Succubus Blues gk-1

by Richelle Mead

  Roman's eyes crinkled with amusement, and he cocked his head toward the lane. "Let's see what you can do with it."

  I stepped up uncertainly, trying to remember how I used to do this. All up and down the alley, I could see other players walking up and throwing with ease. Shrugging, I stood at the line, drew my arm back, and threw. The ball flew out jerkily, sailed about four feet, hit the lane with a loud crack, and then promptly entered the gutter. Roman walked up beside me, and we silently watched the ball complete its journey.

  "Are you always that rough with balls?" he asked finally.

  "Most men don't complain."

  "I imagine not. Try making contact with the floor before you let it go this time."

  I gave him a sharp look. "You aren't one of those guys that gets off from showing women how much better you are at stuff, are you?"

  "Nope. Just offering friendly advice."

  My ball returned, and I followed his instructions. The ball's impact proved quieter that way, but I still ended up in the gutter.

  "All right. Show me what you can do," I grumbled, sitting down huffily into a chair.

  Roman strode up to the lane, movements graceful and flowing like a cat's. The ball poured from his hand like water from a pitcher, sailing smoothly down and hitting nine pins. When his ball returned, he threw it effortlessly once more and took out the obstinate tenth.

  "This is going to be a long night."

  "Cheer up." He chucked my chin. "We'll get you through this. Try it again, and aim more toward the left. I'm going to get us some beers."

  I threw to the left as advised but only succeeded in hitting the left gutter. On my second throw, I tried greater moderation and managed to hit one pin on the far left. I whooped in spite of myself.

  "Nicely done," cheered Roman, setting two mugs of cheap beer down on the table. I hadn't drunk anything not from a microbrewery in over a decade. "It's all about baby steps."

  That certainly turned out to be true as our evening progressed. My pin count increased slowly, though I soon developed the nasty habit of creating splits on my first throw. I showed no aptitude for picking them up, despite Roman's best explanations. To his credit, he gave good, nonthreatening advice, as well as some hands-on instruction.

  "Your arm goes like this, and the rest of you leans like this," he explained, standing behind me with one hand on my hip and the other on my wrist. My flesh warmed at his touch, and I wondered if his actions were truly driven by altruism or were an excuse to get his hands on me. I exercised such techniques regularly in succubus work. It drove men wild, and now I knew why.

  Ruse or no, I didn't tell him to stop.

  I hit my peak in the second game, even managing one strike, though my performance declined in the third round as beer and fatigue took over. Sensing this, Roman called our bowling adventures closed, lauding my progress as highly impressive.

  "Do we have to go to a dive now for dinner, in order to keep with this dream-date slumming fantasy you've got going?"

  He put his arm around me as we walked out to the car. "I guess that depends if you've succumbed to my wily charm or not."

  "If I say yes, will you take me somewhere good? Sometimes the posh places do work, you know."

  We ended up at an upscale Japanese restaurant, much to my satisfaction. Taking our time, we savored both food and conversation, and again Roman's knowledge and wit impressed me. This time we discussed current issues, sharing opinions on recent news and culture, things we liked, things that drove us crazy, etc., etc. I discovered Roman had traveled quite a bit and held strong views on world politics and affairs.

  "This country is so in love with itself," he complained, sipping sake. "It's like one big mirror. It just sits all day and looks at itself. When it can be bothered to look away, it's only to tell others 'do this' or 'be just like me.' Our military and economic policies bully people outside our borders, and inside, conservative groups bully other citizens. I hate it."

  I listened with interest, intrigued at this side of a normally light and easygoing guy. "So do something about it. Or leave."

  He shook his head. "Spoken like a comfortable citizen. The old 'if you don't like it, you can just leave' policy. Unfortunately, it's a lot harder than that to cut yourself off from your roots." Leaning back, he forced levity with a small grin. "And I do do things here and there. Small acts. My own battle against the status quo, you know? Attend the occasional protest. Refuse to buy products made with third world labor."

  "Avoid fur? Eat organic food?"

  "That too," he chuckled.

  "Funny," I said after a moment's silence. Something had just struck me.

  "What?"

  "This whole time, we've talked about current things. No sharing of traumatic childhoods, college days, exes, or whatever."

  "So what's funny about that?"

  "Nothing really. It's just that the human mating process usually seems to dictate everyone share their histories."

  "You want to do that?"

  "Not really." I actually hated that part of dating. I always had to edit my past. I hated the lying, having to keep track of my stories.

  "I think the past plagues us enough without muddling it into our present. I'd rather look forward, not backward."

  I studied him curiously. "Does your past plague you?"

  "Very much so. I fight every day to not let the past overtake me. Sometimes I win, sometimes it does."

  God only knew mine did the same. It was odd to talk to someone about this, someone who felt the same way. I wondered how many people in the world walked around with invisible baggage, hiding it from others. Even while packing said baggage, I'd always kept it concealed. I had a driving need to keep up surface appearances—hence the so-called "happy face." I'd smiled and nodded through the worst times of my life, and when that superficial reaction had not been enough, I'd finally just run—even though it cost me my soul.

  I smiled slightly. "Well then. I'm glad you and I stick to the present."

  He tweaked my noise. "Me too. In fact, my present is looking pretty damned good right now. Maybe my future too, if I keep weakening your resolve."

  "Don't push it."

  "Aw, come on. Admit it. You find my outrage at the powers-that-be endearing. Maybe even erotic."

  "I think 'entertaining' would be a better word. If you want outrage, you should spend time with Doug, my coworker. You guys have a lot in common. By day he cleans up and plays respectable assistant manager, by night he's the lead singer of this wacky band, registering his discontent against society through music."

  Roman's eyes flickered with interest. "Does he play around here?"

  "Yup. He'll be at the Old Greenlake Brewery this Saturday. Me and some of the other staff are going."

  "Oh yeah? What time should I meet you?"

  "I don't recall inviting you."

  "Don't you? Because I could have sworn you just named a day and place. Sounded like a passive invitation to me. You know, the kind where it'd be my job to say 'mind if I come along,' and then you say 'yeah, no problem,' and so it goes. I just skipped a few steps."

  "Most efficient of you," I observed.

  "So... mind if I come along?"

  I groaned. "Roman, we can't keep going out. It was cute at first, but it was only supposed to be one date. We've already gone past that. People at work think you're my boyfriend." Casey and Beth had informed me recently what a " hottie" I had.

  "Do they?" He looked very happy about this.

  "I'm not joking here. I mean it when I say I don't want to get serious with anyone right now."

  And yet, I didn't really mean it. Not in my heart. I'd spent centuries cutting myself off from any sort of meaningful attachment with another person, and it hurt. Even when I had purposely cultivated relationships with nice guys in my succubus glory days, I had immediately dropped them and disappeared post-sex. In some ways, my life now was even harder. I avoided the guilt of stealing a nice man's life energy, but I never had true c
ompanionship either. No one who cared exclusively for me. Sure, I had friends, but they had their own lives, and those who got too close—like Doug— had to be pushed away again for their own good.

  "Don't you believe in casual dating? Or even male-female friendships?"

  "No," I answered decisively. "I do not."

  "What about the other males in your life? That Doug guy? The dance instructor? Even that writer? You're friends with them, aren't you?"

  "Well, yeah, but that's different. I'm not attracted—"

  I bit off my words, but it was too late. Roman's face bloomed with hope and pleasure. He leaned toward me, touching my cheek with his hand.

  I swallowed, terrified and thrilled by how close he was. Beer and sake had made me fuzzy in body and mind, and I made a mental promise not to drink the next time we went out. Not that we were going out again... right? Alcohol confused my senses, made it harder to differentiate between the succubus feeding instinct and pure, primal lust. Either one was dangerous around him.

  And yet... in that moment, lust wasn't even really the issue. He was. Being with him. Talking to him. Having someone in my life again. Someone who cared about me. Someone who understood me. Someone I could go home to. And with.

  "What time should I meet you?" he murmured.

  I looked down, suddenly feeling warm. "It's a late show..."

  His hand slid from my cheek to the back of my neck, intertwining with my hair and tipping my face toward his. "You want to hang out beforehand?"

  "We shouldn't." My words all seemed long and drawn-out, like I was swimming in molasses.

  Roman leaned over and kissed my ear. "I'll be at your place at seven."

  "Seven," I repeated.

  His lips moved to kiss the part of my cheek closest to my ear, then the cheek's center, then just below my mouth. His lips hovered so close to mine; my whole body concentrated on that proximity. I could feel the heat from his mouth, like it had its own private aura. Everything moved in slow motion. I wanted him to kiss me, wanted him to consume me with his lips and his tongue. I wanted it and feared it, yet felt powerless to act either way.

  "Can I get you something else?"

  The waiter's mildly embarrassed voice shattered my numbing haze, snapping me back to reason, reminding me what would happen to Roman even with a kiss. Not too much, true, but enough. I broke out of his grasp and shook my head. "Nothing else. Just the check."

  Roman and I spoke little after that. He drove me home and made no advances when he walked me to the door, only smiling kindly as he chucked me under the chin again and reminded me he'd be by at seven on Saturday.

  I went to bed restless and aching for sex. The alcohol helped me fall asleep easily, but when I awoke in the morning, lying in bed in a drowsy state, I could still remember how it had felt to have his lips so close to mine. The lustful yearning returned with a vengeance.

  "This is no good," I complained to Aubrey, rolling out of bed.

  I had three hours before work and knew I needed to do something other than daydream about Roman. Remembering that I had never followed up with Erik, I decided I should pay him a visit. The vampire hunter theory was more or less obsolete as far as I was concerned, but he might have found something else of use. I could also ask him about fallen angels.

  Considering the whole "stashing" threat, I probably should have experienced more concern about going back to Arcana, Ltd. Still, I felt more or less safe. One thing I had learned about the archdemon was that he was not a morning person. He didn't really need rest, of course, but it was a mortal luxury he'd taken to wholeheartedly. I expected him to still be asleep, wherever he was, with no way of knowing what I planned to do.

  Dressing and eating breakfast, I soon hit the road to Lake City. I found the shop effortlessly now, feeling dismay once more at its barren look and empty parking lot. Yet, when I entered, I saw a dark shape leaning over a corner of books, too tall to be Erik. Pleasure at the thought of Erik getting more business coursed through me until the figure straightened and fixed me with a sardonic, gray-eyed expression.

  "Hello, Georgina."

  I swallowed. "Hello, Carter."

  CHAPTER 13

  Carter picked up a book and leafed through it lazily. His stringy blond hair had been stuffed under a backward baseball cap, and his flannel shirt appeared to have seen better days.

  "Looking for altar supplies?" he asked me without glancing up. "Or maybe here to brush up on your astrology?"

  "It's none of your business why I'm here," I snapped back, too flustered at the sight of him to think of anything funny or even plausible.

  The gray eyes looked up. "Does Jerome know you're here?"

  "It's not his business either. Why? Are you going to tattle on me?"

  My words came out boldly, though part of me kept thinking if Carter really was the one behind the attacks, I'd have a lot more to worry about than Jerome's wrath.

  "Maybe." He closed the book, holding it between his palms. "Of course, I suspect the long-term entertainment value will be greater for me if I just keep quiet and let your schemes proceed uninterrupted."

  "I don't know what 'schemes' you're talking about. Can't a girl go shopping without getting the third degree? You don't hear me grilling you about why you're here."

  The truth was, I burned to know what he was doing. It didn't surprise me that he knew Erik—we all did—but finding him here in light of everything that had happened lately only furthered my suspicions.

  "Me?" He held up the book he'd been glancing through. Teach Yourself Witchcraft in 30 Days or Less. "I need to make up for lost time."

  "Cute," I acknowledged.

  "Commendation from a master. I'm honored. Have I given you sufficient time to come up with an equally cute alibi?" He set the book down.

  "Miss Kincaid." Erik shuffled into the room before I could answer. "I'm so pleased to see you. My friend just dropped off the earrings you asked for."

  I stared, momentarily puzzled, and then I remembered the pearl necklace, as well as the earrings I'd offhandedly requested.

  "I'm glad he was able to do it so quickly."

  "Nice recovery," conceded Carter in an undertone.

  I ignored him.

  Erik opened a small box for me, and I peered inside. Three tiny strands of freshwater pearls, just like the ones from the necklace, dangled from the delicate copper wires of each earring.

  "They're beautiful," I told him. I meant it. "Thank your friend. I have a dress these will look great with."

  "That must be a relief," noted Carter, watching Erik ring the earrings up at the counter. "Proper accessories, I mean. Cody tells me you're doing a lot of dating these days. I don't suppose you read the book I sent you."

  I slid my credit card over to Erik. Cody had seen my male entourage at the dance lesson, but I'd only told him about my subsequent date with Roman yesterday.

  "When did you talk to Cody?"

  "Last night."

  "Funny, so did I. And here you are today. Are you following me around?"

  Carter's eyes danced merrily. "I was here first. Maybe you're following me around. Maybe you're starting to get into this dating thing and want to find a cunning way to come on to me."

  I signed the credit card slip and handed it back to a quiet, listening Erik. "Sorry. I like my men to have a bit more life in them."

  Carter chuckled quietly at my joke. Sex with other immortals gave me no energy payoff. "Georgina, sometimes I think you might be worth following around, just to hear what you'll say next."

  Erik looked up. If he felt discomfort at being in the crossfire of two immortals, he did not show it. "Then perhaps you'd like to join us for tea, Mr. Carter? You were going to stay, weren't you, Miss Kincaid?"

  I gave Erik one of my better smiles. "Yes, of course."

  "Mr. Carter?"

  "Thank you, but no. I've got things to do, and from the way I understand it, Georgina operates best one man at a time. It was nice seeing you as always, Erik. Thank
s for chatting. As for you, Georgina... well, I'm sure I'll be seeing you very soon."

  Something in those words chilled me. It took every ounce of my resolve to sound calm as I called out to him. "Carter?"

  His hands touched the door. Pausing, he glanced back at me and arched an eyebrow in acknowledgment.

  "Does Jerome know you're here?"

  A slow, sly smile spread across the angel's face.

  "Are you going to tattle on me now, Georgina? And here I thought we were making such progress. Perhaps we should have drawn out the small talk a bit more. You could have asked me if the weather would change soon, I might have commented how pretty you looked today, etc., etc. You know how it goes."

  I blinked. His words this time invoked the note on my door.

  You are a beautiful woman, Georgina. Beautiful enough, I think, to even tempt angels into falling...

  Was he leaving me more clues? Toying with me in the way Cody had suggested? Or was I reading too much into this? Was he still just annoying Carter, bane of my existence, tormenting me like always? I honestly didn't know, but I still believed of all angels to be taking down evil immortals in the city, Carter had the most opportunity.

  "How pretty am I then?" My voice caught slightly. "Pretty enough to fall for?"

  The angel's lips twitched. "I knew you were coming on to me. See you later, Georgina, Erik." He opened the door and left.

  I stood there, watching his retreating figure. "What was he doing here?"

  Erik set a tray with two cups down on the small table. "Come now, Miss Kincaid. I keep your secrets. You can't expect me to do any less for him."

  "No, I suppose not."

  Nor, I thought as the old man went to get the teapot, did I want to risk endangering him by getting him caught up in immortal affairs. Well, at least caught up more than he already was.

  He returned shortly and poured for us. "I had just put this on before you came in. I'm glad you're here to share it."

  I tasted it. Another herbal blend. "What's this one called?"