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Authors: Richelle Mead

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BOOK: Succubus On Top
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When Bastien neither did nor offered anything useful, she went into the kitchen. I could hear her opening drawers and the freezer.
“Do you hate me or something?” he hissed once we were alone.
“This wasn't my fault,” I countered. “I think you've got a defective stair.”
“Defective my ass. The only thing that's defective is your sense of timing. Do you know how close I was to scoring?”
“Close?
Close?
Not to use a cliché, but hell was closer to freezing over than you were to scoring. I don't think she really goes for the babbling, high kind of guy.”
“I wasn't babbling. And there's no way she knows I'm high.”
“Oh, come on. If you were any higher, you'd—”
I shut my mouth as Dana returned with the ice pack. She knelt by my feet and carefully set the pack on the injured ankle. I grimaced at the sudden change of temperature, but the shocking cold did numb the throbbing.
Still concerned, she surveyed the rest of my lower leg with those sharp eyes. Again, she felt around the ankle area, her hands gently touching here and there. She frowned. “I could be wrong about how serious it is. You should keep icing it and take ibuprofen. If it doesn't get better in a couple days, go see your doctor.”
“Thanks,” I said, looking away. Honestly, what I found most disconcerting now was how sincerely concerned she seemed. Maybe we'd misjudged her all along. Nah.
“Well,” breezed Bastien, “if Tabby Cat's okay, maybe we should go to the kitchen and have some coffee—”
“Do you know how it happened?” Dana asked me, ignoring him.
“Oh . . . just a misstep I think . . . or maybe the stair is defective.”
“I doubt there's anything wrong with the stairs,” said Bastien. “Tabitha's always been clumsy, that's all. It's legendary in our family.”
Dana, oblivious to me glaring at the incubus over the slam to my gracefulness, glanced over at my shoes sitting near the door. They were strappy and black, with three-inch heels.
“Are those what you've been wearing?” She fixed me with a stern, motherly look. “I know how strong societal pressure can be in making you think you need to fit a certain mold. But walking around in shoes like that all day will do serious damage to your feet. Not only that, they send a message that you have no shame when it comes to—”
The doorbell rang then. None of us moved at first, and then Bastien rose, looking amazed that this night could get any worse.
Dana dropped her wardrobe lecture and switched to a medical one. “You really need to be careful with this. Too much stress will agitate it.”
Bastien returned a moment later with an utterly puzzled Seth, whom I suspected had no idea who had just let him in. Indeed, his bewilderment grew as he scanned Dana and me, no doubt wondering if he had the right house.
“Hi Seth,” I said pointedly, in too loud of a voice, “thanks for coming to pick me up.”
He continued to stare, and then the faintest gleam of understanding showed in his eyes. He'd seen me shape-shift clothes often, but this was the first time he'd ever seen me in another body.
Dana looked around expectantly.
“Oh,” I said, my mind still running a little slow from the pot. “This is, um, Seth. Seth, Dana.”
“Hello,” she said, rising smoothly and shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Um, yeah. You too.” I had a feeling he would bolt if given half a chance.
“Seth is Tabitha's boyfriend,” explained Bastien. “I imagine they'll want to be on their way now.”
“I'd heard you were single. How long have you two been dating?” she asked, steering us toward casual conversation.
Neither of us answered. “A couple months,” I said at last, wondering if my virtue was once again being assessed.
She smiled. “How nice.”
I started feeling those creepy vibes again, and suddenly I did want to leave. I tried to sit up, and she rushed to my side. “Someone grab her other arm.”
When Bastien didn't move, Seth was finally spurred into action. He supported my other side and helped me stand. It was clear, however, that touching me in this body unnerved him, and he tried to manage it while staying as far away from me as possible. Consequently, all of his movements seemed awkward and unnatural, and no doubt Dana thought we were even weirder than before.
She and Seth helped me to the car, Bastien following with a pout. When I was situated in the passenger seat, Dana offered a few parting words of instruction to both Seth and me on how to care for the ankle.
“Thanks for the help,” I told her.
“Happy to. Just try to be more careful from now on.” She glanced at her watch. “Well. I should probably go home myself.”
“Do you have to?” asked Bastien stupidly. “Er, I mean, no need to feel rushed . . .”
“Thank you, but no. Bill will wonder what happened to me.”
I saw her walk back to her house as Seth pulled out. I also saw the look on Bastien's face. The morning after was not going to be pretty.
We were almost in the city when Seth finally spoke. “Can you . . . uh . . . you know . . . change? This is really weird.”
“Huh?” I had been staring bleary-eyed out the window, intrigued by the blur of city lights. “Oh. Yeah.”
A moment later, I was the Georgina Kincaid he knew. “Thanks. So, uh . . . I don't suppose I really want to know what was going on back there . . .”
“Nope.” I craned my head to look in the backseat. “You really don't.”
“What are you doing?”
“You don't have any cookies back there do you?”
“Uh . . . no. I'm all out.”
I sighed and sank into my seat. “I am
starving
. I don't think I can hold on much longer. You sure you don't have any other food?”
The ghost of a smile curled his lips. “Nope. Sorry. You want to stop somewhere?”
“Yes!”
He pulled into a Taco Bell drive-thru, looking surprised when I gave him my order. When it came up, he wordlessly handed me my bag of four tacos, two bean burritos, and a tostada. I dove into them before he'd even accelerated away.
When we got back to my place, he didn't give me the chance to limp in. He scooped me up effortlessly, almost like O'Neill might have in one of his novels. If not for me being stoned and clinging to a taco, it would have been terribly romantic.
“You think I'm a freak, don't you?” I asked, once I was situated in bed and he sat on its edge. Seth had tended me once before, after a night of heavy drinking. I felt so irresponsible compared to him.
“Well, the tostada was kind of excessive, but I've seen freakier.”
“No . . . you know. I mean . . .” I hesitated. “Well, you may not realize this, but I've sort of been smoking . . . some stuff.”
“Yeah. I kind of picked up on that.”
“Oh. Well. Sorry.” I bit into one of the burritos savagely.
“Why are you apologizing?”
“Because . . . well, you don't do this.”
“Do what?”
“Smoke pot. Or drink. Geez, you even avoid caffeine. Don't you think I'm like, I don't know . . . corrupt?”
“Corrupt?” He laughed. “Hardly. Anyway, you don't think I've ever done any of that?”
The idea was just shocking enough to give me pause. I put my gluttony on hold. “Well . . . I don't know. I just figured, well, no. Either that, or you had some tragic history . . . like you got drunk and hit a mailbox or took off all your clothes in public and now avoid all such vices.”
“That would be tragic. But rest easy, I indulged in plenty of ‘vices' in college. That's why it took me six years to graduate. Well, that and changing my major a few times. In the end, I just decided to abstain altogether. Didn't like myself otherwise. Sobriety's better for writing, and I say too many stupid things when I'm drunk or high.”
“Yeah,” I said uneasily, trying to remember what I'd said tonight. It was kind of a haze. “So you don't think I'm like . . . I don't know, a shameless lush?”
“Nope. So long as you don't do yourself harm.” He eyed the ankle suspiciously. “It doesn't matter to me. Honestly, half the reason I like you is because you're so . . . I don't know. You like life.” He looked away from my eyes, amused as his thoughts spun, considering. “You're fearless. Bold. Not afraid to enjoy yourself. You just go out there and do what you want. I like the whirlwind you exist in. I envy it. It's funny, really.” He smiled. “I used to think I wanted someone exactly like me, but now I think I'd be bored to death with another version of myself. I'm surprised I don't bore you sometimes.”
I gaped. “Are you kidding? You're the most interesting person I know. Aside from Hugh maybe. But then, he installs breast implants and buys souls. That's a hard combination to beat. But he's not nearly as cute.”
Seth's smile increased, and he squeezed my hand. Silence fell between us again, but this time it was kind of cozy.
“Thanks for rescuing me,” I said slowly, “and for . . . well . . . I mean, I'm sorry about last night. Sorry I shut down.”
His face sobered. “No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—”
“No,” I said firmly. “Don't blame yourself. It was me too. My fault too. And really, I was the one who started it. I should have just talked to you about it then. Especially after you made me pancakes this morning. You know, those suddenly sound really good again.” I looked at him meaningfully.
“We shouldn't have done what we did . . . in bed . . . but, at least we did manage to stop. That's worth something.”
I nodded, crumpling up the Taco Bell bag and tossing it across the room into my wastebasket. Score.
He studied me, eyes warm and affectionate. He sighed and turned pensive again. There apparently was more seriousness to come. “I'd like to try sleeping together again, but I suppose . . . we should take a break from that.”
I mirrored his sigh. “Yeah. I suppose.” Remembering something, I cocked my head and gave him a sharp look. “Hey, hypothetically—and I'm not offering this, so don't get any ideas—would you, like, give up part of your life to sleep with me? Er, but I mean . . . not actually
sleep
. . .”
He laughed out loud, the laughter underscored with a wry edge. “Thetis, I'd give up part of my life to do any number of things with you.”
My interest flared. “Like what?”
“Well . . . isn't it obvious?”
I leaned toward him. Maybe I was still high and suffering from weed-induced horniness—and hey, in another reality, shouldn't we have been entitled to make-up sex?—but I suddenly and desperately wanted to hear him articulate what he wanted to do to me. “Tell me.”
He shook his head. “I can't. You know how I am.” His eyes narrowed intently. “I could maybe . . . I could maybe write it for you, though.”
“Really? Not in published story form this time?”
“Yes, not in published story form.”
“I'd like that.”
I must have looked expectant because he laughed. “Not tonight, Thetis. Not tonight. I think we both need some sleep.”
I was disappointed but could see the wisdom here. Having more time would ensure some good writing, I guessed. Furthermore, it was hard to be too sad when the tension from last night's mishap appeared to be gone. Our rapport and affection had returned, and watching him, I felt my feelings for him practically increase by the second. We chatted a bit more, and then he kissed me lightly on the mouth and rose. I wistfully watched him go, wishing he were staying.
Drifting off to sleep, I finally contented myself by thinking about all the things
I
wanted to do to him. It was a long list, and I was out before even getting through a fraction of it.
Chapter 8
“
G
eorgina?”
I looked up from a baffling return Tammi had asked me to help her with. A customer without a receipt was attempting a refund on a stack of books with dog-eared pages and broken spines, claiming all of them were duplicates someone had just given him for his birthday.
“Just a sec,” I told her. “I've got to finish this.”
“Okay,” Beth said. “I just thought you should check out Casey.”
“Casey?”
“Yeah. She's up in the café.”
That snagged my attention. I finished up with the customer, telling him nicely that we couldn't accept books in this condition. Maybe if the alleged other books were in better shape, he could bring those in. He pouted and argued a bit before finally skulking off. I rolled my eyes once he was gone. One thing that never changed among humans: there were always those who wanted to get something for nothing. It was what kept hell in business.
I found Casey sitting in the café, drinking a glass of water. There were dark circles under her eyes, and she didn't display her usual care in makeup and hairstyling. She stared bleakly at the table, eyes dull and glazed over.
“Hey,” I said gently, pulling up a chair across from her. “How's it going?”
After a moment's delay, she looked up, not really focusing on me. “Okay.”
“You sure? You don't look so okay.”
“Dunno.” Her tone was flat, distracted. “I just had a late night, that's all. Sorry. Sorry I came in like this.”
“No problem. I've had my share of crazy nights.” The thing was, Casey didn't exactly look hungover. I mean, she definitely looked like she was recovering from something . . . but I couldn't put my finger on it. It was weird. “What'd you get into? A party?”
“Yeah. Doug's band had another one.”
“Really.” News to me. “Must have been pretty good.”
“Dunno.”
“What do you mean? You were there.”
Her brow furrowed, confusion glinting in her brown eyes. “I don't . . . really remember. Stupid, huh? I must have really been trashed. I remember . . . being with Alec. Then we left. We went somewhere.”
“You don't know?”
She looked upset and closed her eyes. “There was this big house, and . . . I don't know. I just . . . I just can't remember. I'm sorry, Georgina. I shouldn't have come in today, okay? Sorry.”
“It's okay. So you have no idea what you did with him? Nothing at all?”
She shook her head. I shouldn't have kept pushing for details of an employee's personal life, but something here bothered me. It was more than my bias against Alec too. I remembered him pushing alcohol on women, his invitation to go somewhere “more intense.” Casey's inability to remember what had happened with him smacked of date-rape drugs.
“Did Alec give you anything?”
For the first time in this conversation, her dull expression sharpened and looked alert. “I . . . no. No.”
But she was lying. I could tell. Why? Fear of him? Embarrassment? I couldn't bring myself to question her anymore. She looked too miserable. I told her she should go home and get some rest; she didn't need much convincing.
I took her place at the registers, silently fuming at that jerk Alec. My anger was furthered by the fact that I could do nothing. Casey's life wasn't really my business, and without her admitting to anything, Alec stood blameless.
With Casey now gone, Paige out sick again, and Warren golfing in Florida, I felt relieved when Doug showed up. He looked as energetic as ever, so I hoped he could counter my plunging mood.
“I heard you had a party.”
“Yup.” He grinned, working the register next to mine. “I tried calling you, but you weren't home.”
“Had a party of my own. Hey, did you notice anything weird with Casey and Alec last night?”
“Weird how? I mean, they seemed to be hitting it off.”
“Nothing else?”
“Nope. Not that I saw. Why? Are you interested? He's a little young for you, but if you're into that, I can give you his phone number.”
“Hardly.”
“Whoa,” he suddenly exclaimed. “Check this action out.”
He picked up one of the books his customer was paying for. It was a romance novel, emblazoned with a big chested man holding an equally big chested woman. Her neck was arched back, her lips open in a moan. And her dress was falling off.
“Bet there's some good shit in here. Nothing like some throbbing members and private time to get you off, eh?”
He winked at the customer, who turned crimson and didn't say anything. She handed over some cash and hurried away as fast as she could.
Aghast, I ignored the customers standing there and grabbed Doug's arm, jerking him away from the counter.
“What the hell was that?” I asked in a low, angry whisper.
He laughed loudly. “Oh come on, Kincaid. I was just having a little fun. Those romance novels always crack me up.”
“You do
not
comment on customer purchases. Furthermore, you certainly don't swear in front of them.”
“Basic training. I know all this.”
“Yeah? Then act like it.”
We stood there, both of us shocked at my tone. I didn't think I'd ever talked to Doug in such a reprimanding way. Certainly not here. We were both assistant managers, partners in crime. Our entire working relationship was one of lightheartedness and messing around.
“Fine,” he said after a moment. “Whatever.”
We went back to the registers, both of us pointedly ignoring the other. We worked without incident a while longer until I heard him say, “Man, this has to be rough. Hope it all works out.”
Looking over, I saw his customer buying a book about STDs. Doug returned my gaze with a challenging look. I finished my own purchase and then put up a “register closed” sign. Finding Andy at the information desk, I told him to ask Doug to swap spots.
“Don't tell him I told you to.”
Doug seemed safer helping customers find books, yet no matter where I was in the store, I could hear him. He spoke and laughed too loudly. Whenever I caught sight of him, he was always in motion—like he couldn't stay still. Once, he was—literally—juggling books for a customer. Another time, I saw him actually skipping as he led a customer over to the cooking section. I frowned, unsure what to do. His lively nature had been fun this last week, but he was pushing it now, and I wasn't entirely sure what my role should be in all of this.
“That redheaded girl said you're the manager here,” a middle-aged woman suddenly said, approaching me as I rearranged a display.
“I'm an assistant manager,” I told her. “What can I help you with?”
She pointed to the information desk. “That man was so rude to me. He helped me find some books, and then . . . he said . . .”
She couldn't finish, oscillating between anger and distress. I looked at what she held. Books on clinical depression. Lovely. At least it wasn't called
Going Postal in an Insensitive Bookstore
. I took a deep breath to steady myself and apologized profusely, promising I'd deal with it. I then walked her over to the head of the check-out line and told Andy to ring up her books for free. Warren never approved of that, but I didn't care at the moment.
I waited for Doug to finish with his customer and then pulled him aside once more. “We need to talk in the office.”
He gave me a lopsided grin. Studying him, I saw his eyes glittering with a distracted fervor. “What for? Let's talk here. I've got customers to help, you know. Can't let this goddamned place go unattended.”
I blanched at this, still forcing calm. We had a line of about four customers listening.
“No. Let's go in the back.”
He rolled his eyes and threw a friendly arm around me. “Christ, you're uptight. What's this about?”
“You know what it's about,” I returned, wiggling out from under the arm. “You're out of line today.”
His smile fell. “No,
you're
out of line. What's with the attitude anyway? You can't talk to me like this.”
He was still too loud. More people were stopping. “I can talk to you like this when you're acting like a jerk. You're upsetting customers. You're doing stuff that's completely inappropriate, and you know it.”
“‘Inappropriate?' Jesus Fucking Christ, Kincaid! You sound like Paige now. I'm having
fun
. Remember that? Remember when you and I used to do that around here back before you got this stick up your ass?”
We had a bona fide audience now. Customers and staff alike. Dead silence, save for the faint sounds of Vivaldi playing through the store's sound system.
“I mean,” he continued, thriving on the attention, “where do you get off acting like this? Who put you in charge? You and I are the same rank, remember? It's like you get ten seconds of fame in Mortensen's story, and now you think you can put on airs. Why don't you go find him? Maybe if you got laid again, you'd stop being such a bitch.”
“Doug,” I said, astonished at how firm and strong my voice was. It was like someone else was using my body to confront him, and I only watched. “You need to go home. Now. If you don't leave, I'll have you removed.”
Of course, I had no clue how I was going to pull that off. As it was, I felt almost terrified to be facing off against him like this. My heart raced. We were standing close, thrusting our wills at one another, and he had half a head's height on me and a bigger build. I didn't really fear violence from him, but the physical intimidation was as scary as the psychological. Still, I held my ground, keeping my expression commanding and decisive.
At last, he backed down, breaking eye contact. He shrugged and gave his goofy grin to those watching, like they were in on some joke with him. “Sure. Whatever you want. I don't care. I could use a day off anyway.”
He looked around again, face smug and defiant, like he'd won. After another survey of the crowd, he laughed and stalked out.
Nobody spoke or breathed after that. I drew myself up, like none of this had bothered me either. I strode purposefully away, saying to Beth as I passed: “Will you cover the desk now?”
I went upstairs to the café and had the barista make me a mocha. I took it with shaking hands and turned around to find Seth standing there. He wore a Ratt shirt today.
“Thetis,” he said softly.
I walked over to one of the windows, and he followed. Outside, cars and people moved throughout Queen Anne. I watched them without seeing them. Seth moved behind me, his presence steady and reassuring. Waiting to catch me, even though I refused to fall just yet. This, I realized, was why I chose to stay with him, sexual mishaps or no.
“I suppose you witnessed all that.”
“Yeah,” he said. “You handled it well.”
“I didn't want to handle it at all.”
“Someone had to.” He touched my arm gently. “You can be pretty fierce sometimes.”
I shook my head, still numb. “I don't want to be fierce either.”
“Georgina. Look at me.”
I turned and looked. Those lovely eyes were soft and full of love, yet underscored with strength.
“You did the right thing.” He rested his hands on my arms, thumbs stroking the bare skin. “
You did the right thing
.”
“He's my friend.”
“That doesn't matter.”
“What's wrong with him, Seth? What's gotten into him?”
“Isn't it obvious?”
“Not to me.”
He smiled ruefully. “The same thing that made you eat a bag of Taco Bell food last night.”
“What? Pot doesn't do that. Make him behave like he did, I mean. Not the Taco Bell thing.”
“No,” he agreed. “Pot won't do that, but he was obviously on something.”
I turned back to my view, thinking. I recalled Doug's nonstop vigor, that feverish look in his eyes. Yes, it made sense, and it was saddening. I'd never known him to mess around with anything much harder than alcohol and marijuana. Yet . . . there was more to his exuberance lately. A drug couldn't make you good at Tetris or churn out an album's worth of songs in under a month.
“I don't know what it could be then. I've tried almost everything once,” I admitted sheepishly. Immortality allowed experimentation without the dangerous consequences mortals faced. “But I haven't made enough of a study to really ID anything. What do you think? Some kind of amphetamine?”
BOOK: Succubus On Top
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