebted to you. That’s all.”
“If I wanted to indebt you to me, I’d write up a contract,�
�� Oz said. The manager came back to them.
“Would you like to start in Intimates? One of my best representatives is there, ready to assist in any way she can.”
“As long as you have a chain of female attendants for us to go to, I am happy to start wherever you like,” Oz told the man. He looked at Isabel. “Intimates, my dear?” Isabel almost started at the familiar name, but quickly realized that unless they played the part of a couple, they’d attract more than their fair share of unwanted attention.
“Sure, babe,” Isabel said sweetly.
The woman waiting for them in the Intimates and Sleepwear department was middle-aged, but Isabel could see that she had been lovely – probably even hot – in her younger years. Her skin was duller with age, and her hair had the look of salon processing to cover grays, but she had bright eyes in a well-made up face. She looked curvy enough to have learned the hard way the value of proper lingerie fitting. “Oh, my dear, new wardrobe?”
“From the bottom up, as it were,” Oz said.
“Let’s get started with some measurements, and go from there,” the woman suggested, dividing her attention between Isabel and Oz. “Do you have a budget in mind? I want to make sure to steer you towards the best possible value.”
“Money is no object,” Oz told the woman. Isabel thought the look that leaped into the attendant’s eyes was similar to the expression of someone on the edge of orgasm; the observation was the only point of real amusement she felt at the situation.
Isabel began to relax as she and Oz went from one department to another. She noticed how Oz exuded charm to the attendants they spoke to, but in the most unobtrusive way possible. He was endlessly patient. He was pleasant and smiling, and the women they worked with all responded to it immediately. Of course, they’re probably predisposed to like him on the grounds that he’s incredibly hot and rich, Isabel thought cynically. But it seemed like more than that, and Isabel thought – in the back of her mind – that there must be some kind of angelic magic, or persuasion, to it.
Almost before she knew it, Isabel realized that Oz had managed to rack up nearly a thousand dollars in purchases. He’d had to buy bras and panties separately, instead of in their standard sets, since – as she learned from the attendant – she had gone up two cup sizes to a size F, and down one band size, while her hip measurements had gone down enough inches to bring her to a size 6 panty. They had nearly had an incident while Isabel was trying on clothes in the women’s wear department: a man had strayed through, following in the wake of his wife. Isabel had taken off the hat and the sunglasses, and as she emerged from the changing room to get Oz’s approval of a dress, the married man stopped dead in his tracks to stare at her without any pretense or attempt to cover it up.
Oz had intercepted the man before he could do more than stare, getting in his line of sight and joking with him for a moment while Isabel scrambled to put her sunglasses and hat back on. That had underscored the fact that she had to be more careful about showing herself in public, at least until she had figured out how to control her “output,” as Oz called it, more than any of his warnings had managed to do.
The hunger gnawed at her stomach, and throbbed deep down in her hips, by the time they left Nordstrom; both of them loaded down with bags. Oz had taken his share without complaint or even comment, and Isabel thought of the men she saw in the mall every other time she had been there, glumly carrying their girlfriends’ or wives’ purchases, holding shopping bags out at arm’s length to prove their masculinity in some way. Oz didn’t seem to have any of those hang-ups at all, and Isabel wondered at that. “Do you have the energy to stop somewhere else before we leave?” Oz asked.
“You didn’t spend enough money at Nordstrom?” Isabel thought of the staggering totals from each department, the incredible charges that Oz had run up without batting a single eyelash, and couldn’t believe that he would suggest spending more money.
“You deserve a treat,” Oz said. He pointed out a storefront several spots down from where they stood: Lush. Isabel’s eyes widened; she knew the store well, even spent a good bit of her own money there.
“Why?” Isabel looked at him. Oz smiled.
“Maybe I want you to be comfortable, happy, and pleased if you’re stuck staying with me for the foreseeable future,” he said. “Come on. If you don’t see anything you like, I won’t buy anything.”
They started towards the shop, and Isabel tried to fight down her misgivings at the prospect of Oz spending more money on her. As they walked, she felt something – a frisson – deep down in the bottom of her spine. That’s weird, she thought; it wasn’t a feeling she had ever experienced before, and she thought that it must be some function of her new existence as a supernatural creature.
“Oz, you shouldn’t have thought you could keep her hidden from us,” a voice said. Isabel’s heart beat faster in her chest as a group of people surrounded them. All pale, their skin faintly shimmery in the unnatural light of the mall. They wore black suits, regulation-style; to Isabel they almost looked like officials, or some kind of law enforcement. Secret service? FBI? CIA?
“You’re coming with us dear,” a feminine voice said, near her ear. “Best not to fight it.” One of the suited figures did something to Oz; the angel struggled, but in a matter of moments, he was subdued. Isabel had no idea how to react as hands clamped on her wrists, icy-cold, like stone wrapped in velvet. “It’ll go easier on you if you just let it happen.”
Chapter Nine
Isabel wasn’t sure what the suited figures in the mall had done to her; but she found herself – an unknown time later – in a dark room, waking up bit by bit. Oh great, they’ve left me in this pitch-black room, so whatever is coming for me, I’ll never see it. Except … Isabel squinted, feeling the movement in the muscles around her eyes. Her vision began to adjust, much more than she would have thought possible, and Isabel made out the vague shapes of furniture in the room she had been left in.
She sat up, and realized that she was dressed in some kind of robe, loose around her newly svelte-curvy body. She couldn’t feel the sunglasses or the hat. Isabel took a slow breath, trying to still the racing of her heart. Who the hell were those people? Isabel closed her eyes again and tried to remember whatever had happened. All she could dredge up from the depths of her mind was that they had stone-cold hands, they were pale, and they somehow managed to subdue an angel.
Five hundred says they were vampires, Isabel thought. A week before, she wouldn’t have been so confident of it. Even as she had started her transformation under Oz’s watchful eyes, she had doubted the reality of vampires even after accepting the existence of angels. “Oz, you shouldn’t have thought you could keep her hidden from us.” That was what one of them – a woman, Isabel was certain – had said. Who else would have an interest in her? Or maybe Oz had lied about the situation with angels, with vampires. Could angels lie?
Isabel heard movement, and her heart started beating faster in her chest. They’re going to have to turn the lights on, whoever they are, she thought. If someone’s coming to check on me, they’ll need the light. At the very least, they would have to open the door. Isabel was certain she was alone in whatever room she had been placed in. She took a slow, deep breath, trying to think what she should do. You know absolutely nothing at all about vampires, she thought. You don’t even know if any of the myths about them are true.
The door opened and light flooded the room. Isabel winced, crossing her arms over her chest, curling her knees up, unprepared.
“Look at me.” The voice cut through her distraction and Isabel opened her eyes immediately, in spite of the discomfort of adjustment. The light in the room wasn’t as bright as she had thought it initially was – it was yellow-toned, almost soothing once her pupils adjusted to the onslaught. The room, she saw in a quick glance, was about the size of her apartment bedroom, with the bed she was on, a chair, and a door opposite her, along with the door that someone had just entered. “Boy, are you in trou
ble,” the person said, and Isabel heard the door close with a soft murmur.
“Who the hell are you?” She looked at the man who had entered her room – her cell, she thought, might be more accurate. She recognized him: the blond hair, the pale eyes and the tailored suit. “No … no, you can’t be the one …”
“The one who helped make you?” The man raised a sand-colored eyebrow, his lips twitching in the start of a smile. “One and the same.”
“But you …you would have to be …”
“A vampire, of course,” the man said. He sat down in the chair a few feet from the bed she had woken up on. “I wouldn’t have been able to come into this room on my own otherwise.”
“What about Oz?” Isabel felt her heart beating faster and faster in her chest.
“He’s in trouble, too,” the blond said cheerfully. Isabel racked her brain, trying to remember not just his name, but the circumstances under which she had ended up having sex with him. The same night she had hooked up with Oz. “Hungry?”
Isabel stared at the vampire. She had been hungry, in the new way that she had begun to feel hunger. She’d forgotten completely. “You’re …”
“I’m offering to let you feed,” the vampire said. Isabel pressed her lips together; after what Oz had told her about the vampires and how they starved the succubi that fell into their hands, forcing them to do their bidding, amongst other unsavory acts. The idea of having anything to do with a vampire was unappetizing. “Oh,” the vampire said, smiling a little more fully. “You’ve heard bad things about vampires.” Isabel nodded.
“I helped to make you,” the vampire said. “I have as much claim on you as Oz does.”
