Succubs on Top gk-2

by Richelle Mead

  Corey and Min were there when we arrived. They elaborated a bit more for us and said there was no change in Doug's condition. Seth stayed silent, but I could tell he was as concerned as I was.

  I asked if I could see Doug, and a nurse told me I could. I entered the room alone and found him asleep, hooked up to tubes and a bleeping machine. I had watched medical technology change over the years, from leeches to defibrillators, but that didn't mean I felt comfortable with any of it. Machines that kept people alive rubbed me the wrong way. They weren't natural, even if they did good.

  "Oh, Doug," I murmured, sitting at his bedside. His skin was pale, his hand cold and clammy. The bleeping machine registered a steady heartbeat, so that was something. None of the other readouts meant anything to me.

  I watched him, feeling helpless. Mortals, I thought, were fragile things, and there was nothing I could do about that.

  Many, many years ago, Bastien and I had worked at a dance hall in Paris. Dancers in those days were almost always prostitutes too, but I hadn't minded. The opportunity had provided me with both succubus energy and monetary income. Bastien had been a bouncer and ostensibly my lover. This allowed him to sing my praises, bolstering my reputation and sending me a large clientele.

  "There's a young man who shows up every night," the incubus told me one day. "He has 'virgin' stamped all over him, but he's rich too. I've talked to him a few times. He doesn't like the idea of paying for sex, but he's completely obsessed with you."

  The news pleased me, and when Bastien pointed out the gentleman, I made a lot of eye contact with him throughout the performance. Sure enough, a manservant of his discretely solicited me on behalf of his employer afterward, and I hurried to prepare myself backstage.

  "Josephine," called a voice beside me. I turned and saw another dancer, an especial friend of mine named Dominique.

  "Hey," I told her, grinning. "I have a nice prospect I've got to get to." Her grim face made me pause. "What's wrong?"

  Dominique was small and blond, with an almost waifish appearance that made her look like she wasn't getting enough to eat. That wasn't a surprise, however. None of us in that profession ever got enough to eat.

  "Josephine…" she murmured, blue eyes wide. "I need your help. I think…I think I'm pregnant."

  I stopped in my tracks. "Are you sure?"

  "Pretty sure. I…I don't know what to do. I need this job. You know I do."

  I nodded. From the wings, Jean—the man who took cuts from our liaisons—yelled at me to hurry up and meet my young man. I gave Dominique a quick hug.

  "I have to go do this. I'll find you later, okay? We'll figure something out."

  But I never really got a later. The young man, Etienne, proved to be adorable. He was much younger than my apparent age, and engaged to be married. He was torn on the issue of sex. Part of him felt he needed to be pure for his bride; the other part wanted to be experienced on his wedding night. That was the part that won out, the part that brought him to my bed and gave me the succubus bonus of both a moral corruption and an energy yield.

  He resented me for both my lifestyle and my hold over him, but that didn't stop him from coming back every day for the next few weeks.

  "I hate you for this," he told me one day after we'd been together. He lay back against the sheets, in a sweaty, postcoital repose. I stood near the bed, putting my clothes on while he watched. "Marry me."

  I laughed out loud, tossing my hair—then honey blond and curly—over one shoulder.

  He flushed angrily. He had dark eyes and hair and a perennially brooding look. "Is that funny?"

  "Only because you hate me in one breath and love me in the other." I smiled as I laced up my undergarments. "I suppose there are a lot of marriages like that."

  "Not everything's a joke," he said.

  "Maybe not," I agreed. "But this comes pretty close."

  "Are you turning me down?"

  I pulled my dress over my head. "Of course I am. You have no idea what you're asking. It's ridiculous."

  "You treat me like I'm a child sometimes," he declared, sitting up straighten "You're not that much older than me. You have no right to act so wise…especially since you're a…"

  I grinned at him. "A whore?" He had the grace to look embarrassed. "And that, sweeting, is the problem. Never mind your family's scandalized reaction. Even if we managed to pull it off, you'd never get over that. You'd spend the rest of our marriage—which would probably be short-lived—obsessing about all the men I'd been with. Wondering if one of them had been better. Wondering if I'd done something with them that you thought was new and novel with you."

  Angry, he stood up and pulled on his pants. "I would have thought you'd be grateful."

  "Flattered," I said coldly, "but nothing more."

  That wasn't entirely true. The truth was, despite his youthful certainty and mood swings, I liked Etienne. A lot. Something about him appealed to me. Maybe it was because all that emotionality and pride came from an artistic nature. He painted as a hobby. There it was again, my unfortunate obsession with creative men. Luckily, at that time in my life, I had enough sense to avoid deep entanglements with humans.

  "I wish you could choose who you love," he said bitterly. "Because I wouldn't choose you, you know. But, here we are. I can't stop thinking about you. I feel like there's some pull to you I can't fight."

  "I'm sorry," I said gently, surprised at the small ache in my heart. "Wait until you're married. Your wife will make you forget all about me."

  "No. She doesn't even compare."

  "Plain?" Egotistical of me, perhaps, but I heard it a lot.

  "Boring," he replied.

  Then I'd heard a scream, a bloodcurdling, horror-filled scream. I forgot all about Etienne and tore out of the small, dank room. Down the hall I ran until I found a congregation of people and the source of distress.

  It was Dominique. She sprawled over a narrow pallet, lying in blood. "My God," I gasped, kneeling beside her. "What happened?"

  But I already knew. I didn't need the forthcoming explanation from the other dancers. I had neglected her pleas for help a couple weeks ago, caught up in my own whirlwind romance. So she had sought her own solution, as so many lower-class women often did. Unfortunately, there were no machines or sanitizing in those days. An abortion was a dangerous, often deadly, business.

  "Oh God," I said again. I had never lost the need to appeal to my creator, despite my theoretical renouncement.

  I clutched her hand, not knowing what to do. A half-dressed Etienne appeared in the crowd. I looked up at him desperately.

  "You have to go get a doctor. Please."

  Whatever injured pride he harbored over my rejection, he couldn't refuse me in that moment. I saw him make motions to leave, but Bastien grabbed his arm. "No, it doesn't matter." To me he said: "She's gone, Fleur ."

  I looked at Dominique's young face. Her skin was pale, eyes blank and glazed over as they stared at nothing. I knew I should close them, but suddenly I didn't want to touch her. I dropped her hand, slowly backing up, staring in horror.

  It was by no means the first time I'd seen a dead body, but something struck me about it then I'd never really considered with such shocking clarity. One moment she was here, the next she wasn't. Oh, the difference one heartbeat could make.

  The stink of mortality hung in the air, painting the awful truth about humans. How short their lives were. And fragile. They were like paper dolls among us, turning to ash in the blink of an eye. How many had I seen come and go in over a millennium? How many had I seen pass from infancy to a gray-haired death? The stink of mortality. It threatened to overwhelm the room. How could no one else sense it? I hated it…and I feared it. Feeling suffocated, I backed up further.

  Both Bastien and Etienne reached for me in some fumbling attempt at comfort, but I wanted none of it. Dominique, barely out of childhood, had just bled her life away in front of me. What fragile things humans were. I had to get out of there before I becam
e sick. I turned from those who would console me and ran away.

  "What fragile things humans are," I murmured to Doug.

  The feeling that welled up within me now as I sat beside him was not sorrow or despair. It was anger. White-hot anger. Humans were fragile, but some of them were still in my care. And whether that was foolish or not on my part, I could not shirk my duty. Doug was one of my humans. And someone had nearly cut his time short.

  I stood up, gave his hand a last squeeze, and strode out of the room. From the shocked glances Corey, Min, and Wyatt gave me, I must have looked terrifying. I hit the pause button on my righteous fury when I noticed something. "Where's Seth?"

  "He said he had to go," said Corey. "He left you this."

  He handed me a scrap of paper with Seth's scrawled writing.

  Thetis, I'll talk to you later.

  I stared at it, suddenly feeling nothing. I went numb. My mind would not allow me to focus on Seth just then. I crumpled the paper up, said good-bye to the band, and left the hospital. When I reached the lobby, I took out my cell phone and dialed.

  "Alec? This is Georgina."

  "Hey, Georgina!" I heard the anxious note in his voice. Almost desperate.

  "You were right," I began, hoping I sounded anxious too. "You were right. I need more. Now. Tonight. Can you do it?"

  "Yes," he said. There was palpable relief in his voice. "Absolutely I can do it."

  We set up a meeting spot immediately. It couldn't be too soon for me. I'd been on an emotional roller coaster in the last twenty-four hours, and I was about to take it out on Alec. I couldn't wait. The fact that he seemed so eager for it was icing on the cake.

  "Oh, hey, Georgina?" he asked, just before we disconnected.

  "Yeah?"

  His voice sounded strange; I couldn't decipher the emotion. "You have no idea how glad I am you called."

  CHAPTER 19

  The dealer's house sat away from the road, just like all sinister houses should, I suppose. My biased perceptions aside, there was actually little else about the house that was all that creepy. It was big and expensive-looking, spreading out lazily on beautifully manicured lawns, visible to me even at night. In a region where yards were at a premium, that much land signified a great deal of money. Unlike Bastien's place, this house had no similarly well-to-do neighbors. This house was in a class of its own; it could not be part of a mere suburban neighborhood.

  "Where are we?" I asked, because it seemed like the kind of naive, starry-eyed question I should be asking. Alec had met me downtown and then driven me out to this place in his own car. We were about twenty minutes outside the city.

  "This is where the guy lives," he told me happily. His mood improved as we got closer to the house. "He'll hook you up."

  The car followed the long, sinuous driveway and came to a stop by the garage. In an oddly chivalrous way, he opened the car door for me and gestured that I follow him inside. Glancing back at his beat-up Ford Topaz, I couldn't help thinking that being an immortal drug lord's lackey should pay better.

  Alec led us through a side door in the house, and even I was taken aback at what I found inside. The first word that came to mind was lush. And not the drunk kind either. I meant in the opulent sense, the kind of lush you sink your teeth into. The walls, floor, and ceilings consisted of gleaming dark hardwood, almost like we were inside a lodge—say, a lodge that cost seven figures. Beams of that beautiful wood crisscrossed the open, cathedral ceiling. Jewel-toned oil paintings in gilt frames hung on the walls, and I had enough of a sense for the value of art to recognize they had not come from Bed Bath & Beyond.

  We crossed out of the foyer and found more of the same in a large living room. Its focal point was an enormous fireplace whose brick façade stretched to the ceiling. A multicolored stained-glass landscape hung above the fireplace's opening, and flames from the roaring fire—along with several strategically placed candles—cast the only light in the room. Nothing electrical.

  In that dim, flickering lighting, I sensed the man before I saw him. The same unfamiliar immortal signature from the concert carried to me, coupled with something else. This close to him, I noticed how much he felt like the crystals. Or rather, how much the crystals felt like him, as if they were pale, fractured versions of the masterpiece. The whole vibe from him felt weird but not quite as discordant as the crystals themselves had.

  "Alec," said a creamy voice, "who is your lovely friend?"

  The man unfolded from the couch, standing in one fluid motion. I now saw the same features as before: flawless tanned skin, long black hair, high cheekbones. He also wore the same hot Victorian couture, complete with another of those gorgeous silk shirts that billowed around his arms and showed smooth skin through the V-neck.

  "This is Georgina," said Alec, voice quaking with nervousness and excitement. "Just like I said."

  The man glided to us and took my hand in both of his. "Georgina. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman." He drew my hand to his lips—which were full and pink—and kissed my skin. He held my hand a moment, letting his dark eyes bore into mine, and then he slowly straightened up and released me. "My name is Sol."

  I turned off all my impulses to make snappy jokes and/or maul this guy, instead opting for stunned innocence mingled with a little fear. "H-hello." I swallowed nervously and looked down at my feet.

  "You've done well," Sol told Alec. "Very well."

  I didn't have to see Alec to tell he was practically melting with relief. "So…does that mean…I can, you know…?"

  "Yes, yes." Unless I was mistaken, a slight note of irritation underscored that pleasant voice. "Afterward. Go upstairs now. I'll summon you when I'm ready. "

  Alec started to leave, and I grabbed his sleeve, still playing frightened maiden. "Wait—where are you going?"

  He smiled at me. "I'll be right back. It's okay. You wanted more, right? Sol's going to get it for you."

  I must have truly looked terrified because he squeezed my arm reassuringly. "It's okay. Really."

  I bit my lip and gave him a hesitant nod. His eyes held mine for a moment, and something very like regret flickered across them. Then he left.

  "Come sit with me," intoned Sol, taking my hand again.

  He led me to a sumptuous couch by the fire. Warmth from that orange glow spilled over me, and the flames were reflected in his dark eyes. I sat down gingerly, scooting back because the cushions were so big. We sat there quietly.

  He smiled expectantly, and I gave him a faltering smile back. "Alec said you could give me more…you know…of that stuff."

  "You enjoyed it then?"

  "Yes. Oh yes. It made me feel…"

  "Immortal?"

  "Y-yes, that's it. Please. I need more. I can pay you…whatever you want."

  He waved a hand carelessly. "We'll discuss such mundane matters later. For now, let's see if we can't satiate your hunger." He leaned over to a small table and lifted up two goblets. Goblets. How quaint. "This should tide you over until we can arrange a larger batch."

  I took the cup from him. It felt heavy, like gold. Nothing but the best if you were going to drink the food of the gods, I thought. They held a dark red liquid. If the crystals felt like a weak approximation of Sol, the aura radiating off of this cup felt like mega-Sol. It was intense and strong, making the vibe from the crystals seem like a total nonevent. Maybe that was what happened when ambrosia liquefied.

  I realized then he'd been waiting for me while I pondered. "Drink up."

  I hesitated, not having to feign apprehension this time. Drink up? What should I do? If I didn't drink, my cover might be blown, and I still hadn't had "provocation" to smite this bastard or whatever one did to someone with a dart-arrowhead-thing. Carter and Jerome had said ambrosia wouldn't hurt an immortal; they'd even said an immortal could resist its nasty effects to a certain extent, much longer than humans. That didn't necessarily make me feel better, though. I preferred to be in my normal range of skills to deal with this, but it looked
like I didn't have that luxury. I couldn't delay any longer.

  Smiling shyly, I brought the cup to my lips and drank. He did the same. Who could tell? Maybe personality amplification would help me out here. Maybe I had a secret Amazonian alter ego lurking within me who was dying to jump out via the ambrosia and bludgeon this guy with a goblet.

  Once Sol started drinking, he didn't stop. He tipped the cup back until he'd consumed it all. I followed suit. The stuff really didn't taste so bad. In fact, it tasted sweet, almost sickeningly so. Weirdest of all was its consistency. Thick. Almost viscous.

  "There," he said, taking my empty cup. "You'll feel better soon, and then we can talk reasonably." He shifted into a more comfortable position, long legs stretched out and relaxed. He had a slim build and delicate features. His narrow fingers wound one of his black curls around it. "Tell me about yourself, Georgina. What do you do?"

  "I, uh, work in a bookstore."

  "Ah, you're a reader then."

  "I try to be."

  He inclined his head toward a wall covered in books. "I'm a reader myself. There's no greater pursuit than improving one's mind. "

  He started talking to me about some of his favorite books, and I smiled and commented as appropriate. As we talked, I began to feel…well, for lack of a more descriptive term, good. Really good. Almost like I was buzzed from an excellent liqueur. My limbs tingled a little, and a warm sense of euphoria burned through me. I heard myself laughing at one of his jokes. I almost sounded genuine.

  "You're very beautiful," he suddenly said, and I wondered when he'd moved so close to me. I had to blink to stay focused. The room spun slightly, and my hands and feet kept delaying in obeying my orders. Sol reached out and touched my cheek, trailing those graceful fingers down my neck. "Your beauty is a gift."

  I tried to move, mainly to see if I could actually manage it, not to avoid his touch. Honestly, his touch was pleasant—extremely pleasant. It made my pulse pick up a little. I could, I soon discovered, still move. I was just a little sluggish.