Angel

by Plum Pascal

  “Why have you come?” Cambion demands, his voice heated, untrusting.

  I’m not surprised, for Cambion is a bastard, through and through.

  “I have come to discuss the false king,” she states smoothly.

  “Why?” Cambion insists.

  “Because Variant is a threat to us all,” she purrs in a sultry cadence, causing chill-bumps to prick my flesh.

  A chorus of displeasure reverberates through the tight confines of the tent and I am well aware that each man’s attention is riveted on her. Growing jealous, I send the centurions away, leaving only Cambion, myself, and Lamia.

  I cross my arms over my chest and caution a step toward the newcomer. Light dances in her obsidian gaze, the faint glow accentuating the sharp contours of her regal features.

  Her pink tongue darts out to lick her bottom lip, and instinct calls for me to lean forward and claim her mouth with my own.

  God, how I want to taste her.

  “Our plans are settled,” Cambion hisses through tightly clenched teeth. His dislike for her is as apparent as his Elvin ears. “State your purpose in being here and then be on your way.”

  There’s venom in his words, so much that it surprises me. As an elf, Cambion is naturally suspicious of those with dark magic, but this reaction is a bit much—even for the pompous son of a bitch.

  I clench my fists at my sides, shifting impatiently on the heels of my booted feet.

  Lamia doesn’t react to Cambion’s discourtesy. Instead, her lips curl into a wicked little smirk that sets my blood aflame. Every fiber of my being urges me to pin her hips to the ground and fuck her until she’s writhing with pleasure.

  But I compose myself.

  For the time being.

  She walks past me, lifting her hand to brush my arm before coming to stand in front of the war table. Planting both palms on the table, she leans over, allowing us both to ogle her breasts which are now on full display. I glance at Cambion and notice him staring at her with obvious interest until he catches me catching him and clears his throat, forcing his eyes away with a frown.

  I can’t help my grin. The righteous cock could stand to be knocked down a peg or twelve.

  I return my attention to the red rosebuds of Lamia’s nipples. I want nothing more than to suck them while my fingers...

  “My daughters and I are the last of our kind.”

  “And why is that?” Cambion asks with no hint of empathy.

  “Variant slaughtered my people.” She speaks the words with venom, her jaw held tight. Standing up straight, she spears both Cambion and me with an expression difficult to place. Then she inhales deeply as she focuses her gaze entirely on me. A slight smile grabs the corners of her mouth.

  “If you’ve come to us looking for sympathy, you’ve come to the wrong place,” Cambion says and I frown at him. The truth is that I’m sick to death of his pissy fucking attitude. He’s been nothing but a thorn in my side since Variant decided to usurp control for himself.

  “Sympathy is a useless emotion.” Lamia spits the words back at him.

  “Then why have you come?” I ask in a soft voice.

  She faces me and nods. “I suppose you could say I have a vendetta against Variant.”

  “We aren’t interested in your vendettas,” Cambion growls and eyes the entrance to the tent to give her a hint, in no uncertain terms.

  She turns a cool expression on him. “But you are interested in defeating Variant, no?”

  Cambion doesn’t respond but crosses his arms against his chest and huffs an irritated breath. Lamia’s smile deepens.

  “I can help you defeat him,” she continues. “He trusts me.”

  Cambion scoffs bitterly, shaking his head. “I know how your kind persuades men, and Variant is no fool. He’s aware of the power of the Succubus as much as any of us are.”

  “This is true,” Lamia states with a quick nod as she begins walking around the war table, looking down at our map and strategically placed pawns with little interest. She runs her hand down the side of the table and pauses over the pawn of the King of Shadow. Lifting the iron piece, she smiles at it as though she’s amused. Then she looks up at me and shakes her head.

  “You are far more… physically impressive in real life,” she remarks.

  I don’t respond, but I also notice she doesn’t return the piece to the table. Instead, she palms it and continues pacing.

  “Yes, I am well-trained in the art of seduction,” she goes on, looking pointedly at Cambion.

  “Trained?” he asks facetiously. “There’s no training where a Succubus is concerned. You were born with your abilities.”

  She laughs a throaty sound. “Regardless, it doesn’t change the fact that I have, through my own wiles, become close to Variant.”

  “And how did you manage that?” presses Cambion. “You just said yourself he destroyed your people.”

  She nods and her eyebrows reach for the ceiling of the tent. “Yes, he did destroy my people and he took me as his prisoner.”

  “And yet you were still able to get close to him?” he laughs acidly, shaking his head at me as if to ask if I believe this drivel.

  So far, I do.

  “You said yourself a Succubus’ power is in her ability to seduce?” Lamia questions Cambion, watching him with a strange little smile. Her expression suggests she knows something Cambion doesn’t.

  “Yes,” he coughs out.

  “Over the many months I spent as Variant’s captive, I watched him. I learned. I came to understand what caused him unrest and what pleased him.”

  “You watched Variant, a king, from your cell in his dungeon as his prisoner?” Cambion turns to me and frowns. “We are wasting valuable time listening to this nonsense when we could be strategizing.”

  “I was never placed in his dungeon,” Lamia nearly interrupts him. She closes the distance between them and smiles as his gaze settles on her breasts. He clears his throat and angrily forces his eyes to hers.

  “Then where were you placed—” Cambion starts, but she shuts him up quickly as her gaze drops from his face to his crotch. He clears his throat again.

  “Variant found a use for me,” she replies in a deep, sultry voice that characterizes her kind.

  “You’re telling us you were Variant’s whore?” Cambion demands, glaring at her.

  “I was Variant’s lover. And, in the course of being his lover, I listened and I paid attention. I grew to understand him—his motivations, his weaknesses, as well as his strengths. Over the many months he used my body, he began to lower his defenses. He opened up to me, speaking to me about those things he could not or chose not to discuss with his men.”

  “Next I suppose you’ll tell us Variant fell in love with you?” Cambion’s tone is mocking.

  “No, no.” Lamia shakes her head and a laugh escapes her lips. When she looks up again, the smile falls off her mouth. “I do not believe Variant capable of love.”

  “Perhaps she knows him better than you think,” I admit with a chuckle. Cambion glares at me.

  Lamia smiles in my direction, dropping her gaze demurely. The coquettish subservience is all an act, however, for she is a demon and as powerful as either Cambion or myself.

  “Variant began to trust me,” she continues as she resumes her pacing around the war table. “And over the many months of my incarceration, his trust led to… friendship, I suppose you could term it.” She finds the pawn that represents Variant and picks it up, inspecting it. “And now, I am free to come and go as I please,” she says as she places the piece in the center of what represents the ocean. “I am no longer Variant’s prisoner. But I have chosen to stay with him to further prove my loyalty.”

  “Yet here you are,” Cambion cuts in.

  “Yet here I am,” she repeats on a sigh.

  “Why?” I ask.

  She looks up at me then and nods. “All these many months, I have sat with my anger and sorrow. I have learned what it means to hate, to resen
t. But rather than acting upon my fury and hatred, I’ve allowed it to simmer just below the surface as I bide my time, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.” She pauses and takes a deep breath. “Prior to my incarceration at the hands of Variant, I would never have described myself as a patient woman.”

  “And now?” I wonder.

  With a laugh, she begins her rounds again. This time, she pauses in front of Cambion’s iron piece sitting on the table, but before she can touch it, Cambion steals the piece himself. He reminds me of a petulant child, unwilling to share.

  “Now, I believe myself to be the absolute model of patience.” She rests her gaze on Cambion. “I have waited. Postponed my anger and my need for retaliation, but all the while, I promised myself retribution for the destruction of my people and my kingdom. I’ve silently plotted my revenge, and now that the time has come for action…” Her voice trails as she turns and walks a few steps away from us. With her back to me, I can see that her hair reaches down to her lower waist, ending just above her round and high cheeks. All I can imagine is tearing the black gown away from her and spreading those cheeks wide so I can run my tongue…

  “She can’t be trusted,” Cambion says to me, in a whispered tone.

  At the thought I might not experience her flesh, anger begins simmering inside me. “You are so quick to distrust.”

  “We don’t know who the fuck she really is or where she came from,” Cambion continues, his voice still low. Lamia faces away from us, but I’m certain she’s listening.

  “Enough!” I snap. There’s a flash of hurt in the elf’s eyes, but only for a moment.

  Cambion circles the table and bumps into me on his way out of the tent. “I’ve had enough time wasting,” he says.

  “Who am I to deny this woman the right to seek retribution against the asshole who killed her people?” I ask him.

  Pausing with his hand clutching the tent folds in a white-knuckle grip, he turns to speak to Lamia directly. “You hold no loyalty to Variant and his army?”

  “None. I wish to see him dead as much as you do.”

  “Don’t bullshit me,” he says in anger, his eyes narrowed and his jaw tight.

  Lamia appears unfazed by his show of ire. “My daughters and I are all that remains of our race. Do you think I would ally myself with the bloodthirsty beast that all but forced us into extinction? No one in the realms has gone untouched by his wrath—including the Succubae.”

  “How can you prove you can be trusted?” Cambion questions skeptically. “We are leaders, kings even, not pathetic wastrels you can seduce into submitting to your treachery.” A muscle twitches in his jaw.

  Lamia whispers something difficult to distinguish, but moments later Thoradin appears at the entrance to the tent with two other Succubae. The other she-demons are younger than Lamia, their eyes not quite as soulless black. They’re just as beautiful, though different in their beauty. One shares Lamia’s raven tresses and appearance. The other is dissimilar enough to appear unrelated.

  “These are my daughters, Santrewa and Glodonia,” Lamia announces. Both beauties curtsey to Cambion and me. Cambion has a difficult time pulling his attention from Glodonia, the red-haired stunner.

  Cambion needs nothing more than a good fuck to ease the tension he’s constantly shoveling my way. Maybe this visit is more fortuitous than I supposed.

  I smirk in spite of myself.

  “Glodonia still possessed her innocence when we were taken prisoner,” Lamia explains, her attention strictly on Cambion. I notice Glodonia drops her head and stares at the ground. “I was forced to watch Variant take her maidenhead. Then, upon sealing her with his seed, he allowed each of his men to take their turn as she begged them to stop. She has not been the same since.”

  I feel my eyes widen. I hadn’t imagined it possible to rape a Succubus, but clearly, I was mistaken. The young girl will not meet my gaze. “I am sorry to hear this, Glodonia,” I tell her anyway. Then, I address her mother. “You have my word that none of my men will lay a hand on any of you.”

  Cambion says nothing, his jaw just as tight as it was earlier. Santrewa eyes me with a secretive expression that suggests she not only dislikes my announcement but hopes it to be untrue. Clearly, she’s following in her mother’s footsteps.

  Mother and daughter… hmm…

  “They are all that is left of my lineage,” Lamia continues, motioning to her daughters. “I risk their lives by bringing them here, not knowing whether you are enemy or ally. Trust must go both ways.” She faces Cambion when she finishes speaking.

  He appears unimpressed.

  Lamia cocks her hip in a way that makes the span of her waist seem impossibly small—perfect for a man to wrap his hands around as he takes her from behind.

  Cambion approaches me then and grips my shoulder. He shakes his head slowly as he whispers: “Don’t be a fucking idiot. Succubae are trouble.”

  “You won’t get close enough to deal a killing blow without our help,” Lamia insists. “And imprisonment will mean nothing to Variant. The Seelie Court will never be able to hold him captive if he’s found guilty of betraying the oath. Not when he has the backing of the Unseelie Court.”

  “Found guilty?” Cambion repeats. “It’s obvious he’s guilty! He stole the fucking crown for himself! It’s clear to anyone with half a brain that Variant is a sniveling little…”

  I spin Cambion around and shove him out of the tent. I’ve had enough of him and his constant shitty attitude.

  When we’re out of earshot of Lamia and her daughters, I unload on him.

  “Not everyone in the realms believes in us,” I remind him. “Variant has followers, people who are loyal to him even beyond his army of angels. Your own fucking brother fights beneath Variant’s banner.” Cambion winces at the reference, but it’s one he needs to hear all the same. “We may not be given an opportunity like this again.”

  “Our plans are already in place,” Cambion argues. “We don’t need the Succubae.”

  “If we can’t get close enough to Variant to kill him, all our carefully-constructed plans and strategies will be for nothing. You know that.”

  “We don’t need them,” he repeats.

  “I believe we do.”

  Leaving Cambion to his irritation, I return to the tent just as the others are leaving. Lamia shifts, pressing her ample breasts together, which causes my mouth to salivate as though I’m tempted by the promise of sweet confections.

  “I can get you close to him,” she reminds me as she follows me back inside the tent. “Only you can defeat him, Shadow King.” I throw myself into my chair and watch her as she speaks. It’s now just the two of us. “Long before Variant rose to power, it was you who struck fear into the hearts of my people,” she whispers, and she looks up at me in awe.

  I roll my shoulders, my chest puffing out with pride. She’s correct, of course. Prior to Variant’s treachery, I was the most powerful of the four kings.

  As her lips curl into an appreciative smile, Lamia’s eyes slither from my head to my feet, watching as my muscles flex and strain against the fabric of my shirt.

  “And what would you like in return?” I demand as I stand and make my way to her, crowding her space until the aroma of her arousal thickens the air.

  “Revenge,” she whispers. “Revenge for my people, for my daughters. Revenge for myself.”

  I breathe her in like a rare fragrance, practically tasting her. Even so, as I lean forward to chase her teasing tongue, she presses her palm flat to my chest to hold me at bay. I cover her hand with my own and she slides her long, elegant fingers from beneath mine, tucking a folded piece of paper into my hand.

  “Read it once I leave,” she says.

  “What is it?” I demand, irritated that she’s delayed my gratification.

  “It’s the location where I propose we meet to end this war before the battle begins,” she whispers. “I ask that you meet me there in one hour’s time so we may speak… uninterrupted
,” she finishes with a small smile. I understand what she’s offering—herself. “With Variant’s fall, you shall rise again.”

  I close my eyes to savor the feel of her warmth seeping into my body. She runs her delicate fingers down the side of my face and when I open my eyes, I find her retreating. A few seconds later, I’m alone. I walk to the entry of the tent and step outside, but there’s nothing and no one to see.

  I glance down at the paper in my hand. Unfolding it, I see a crudely drawn map. The directions are easy enough to follow. I retrieve my armor with haste and escape the flickering light within my tent.

  Summon Mist, I command.

  Roiling fog hovers above my boots before shrouding me in a darkness that rivals even that of the grim night. Soundlessly, I venture closer to the location where Lamia awaits my arrival.

  I will be the one to end Variant.

  Hope flares in my heart, but it’s faint in comparison to the lust that coils in my veins.

  The glory of battle shall be mine to claim... and the Queen of the Succubae with it.

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