by Celia Aaron
I rose from the bed, rushed to the bathroom, and splashed cold water on my face to calm my nerves. My face was ashen, and my eyes carried a haunted look. I reached over and flipped on the shower before peeling off my pajamas. Before I was able to get into the steamy jets, something in the mirror caught my eye. Turning my head to get a better look, I gasped—bloody claw marks had been etched into my back, and a crimson rivulet flowed from the bite on my neck.
33
Roth
I awoke to the sounds of twilight, the nightingale only now starting her mournful song. I’d slept poorly, toiling over what I’d learned about Lilah but unable to come up with the answer of why she’d sought me out. I had no special favor with Artemis—she was well known among the gods for her prudery. Definitely not my type. So I couldn’t get her back into the goddess’s good graces.
I stretched and rose from bed, the incubus waking and urging me to get into Lilah’s bed. Want her.
“Can’t have her,” I said out loud and headed for the shower.
Want her, the incubus insisted.
“Too bad.”
I soaped up and ignored my protruding shaft. The incubus was up to its old tricks, doing whatever it could to get its way, but I was having none of it. I needed all my energy for the outing I’d planned for Lilah this evening.
I knew where I wanted to take her and the story I would tell, but dreaded the trip. I’d never revealed my secrets to anyone and didn’t understand why I’d chosen her to confide in. But, I had to admit, there was something powerful about sharing my past with her. Something I’d never felt before, for any woman.
Once the bathroom was good and steamed, I got out and toweled off.
Corinne’s voice drifted through the milky air. “Want company?”
Yes!
“No.” I silenced the incubus.
“Going to make me get mine from Anne?” Corinne pouted and sidled up to me. She reached out to stroke me, but I backed away.
Need her. The incubus was huffy, as if she were medicine it didn’t want to take.
“Looks like it.” I dodged her searching hands, dressing quickly.
“Are you going out with that tramp again?”
In an instant, my hand was around her throat. “Don’t call her that ever again. Understand?”
Corinne’s eyes went wide with surprise and changed to the color of smoldering coals, signaling her displeasure. I relaxed my grip, not wanting to hurt her.
“Fine. But once you’ve had her, I know you’ll be back in my bed.” She gave me an acid look before leaving.
I pitied her and despised her at intervals, but Corinne was a necessity for me. The only thing that kept me from bedding every female in the city, no matter the consequences—something I swore long ago I would never do again. Her demon was far more possessive than mine; the succubus had staked its claim on me from the first second she saw me. And, though I wasn’t fond of the arrangement, Corinne had been with me ever since.
The incubus was getting restless, hungry for a dose of sexual power, but I was foolishly denying it again. For her. I couldn’t bear the thought of bedding another while the one I wanted was so close. Of course, I was fooling myself to think she would ever want me in return. But I’d made up my mind. I didn’t want anyone else and wouldn’t take Corinne or another female until I absolutely couldn’t stand it any longer. Even so, I wouldn’t make the same mistake as the last time I’d starved the demon. Couldn’t risk it.
I finished getting dressed and walked into the hall, readying to knock on Lilah’s door. Before I had the chance, she swung it open.
“I’d hoped you’d be up.” She was wearing a pair of tight jeans, boots, and a button-up shirt that was open at the collar and unbuttoned to reveal the pale swells of her generous breasts. Had I ever wanted anyone so badly? Definitely not. But I couldn’t charm her and could only have her if she came to me. The incubus protested my gentlemanly resolve, but I shut it out.
“Shall we?” I held out my arm for her.
“Wait.”
“Inviting me in?” I smiled, and the incubus clamored for a yes.
“Um, no.” She hurried out into the hallway. “But I did want to show you something.”
“Pray tell what that might be.”
She drew in a deep breath and, before my very eyes, conjured a bow and quiver from thin air. It was as if these things were always a part of her, though not visible to the naked eye.
“So that’s how you brought down the fury.” I’d been wondering what tricks she had up her sleeve. The bow gleamed an otherworldly silver and bore ornate etchings. Such a masterwork of arms and magic was never lightly given. It was fit for the gods themselves. I whistled at the sight of her with it. Deadly.
The bow disappeared as quickly as it had come. There was a slight smile lighting her face, the instrument and her skill with it plainly points of pride.
She brushed past me in the hall, heading to the stairs. “I have the feeling you’ll be wanting to take me on another one of your ‘field trips’ tonight, and I’d like you to know up front that unwelcome advances will be met with an arrow through your tender places.”
I couldn’t stop the smile that threatened to overtake me. She was utterly irresistible, standing there and challenging me to touch her. Making me want to so badly. The incubus itched to feel her melt to its will, and, unbelievably, the demon and I were in total agreement.
34
Lilah
After a quick dinner, full of cryptic answers from Roth about where we were going, we readied for the trip. I surveyed Roth’s two-seater convertible. At least it wasn’t a motorcycle—I would have loosed one of my arrows on him if he’d dared suggest it. But, to my relief, Bart had driven the black sports car into the courtyard. I realized the top had to be down or Roth would never have fit into it, his commanding height easily overpowering the vehicle.
The air was still full of moisture from a passing shower, making my hair slink into loose waves instead of straightened like I preferred. But the night was so lovely I didn’t mind, and enjoyed the thought of whipping through the streets with the top down. I sank into the seat, feeling the smooth leather and the purr of the engine. I had never been much of a car person, but a gal could get used to rides like this.
Roth placed his hand on my knee. “Ready?”
A jolt of heat shot straight up my thigh, but I quickly removed his hand and placed it on the stick shift. “The bow may be hidden”—I whipped out my blade in a flash—“but I’m still packing.”
“You never told me how you liked my little gifts.” I maneuvered out onto the Paris streets.
“The blades? I thought Bart picked them out,” I lied, feeling strangely embarrassed for not having thanked Roth. I may have been conceived in a barn, but I wasn’t raised in one, after all.
“He certainly has good taste, but I had those specially made for you, carissima.”
Unsure of what to do, I gave him a small pat on the hand. “Thank you. They are lovely, really.”
“You can pet me elsewhere if you like.” His sly smile pulled a laugh from me.
“Incorrigible.” I hated to admit it, but Roth was getting to me. I couldn’t let him—had to put a stop to this as soon as possible or I’d suffer a fate worse than death at the hands of Ares. The memory of my dream made me shift uncomfortably in my seat. The healed marks on my back stung as if they were freshly made.
I shook my head imperceptibly at the feeling of dread that threatened to drown me, unable to fight the chill that settled over me like a funeral shroud.
To get my mind off Ares, I studied Roth in the moonlight as he easily made his way through the crowds of people clogging the streets. His dark hair flowed away from his face, which was undeniably handsome. He must have been using his incubus charms on me. He’d dredged up all these emotions churning around inside me by letting his demon work its dark magic on me. Had to be it. He was rakish and winsome at intervals, but there was something I alway
s felt when I was with him. It was the same sort of hum the moon gave me when it rose in the sky, full and brilliant. It was on the tip of my tongue…
It was then that the dark cloud lifted. Here, in this car, going at a breakneck pace with a demon at the wheel—with Roth—was the one place I felt safe. I knew I could take care of myself, had done it all my life, but Roth was the only male who’d ever made me feel like being wrapped in his arms was where I belonged.
I continued to study his profile, past his chiseled jaw to the broad expanse of his chest. My gaze strayed even lower, enjoying the strong lines of his body—built like a predator—and I licked my lips. I forced myself to look elsewhere, anywhere but at him, so I turned instead to the moon. Yellow in its orb as it watched the City of Light from high above.
Before long, Roth pulled up in front of a once grand apartment building—its ornate plaster embellishments long since decayed and fallen apart and the front door hanging askew, giving it an air of utter abandonment. The only remaining piece of artistry that clung to the failing structure was a wrought-iron bust of a woman, positioned above the door.
Something urged me to leave this place with Roth and never look back, never ask what drew him here. Sadness had written its tale all over the building, using the walls like parchment that soaked up the ink. Vines climbed the facade and trash littered the front courtyard.
Roth never even looked at the building but sighed, a sound full of mourning and a depth of sorrow I hadn’t thought possible in a male like him—strong, proud, confident. He was a lion, but something about this place was a thorn in his paw.
I didn’t speak, only watched as a slight breeze played with the strands of hair that fell in his face. He kept his eyes focused on the road ahead, as if looking at the crumbling edifice would hurt him somehow. I longed to reach out and comfort him, though I didn’t know what caused the wave of grief that had gripped him so suddenly. Instead, I gave him time to tell his story. After a long while, he began haltingly.
35
Roth
1834
Paris
I strolled through the streets of the city, enjoying the view of the coquettish women drinking coffee at the brasseries and pretending to ignore me. Not a chance.
The morning sun worshipped me, bathing my every move in light that attracted each female who saw me. I knew they stared after me wherever I went, my charm floating off me in gentle waves like the finest of colognes. It was part of the gifts the incubus imparted, and one I’d enjoyed for centuries. I could take my pick of any woman on the rue, but I felt like being choosey today. After all, I’d bedded three women last night and didn’t need another at the moment, though, as always, one more couldn’t hurt.
I ambled past the dress shops and patisseries, winking at the girls as I went. The incubus strutted inside me, content with itself and enjoying the menu. My window-shopping always seemed to please the incubus and whet its appetite for more. And I was up to the challenge. Like picking a fine wine, I enjoyed sampling all different vintages and rolling them around on my tongue. The angry looks from the lovers and husbands did nothing to stop me, for if they wanted a fight, I’d happily given them one. And after it was over and I’d won, I’d bed their females right in front of them.
As I continued toward the Seine, something caught my eye. It was a young woman, hidden in the shadows of Sacré-Cœur, weeping into her palms. Her dress was the purest white, her amber hair a brilliant brush stroke on the snowy palette. I approached, more out of curiosity than the desire to comfort her. Hearing me, she slowly turned and wiped the tears on her sleeve, her brown eyes full of misery. But one look at me had the corners of the girl’s mouth turning up slightly, a shy smile emerging from her angelic face.
I gave a dashing bow, sweeping my hat low under me before straightening and asking her name.
“Delia.” That shy smile played on her lips once again. The incubus stretched languidly, already intrigued by this new game. It smelled the innocence on her and wanted nothing more than to taste it.
“Can I render any assistance?” I handed her my handkerchief and calculated the speed with which I could get the young woman into my bed. Now. The incubus flitted about, gleeful at the opportunity that had just presented itself.
Delia shook her head demurely and did her best to dry her eyes. I offered my arm, and she took it a little too eagerly. Already mine.
“Do tell me what’s the matter, ma chère.” I guided her toward my chateau.
After a slight hesitation, the girl said, “I-I just was married. To a man I don’t love.”
The tears began anew, but I wrapped an arm around her waist, ever leading her toward my bed. The incubus was practically prancing with delight—it had always enjoyed stealing women right out from under other men, and this was a rare case. She was a gift bought but not yet enjoyed, and I would make sure I’d torn off the wrapping paper before her new husband got the chance.
She stopped and looked into my eyes, seeking comfort I knew she’d never find there, though I feigned it with a concerned look. “Ma chère?”
“He’ll be cruel to me. I know it. After the ceremony, he struck me for speaking to one of my friends. He said he owns me. Said he’d kill me if I even looked at another. Th-that’s why I ran off.” She was so young and innocent, yet the look in her eyes was full of the worst kind of knowledge. It was as if Delia knew she would never be happy again, but I didn’t bother myself with feelings.
“I’m here now. I’ll protect you from him.” I had made so many empty promises over the years, they came out with the ease of the truth, and this one was no different.
With that said, I urged her onward. She allowed me to lead her through the gates of my chateau and into my bedroom. She was acting on her own free will—I was only able to influence her desires. But that was neither here nor there. I was only interested in one thing. And I would have it tonight.
I stumbled through the streets like a drunk, the glowing streetlamps doing nothing to illuminate my way. All I saw was darkness pierced by two burning eyes—the incubus controlled me now. The demon forced me to continue making my way to Le Chabanais, Paris’s most notorious bordello. I desperately wanted to stop, turn around, or just die in the street, but the incubus urged me on, refusing to grant me the reprieve I desired. Need, need, need.
I’d starved it for over two weeks, refusing to give in to its vile nature, no matter the torment the incubus wreaked upon me. Running its nails down my skull and whispering to me, dark promises of retribution if I did not feed it, and soon. But I wanted no more to do with it, though I couldn’t—wouldn’t—take my own life to end the torment, because I deserved it. Because of what happened to her.
Continuing through the streets, drawn unerringly to what the incubus desired, I still mourned her—the innocent girl with the guileless brown eyes from whom I’d stolen everything. I detested myself and the incubus still more. But the incubus wanted to live, and the only way it could do so was with a powerful jolt of sexual energy.
Though my body was numb, my mind was painfully aware and replayed the memory of that night over and over again. How I took the girl to my home and claimed her, giving her untold pleasure and adding her to my collection of conquests. Afterward, I told my usual lies—“I’ll call on you tomorrow” being the prime one. Her angelic face did nothing to stir the least bit of remorse or regret in my stony breast, for she was nothing more than another snack for the incubus to enjoy. She had been innocent, and still was really, but I didn’t have time to explain the ways of the world to her. Besides, she would learn soon enough when I never saw her again, no matter if she begged, cried, or did any of the things my past jilted lovers had tried.
So, with a kiss and a stroke of her lovely amber hair, I shuffled her out the door and into the arms of her waiting husband—who wasted no time in slitting her throat.
The memory was seared into my heart, my head, as if I had walked through fire with no chance of coming through unscathed. The lo
ok in her eyes, the terror. Something so beautiful that was marred by a vileness that lived within me, that was me.
“If I can’t have you, no one can!” The man screamed into the girl’s terrified face.
Before I could stop it, something deep within me let out a wail of agony and I ran to her. It was as if my humanity had awakened after hundreds of years watching me sink slowly into cruelty and evil.
I felt it in my breast as I rushed out onto the street. But it was too late. Delia’s husband made sure she would bleed out, cutting deeply before turning the knife on himself and doing the same. As I cradled her against me, her beautiful face drained of its color, the amber hair almost garish against her pale skin. The light left her eyes, and I knew I’d extinguished her innocent soul as surely as if I’d wielded the knife myself.
Delia’s husband sank to his knees next to his wife, the blood creating a deep crimson stain on his white tunic. Then he pointed the blade at me and gurgled his dying word, “You.” The man fixed me with an intense stare until he was carried to the depths of Hades.
You. The word reverberated in my mind even now as I slunk past the residents of Paris. I had caused her death. And that night, as the pair died in front of my eyes, I vowed I would do everything within my power to deny the incubus. My humanity demanded nothing less. The incubus screamed inside me, and its sense of betrayal permeated the bonds that held us together. But I wouldn’t listen.
I locked myself in my chateau, demanding Bartholomew prevent me from leaving or any females from entering. I’d made it for over a week, the incubus relentlessly torturing me, driving me mad with its desire for flesh. I didn’t care that I’d die right along with the incubus, but I couldn’t bear the thought of what I’d done. The look of horror on her face as the knife violated her delicate throat. And the husband—his accusation ringing in my ears ever since that night.
