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Authors: Richelle Mead

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BOOK: Succubus On Top
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Classic Carter answer. I looked to Hugh, who was, in a manner of speaking, our boss's keeper. Or at least a sort of administrative assistant.
“He had to take off for a meeting,” said the imp, stacking twenties. “Some kind of team-building thing in L.A.”
I tried to imagine Jerome participating in a ropes course. “What kind of team building do demons do exactly?”
No one had an answer for that. Which was probably just as well.
While the money sorting continued, Peter made me a vodka gimlet. I eyed the bottle of Absolut on his counter.
“What the hell is that?”
“I ran out of Grey Goose. They're practically the same anyway.”
“I swear, if you weren't already an abomination before the Lord, I'd accuse you of heresy.”
When all the money was sorted, including my contribution, we sat around the vampire's kitchen table. Like everyone else in the known world right now, we started playing Texas Hold'em. I could play okay but fared far better with mortals than immortals. My charisma and glamour had less effect on this group, which meant I had to think harder about odds and strategy.
Peter scurried around during the game, attempting to play and watch his meal at the same time. It wasn't easy, since he insisted on wearing sunglasses while playing, which then had to be removed while he checked the food. When I commented on how this would be my second fancy dinner in two nights, he nearly had a fit.
“Whatever. Nothing you had last night will even compare to this duck I've made.
Nothing
.”
“I don't know about that. I went to the Metropolitan Grill.”
Hugh whistled. “Whoa. I wondered where you got the glow from. When a guy takes you to the Met, you can't really help but put out, huh?”
“The glow's from a different guy,” I said uncomfortably, not really wanting to be reminded of a tryst I'd had this morning, even if it had been pretty hot. “I went to the Met with Seth.” The memory of last night's dinner brought a smile to my face, and I suddenly found myself rambling. “You should have seen him. He actually didn't wear a T-shirt for once, though I'm not sure it made a difference. The shirt he did have on was all wrinkled, and he couldn't really tie the tie. Plus, when I first got there, he had his laptop out on the table. He'd shoved everything else aside—napkins, wineglasses. It was a mess. The waiters were horrified.”
Four sets of eyes stared at me.
“What?” I demanded. “What's wrong?”
“You are,” said Hugh. “You're a glutton for punishment.”
Cody smiled. “Not to mention totally love struck. Listen to yourself.”
“She's not in love with him,” said Peter. “She's in love with his books.”
“No I'm—” The words died on my lips, mainly because I wasn't sure what I wanted to argue. I didn't want them to think I only loved the books, but I wasn't entirely sure I loved Seth yet either. Our relationship had blossomed with remarkable speed, but sometimes, I worried what I actually loved was the idea of him loving me.
“I can't believe you guys are still doing the sexless-dating thing,” continued Hugh.
My temper flared. I'd already taken this from Jerome; I didn't need to hear it here too.
“Look, I don't want to talk about this if you guys are just going to nag me, okay? I'm tired of everyone telling me how crazy it is.”
Peter shrugged. “I don't know. It's not that crazy. You always hear about these married couples who never have sex anymore. They survive. This would be almost the same thing.”
“Not with our girl.” Hugh shook his head. “Look at her. Who wouldn't want to have sex with her?”
They all looked again, making me squirm.
“Hey,” I protested, feeling the need to clear up a point. “That's not the problem. He
wants
to, okay? He's just not going to. There's a difference.”
“Sorry,” said Hugh. “I'm just not buying it. He can't be with you in the clothes you wear and not crack. Even if he could, no guy could handle his woman seeing as much action as you do.”
It was a well-worn point in my mind, the same Jerome had made, the one that worried me more than our ability to keep our hands off each other. One of my greatest nightmares involved having a conversation akin to:
Sorry, Seth. I can't go out tonight. I have to go work this married guy I met, so I can get him to sleep with me, thus leading him further and further down the road to damnation while I suck away part of his life. Maybe when I'm done, you and I can catch a late movie.
“I don't want to talk about this,” I repeated. “We're doing just fine. End of story.”
Silence fell, save for the sound of cards and money hitting the table. Glancing around, I saw Carter watching me levelly. Only he had stayed out of the Seth bashing. This didn't surprise me. The angel usually just listened until he could interject some sarcastic or esoteric quip. This used to infuriate me, but recent events had changed my attitude toward him. I still didn't fully understand him or know if I could trust him, but I had come to respect him.
Troubled by the scrutiny, I glanced back down and discovered I finally had a respectable hand after several rounds of shit. Three of a kind. Not the greatest but passable. I raised high, wanting to get the others out before more cards came into play and made my hand less passable.
My strategy worked on the vampires. The next card fell. Seven of spades. Hugh scowled and folded when I raised again. I waited for Carter to drop out as well, but instead, he reraised further.
I hesitated only a moment before calling. As the last card was about to play, I puzzled over what the angel might have and whether I could beat it. A pair? Two pair? Ah. The last card came out. Another spade. There was now a strong possibility he had a flush. That would beat me. Still hoping I could bluff him out, I raised even more. He reraised me again, more than doubling my initial bet.
That was a lot of money to add, especially considering what I'd already put in. Centuries of investments kept me pretty comfortable, but that didn't mean I had to be stupid. What did he have? It had to be the flush. Balking, I folded.
With a pleased grin, he swept in the massive pot. When he tossed his hand over to the discard pile, the cards' edges caught, making them flip over. Two of diamonds. Eight of clubs.
“You . . . you bluffed!” I cried. “You had nothing!”
Carter wordlessly lit a cigarette.
I looked to the others for confirmation. “He can't do that.”
“Hell, I've been doing it for half this game,” said Hugh, borrowing Carter's lighter. “Not that it's done me any good.”
“Yeah . . . but . . . he's, you know. An angel. They can't lie.”
“He didn't lie. He bluffed.”
Cody considered, twisting a piece of his blond hair around one finger. “Yeah, but bluffing is still dishonest.”
“It's implied lying,” said Peter.
Hugh stared at him. “‘Implied lying?' What the fuck does that mean?”
I watched Carter stack his money and made a face at him. You'd think an angel who hung around with employees of evil would be a good influence, but at times, he seemed worse than we were. “Enjoy your thirty pieces of silver, Judas.”
He gave me a mock hat tip while the others argued on.
Suddenly, like a row of dominoes, conversation steadily dropped. Carter felt it first, of course, but he merely arched an eyebrow, as indifferent as ever. Then came the vampires with their heightened reflexes and sensitivity. They exchanged glances and looked toward the door. Finally, seconds later, Hugh and I sensed it as well.
“What is that?” Cody frowned, staring across the room. “It's sort of like Georgina but not.”
Hugh followed the young vampire's gaze, face mildly speculative. “Incubus.”
I had already known that, of course. The signatures we all carried differed by creature. Vampires felt different from imps, just as imps felt different from succubi. If one knew an immortal well enough, one could also pick up on an individual's unique attributes. I was the only succubus who inspired sensations of silk and tuberose perfume. In a room full of vampires, I would have been able to quickly determine if Cody or Peter were present.
Likewise, I immediately knew there was an incubus approaching Peter's door, and I knew exactly which incubus it was. I would have known his signature anywhere, even after all this time. The fleeting feel of velvet on the skin. A whispered scent of rum, almond, and cinnamon.
Not even realizing I'd gotten up, I flung the door open, staring with delight at the same fox-faced features and mischievous eyes I'd last seen over a century ago.
“Hello,
ma fleur
,” he said.
Chapter 2
“
B
astien,” I breathed, still disbelieving. “Bastien!”
I threw my arms around him, and he lifted me up like I weighed nothing, twirling me around. When he gently set me back on my feet, he looked down at me fondly, his handsome face cracking into a grin. Until I saw it, I hadn't realized how much I'd missed that smile.
“You look exactly the same,” I noted, taking in the curling black hair that touched his shoulders, the eyes so dark a chocolate brown they almost looked black as well. Unlike me, he liked to wear the shape he'd been born with, the body from his mortal days. His skin was the color of the mochas I consumed regularly, smooth and lovely. His nose had been broken when he was human, but he never bothered to shape-shift the signs away. It didn't detract from his looks any; in fact, it sort of gave him a dashing scoundrel persona.
“And you, as usual, look completely different. What are you calling yourself these days?” His voice carried a faint British accent left over from many years spent in London after leaving the slave plantations of Haiti. He kept that accent and the French expressions of his childhood only for effect; when he chose to, he could speak American English as flawlessly as I could.
“Georgina.”
“Georgina? Not Josephine or Hiroko?”
“Georgina,” I reiterated.
“Very well then,
Georgina
. Let me see you. Turn around.”
I spun around, like a model, letting him get the full effect of this body. When I faced him again, he nodded with approval.
“Exquisite—not that I'd expect any less from you. Short, just like every other one, but the curves are in all the right spots, and the coloring is very nice.” He leaned closer to me, studying my face with a professional eye. “The eyes I especially like. Catlike. How long have you been wearing this one?”
“Fifteen years.”
“Barely broken in.”
“Well,” observed Hugh dryly, “it sort of depends on how you define ‘broken in.'”
Bastien and I both turned, remembering we had an audience. The other immortals watched with bemusement, the poker game momentarily forgotten. Bastien turned on a highbeam smile and crossed the room in a few quick strides.
“Bastien Moreau.” He extended a polite hand to Hugh, every inch of him polished and deferential. Incubi, after all, have just as good a sense of customer service and public relations as succubi. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”
He made equally polite introductions with the rest of the group, pausing momentarily when he reached Carter. A brief flicker of surprise in Bastien's dark eyes was the only other indication that he found an angel in our midst odd. Otherwise, his surface charm remained perfect as he smiled and shook Carter's hand.
Although clearly surprised at Bastien's presence, Peter stood up dutifully. “Have a seat. You want a drink?”
“Thank you. You're too kind. Bourbon on ice, please. And thank you for allowing me to show up so unexpectedly. You have a stunning home.”
The vampire nodded, mollified at someone finally appreciating his hospitality.
I, however, had other concerns and wondered what had caused the incubus to “show up so unexpectedly.” I suddenly remembered Jerome's taunting surprise. “Jerome knows you're here, doesn't he?”
“Of course. Long since arranged.” Our kind could not cross into another's territory without making arrangements with the local supervisor. For a group that had allegedly rebelled against the system, we had a staggering amount of rules, regulations, and paperwork. We made the IRS look juvenile. “He told me where to find you tonight.”
“And you're here because . . . ?”
He flung a playful arm around me. “You're pushy. No ‘Hello, how are you'? Can't I just stop by to see an old friend?”
“Not in this business.”
“How long have you known Georgina?” asked Hugh, shifting his solidly built body into a more comfortable sitting position.
Bastien turned thoughtful. “I don't know. How long has it been? Ages?”
“You have to be a little more specific than that,” I reminded him, my mind slipping back to a London of long ago, recalling rough-hewn streets redolent with the scent of horses and unwashed humans. “Early seventeenth century?” He nodded, and I let my tone turn teasing. “Mostly I just remember how green you were.”
“I have no idea what you're talking about.”
“Whatever. I taught you everything you know.”
“Ah, older women.” Bastien glanced around at the others, shrugging his shoulders with feigned haplessness. “Always so sure of themselves.”
“So, explain how this works,” Cody urged eagerly, young eyes on Bastien. “You're like the male equivalent of Georgina, right? You shape-shift and everything?” Having been an immortal for less than ten years, Cody was always learning something new about us. I realized he'd probably never even met an incubus before.
“Well, there's really no equivalent for Fleur, but yes, something like that.” I think he preferred calling me Fleur because it was easier than trying to remember the names I kept acquiring over the years.
“So you seduce women?” pushed Cody.
“Exactly.”
“Wow. That must actually be hard.”
“It's not so—wait a minute,” I said. “What are you implying over there? What's this ‘actually' business?”
“Well, he's got a point,” insisted Peter, handing Bastien the drink. “It's not like your job's all that difficult, Georgina. By comparison, I mean.”
“My job's very difficult!”
“What, getting men to have sex with a beautiful woman?” Hugh shook his head. “That's not hard. That's not even remedial.”
I looked at them incredulously. “It's not like I can just jump into bed with anyone. I have to get quality guys.”
“Yeah, as of a month ago maybe.”
Bastien shot me a sharp look at that remark, but I was too annoyed to acknowledge it. “Hey, I just won an award, you know. Got the certificate and everything. And anyway, contrary to your pathetic love lives, not all guys will immediately give in to sex. It takes work.”
“What, like horns and a whip?” suggested Peter slyly, referring to a particularly embarrassing incident from my past.
“That's different. He wanted it.”
“They all want it. That's the point.” Hugh turned to Bastien reverentially. “How do you do it? Got any pointers you can share with the rest of us?”
“Several lifetimes' worth,” chuckled Bastien, still watching me. “Those are trade secrets, I'm afraid. Although, really, in Fleur's defense, the techniques are the same for both of us. You should have been paying more attention to her.”
“Low-cut necklines aren't exactly a trade secret.”
“Much more to it than that, my friend. Especially with Georgina. She's one of the best.”
Hugh and the vampires looked at me as though they'd never noticed me before, apparently attempting to figure out if what Bastien said was true.
“No need to start that up,” I pointed out hastily.
“Come on, weren't you just bragging about how you taught me everything I know? You and I used to run some good rackets back in the day.”
“What kinds of rackets?” asked Peter.
When I wouldn't answer, Bastien merely shrugged. “Oh, you know. The kind that require a partner.”
Cody's eyes widened. “Like . . . group sex?”
“No!” I protested, unable to stay silent at that. Not that it wasn't in my curriculum vitae. “Partnerships to suck somebody in. Play husband and wife. Or brother and sister. Or . . . or . . . whatever it takes to nail your mark.”
Bastien nodded along with me. “Men really like the thrill of winning over someone's beautiful young wife. Women too, for that matter. The forbidden always has a certain allure to it.”
“Wow.” Cody and the others pondered this new development and tried probing us a bit more for details. Bastien, sensing my reluctance to elaborate about the past, gave vague answers, and conversation soon drifted to other topics—as well as to Peter's amazing dinner. It wasn't Met good, but maybe the company had biased me.
“Are you going to tell me what's going on?” I murmured to the incubus later, as our group finally rose from the table and began making motions to leave. I was dying to know what could have drawn him here and earned Jerome's approval. Hell's denizens could take vacations, but this smacked of business.
Bastien patted me on the back, giving me his trademark grin. “In good time, my sweet. Is there somewhere we can talk?”
“Sure. I'll take you back to my place. You can meet my cat.”
When Bastien left me to once again thank Peter for dinner, Carter strolled over.
“Are you seeing Seth soon?”
“Later tonight.” Seeing his amused expression, I scowled. “Just get it over with, okay?”
“Get what over with?”
“The part where you tell me how stupid it is to try to have a serious relationship with a mortal.”
The mirth faded from his face. “I don't think it's stupid.”
I studied him, waiting for the punch line. “Everyone else does.”
“Does Seth? Do you?”
I looked away, thinking about Seth. That funny, distracted look on his face when inspiration seized him. His goofy T-shirt collection. The exquisite way he could capture the world on paper. How warm his hand was when it slid into mine. The way I just couldn't stay away from him, despite the million reasons that said I should. Suddenly, caught in Carter's penetrating eyes, something inside of me let loose. I hated how the angel could do this to me.
“Sometimes I do. Sometimes I look at him . . . and I remember how it was when I kissed him and felt that love. It makes me want that back. I want to feel it again. I want to return it. Other times, though . . . other times, I'm so scared. I listen to these guys . . . and to Jerome . . . and then the doubts gnaw at me. I can't get them out of my head. We've been sleeping together, you know. Literally. It hasn't been a problem so far, but sometimes I lie awake watching him, thinking this can't last. The longer it does . . . I feel like . . . like I'm standing on a high wire, with Seth at one end and me at the other. We're trying to reach each other, but one misstep, one breeze, one side-glance, and I'll fall over the edge. And keep falling and falling.”
I took in a shaking breath when I finished.
Carter leaned toward me and brushed the hair away from the side of my face. “Don't look down then,” he whispered.
Bastien had returned, catching the end of my soliloquy.
“Who's Seth?” he wanted to know later, once we were back at my apartment.
“Long story.” Yet I found myself spilling it anyway.
Of course, telling Bastien about Seth meant telling him about a lot of other things too. Like a recent encounter with Jerome's half-human, half-angel son—a stunningly beautiful man with a twisted sense of social justice who had been on a semipsychotic mission to make other immortals pay for the shoddy treatment of him and his kind. The fact that he had been a good dancer and a phenomenal lover had not really been enough to make up for his wanton killing of lesser immortals and subsequent attempt on Carter.
That, of course, led me to next explain how Seth had witnessed the inevitable showdown and had been injured when I kissed him to get an emergency fix of energy. Jerome had wanted to erase Seth's memory of the whole event, as well as the writer's love for me. I had begged the demon not to, finally getting him to agree when I offered to devote all of my efforts back to seducing and corrupting decent men like a good little succubus should. Horatio's visit had been the ultimate testimony to my “new and improved” self.
Bastien, sprawling on my sofa, listened thoughtfully and frowned when I finished. “What do you mean? Why weren't you going after decent ones already?”
“I got tired of it. Didn't like hurting them.”
“So what? You were going after bad ones?”
I nodded.
He shook his head, knowing as well as I did how little life energy an ignoble mortal yielded compared to a good one. “Poor Fleur. What a miserable existence that must have been.”
I gave him a bittersweet smile. “I think you're the first person that's ever sounded more sympathetic than incredulous. Most people think I'm idiotic for getting by like that.”
“It's a pain, yes,” Bastien agreed, “and requires more frequent fixes, but hardly idiotic. You don't think I have days when I feel the same way? When I just want to throw my hands up and leave decent women alone?”
BOOK: Succubus On Top
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