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Authors: Richelle Mead

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BOOK: Succubus On Top
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“No means nothing from someone like you.” He laughed a little, still not taking me seriously. “What's wrong with you? I thought you wanted to be immortal.”
My hand was inside the pouch, pulling the dart out. Sol and I both felt its power at the same time, just as he realized what I was. His eyes widened, but I didn't give him time to react. I didn't think or falter. Just as Carter had ordered, I simply took action—well, with a cheesy punch line, of course.
“Been there, done that,” I said, slamming the dart into his heart. For half a beat, Sol froze, unable to believe this was happening.
And that's when things got messy.
Chapter 20
S
triking Sol with that tiny piece of wood was like dropping a nuclear warhead into the room. The blast threw me off the couch, and I hit the floor with a jarring, painful thud. Small objects flew into the walls. Art tumbled to the ground. The windows in the room blew out in a sparkling shower of shards. And it was raining inside. Blood and glitter fell down around me in red, gleaming streaks.
Mine wasn't the only true nature to be revealed. In the instant before Sol had exploded, I had felt him.
Really
felt him. Yes, he was part of a different system than mine, but he was no minor immortal player looking to stir up a little trouble. He was a god. A bona fide, honest to goodness god. Now, I should point out that gods come and go in the world based on belief. Godly power is directly proportional to the faith of their believers. So, those whose names no one remembers often walk around literally as bums, no different from humans save for their immortality. Sol, however, had had a fair amount of power. Not like Krishna power or God with a capital
G
power, but a lot. Certainly more than me.
Holy shit. I had just destroyed a god.
I straightened up from my fetal curl and looked around. Everything was still except for a light wind blowing in though the now-open windows. My skin and clothing were spattered with sticky scarlet blood, like I'd been at the wrong end of a paintbrush at the Mortensens'. My heart rate refused to slow.
A moment later, I heard the pounding of footsteps on the stairs. Alec burst into the room, drawn by the noise and the shaking. He looked around, his lower jaw practically dropping to the floor as he came to a screeching stop.
My intoxication had not passed with Sol's destruction. That fucking ambrosia was still in my system, and it was actually getting worse. Still, my anger at Alec was such that I again overcame my befuddled senses and reflexes, and with a speed that came as a surprise even to me, I sprang at him and knocked him to the ground. A moment's shape-shifting, and my short and slim frame suddenly held considerably more muscle and strength than its appearance suggested. I straddled Alec with my legs and arms, and panic blazed on his face when he realized he couldn't budge an inch from my grip. I hit him hard across the face. My coordination might have been off, but it didn't take much to apply brute force.
“Who the hell was he? Sol?”
“I don't know!”
I hit him again.
“Honest, I don't. I don't know,” blathered Alec. “He was just this guy . . . he found me and made me a deal.”
“What was the deal? Why'd you bring me to him?”
He swallowed, blinking back tears. “Sex. He wanted sex. Lots of lovers all the time. Didn't matter if they were guys or girls, just as long as they were good-looking. I wasn't supposed to touch them. I just hooked them up with the potion until they wanted to meet Sol. Then he, you know . . .”
“Fucked them and dumped them,” I finished angrily. I thought about Casey and the Abercrombie model guy in the coffee shop. I recalled Alec's desire to get me on the ambrosia but his reluctance to touch me, no matter how much he wanted to. I was meant for Sol. “So that wasn't ambros—er, potion in my cup tonight. That really was some date-rape drug.”
“I don't know,” Alec whimpered. “Come on, let me go.”
I tightened my grip and shook him. It took a moment since my fingers had a little trouble keeping hold. I had to work to maintain the fierceness of my face and voice. “What'd he give you? Did he pay you or something?”
“No. He just . . . he just gave me more of the potion. All I wanted, so long as I kept the people coming.”
“And you gave it to the band,” I realized.
“Yeah. It was the only way . . . the only way we could get big. It's all I've ever wanted. To land a record deal and get famous. This was the only way.”
“No,” I said. “It was just the fastest way.”
“Look, what'd you do to Sol? What are you going to do to me?”
“What am I going to do?” I yelled, my anger rising through the drug. I shook him, knocking his head against the floor. “I should kill you too! Do you know what you've done to all these people? To the band? Doug's in the hospital right now because of you.”
His eyes went wide. “I didn't know that. Honest. I didn't want to hurt him . . . I-I just couldn't get the stuff on time. Not until I delivered you.”
He spoke of me and the other victims like we were commodities. I wanted to pick him up and throw him out the window. I could do it too. Humans were indeed fragile things, and while my succubus shape-shifting didn't have the power to maintain this uber-strong shape all night, I could hold it long enough to do some major damage.
Despite my normal abhorrence of violence, I have to admit that throwing people around a room is actually more satisfying than you'd think. After Dominique had died, I tracked down the corrupt doctor who had botched her abortion. I had changed from Josephine and wore the shape of an apish, seven-foot-tall man with bulging muscles. Storming into the doctor's small, sinister office, I didn't waste any time. I grabbed him as if he weighed nothing and tossed him against the wall, knocking down shelves of curiosities and so-called medical implements. It felt fantastic.
Striding over, I picked him up by the front of his shirt and punched him hard in the side of the head, ten times harder than I'd hit Alec. The doctor staggered and fell but still had enough life to scramble backward, crab-style, in an effort to get away.
“Who are you?” he cried.
“You killed a girl tonight,” I told him, moving menacingly. “A blond dancer.”
His eyes bulged. “It happens. I told her. She knew the risks.”
I knelt down so that we were at eye level. “You cut her open and took her money. You didn't care what happened to her.”
“Look, if you want the money back—”
“I want
her
back. Can you do that?”
He only stared, shaking with fear. I stared back at him, shaking with my own power. I had the ability to kill him. To throw him again or snap his neck or choke the breath from him. It was terrible and wrong, but seized by my own rage, I couldn't control myself. Honestly, it's fortunate in the long run that most incubi and succubi have mild personalities more bent on pleasure than on pain. With the ability to take on any shape, we can be pretty deadly to mortals if we're pissed off enough. They can't really stand against us. This doctor sure as hell couldn't.
But another immortal could.
“Josephine,” murmured Bastien's voice behind me. Then: “Fleur.”
When I still didn't respond or loosen my grip, Bastien said, “Letha.”
My birth name penetrated the bloodlust pulsing through me.
“Let him go. He isn't worth your time.”
“And Dominique isn't worth avenging?” I demanded, my eyes never leaving the wretched human before me.
“Dominique is dead. Her soul is in the next world. Killing this man won't change that.”
“It'll make me feel better.”
“Maybe,” conceded Bastien. “But it isn't your place to mete out punishment to mortals. That's reserved for higher powers.”
“I am a higher power.”
The incubus rested a gentle hand on my shoulder. I flinched. “We play a different role. We don't kill mortals.”
“You and I have both killed before, Bas.”
“In defense. Protecting a village from raiders isn't the same as cold-blooded murder. You may be damned, but you aren't this far gone.”
I released my hold on the doctor and leaned back on my knees. He stayed frozen. “I loved Dominique,” I whispered.
“I know. That's the problem with mortals. They're easy to love and quick to perish. Better for all of us to keep our distance.”
I didn't touch the doctor, but I didn't move either. Bastien gave me a gentle tug, still quietly reasonable.
“Come on, let's go. Leave him. You don't have the right to end his life.”
I let Bastien lead me out. Once in the dark alley flanking the doctor's office, I shape-shifted back to my more naturalfeeling Josephine form.
“I want to leave Paris,” I told him bleakly. “I want to go somewhere where there is no death.”
He put an arm around me, and I leaned into his soothing presence. “No such place exists, Fleur.”
In Sol's house, I still bore down on Alec, again empowered with the ability to crush his life if I chose. But Bastien's words echoed within me, and I realized with an ache how much I regretted my current hostility with the incubus. Regardless, he was still correct after all these years. Revenge killings were not my right. It was unfair for an immortal to take advantage of a much weaker mortal. I would be no better than Sol. And looking at Alec underneath me, I realized just how terribly young he was. Not much older than Dominique.
And anyway, my strength and coherence were failing by the second. I leaned in menacingly to Alec.
“G-get out,” I mumbled through numbed lips. “I want you to get out. Out of Seattle. Don't ever contact Doug or anyone else from the band again. If I find out you're still in the city tomorrow night . . .” I struggled for an appropriate threat. My mental processes were grinding to a halt. “You, um, won't like it. Do you understand?”
My bluff worked; he was clearly terrified. I climbed off him and sat crouched because I couldn't stand. He scrambled up, gave me a last terrified look, and tore out of the room.
As soon as the door closed, I passed out.
Chapter 21
I
woke up the next morning with the worst hangover of my life, and that's saying something.
It was actually the cold air that woke me, blowing in through the shattered windows and whipping the curtains around. Seattle had mild winters, but it was still November. I shape-shifted on a heavy sweater and then noticed that Sol's blood had not disappeared from my skin during last night's transformation; the blood had dried to fine, glittering red crystals on me and everything else. I picked up his discarded silk shirt and discovered it did a pretty good job at wiping them off.
The previous night was a blur, and I had trouble remembering the fine details. I supposed I could blame whatever mystery liquid I'd drunk for that. Looking around at the wreckage brought a lot of the events back to me, and the rest I pieced together. Not wanting to linger in this place, I found my cell phone and called for a cab.
As I rode back into Seattle, I decided I wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep some more. My shift didn't start until later; Doug was opening. Wait. No, he wasn't. Doug was in a hospital bed. Sighing, I directed the driver to take me to the bookstore.
Three voice-mail messages waited for me when I arrived in the office. One was from the author we had doing a signing that night, E. J. Putnam. All was in order with his flight; he expected to be here as scheduled. The second message was Beth calling in sick. Jesus. Couldn't anyone stay healthy anymore? That put us down two people now. Warren wrapped up the messages, saying he'd be back from Florida later today and would stop in tonight. I decided to be mad at him out of sheer principle. I'd spent the last week dealing with chaos; he'd been golfing in eighty degree weather.
I got the store running and then staked out a register. Short-staffing will keep a person busy, at least. It gave me little time to reflect on last night's events. Or Doug. Or the fact that Seth hadn't come in today. Or my fight with Bastien.
“Are you Georgina?”
I looked up into the face of a pretty Japanese-American woman. Her face and build just barely crossed over into plumpness, and she wore her black hair in a high ponytail. Something about her smile seemed familiar.
“I'm Maddie Sato,” she explained, extending a hand. “Doug's sister.”
I shook her hand, astonished. “I didn't know Doug had a sister.”
Her smile quirked a little. “Lots of them, actually. We're kind of spread out around the country. We all sort of do our own thing.”
“So you came to . . . see Doug?” I hesitated to bring up such a delicate subject, but why else would she be here?
She nodded. “I've been with him this morning. He's doing great and said to tell you hello.”
That was the best news I could have received. “He woke up.”
“Yes. He's grumpy and punchy but otherwise fine. He said he has some CDs in your office he wants. He asked if I could pick them up.”
“Sure, I'll show you,” I said, leading her toward the back. Wow. Doug's sister. “How'd you find out about Doug?”
“Seth Mortensen called me.”
I stumbled and nearly walked into a display of gardening books. “How do you know Seth?”
“I write for
Womanspeak
magazine. Seth had some questions about a feminist organization that he needed answered for his book, and Doug gave him my e-mail address about a month ago. So, we've been in touch a couple times. When Doug . . . got sick, Seth tracked down my number in Salem and called last night.”
Part of me felt a little jealous that Seth had an e-mail correspondence with her that I hadn't known about, but I immediately quashed such feelings. What he'd done had been terribly considerate. And typical of him. Quietly efficient and kind. I led Maddie into the office and found the CDs in a drawer.
“Did you drive up last night or this morning?”
She shook her head. “Actually Seth picked me up.”
“I . . . what? In Salem? That's, like, four hours away.”
“I know. It was really nice. I don't have a car, so he drove right down after he called, got me in the middle of the night, and then brought me to Doug.”
My God. Seth had made an eight-hour round-trip last night. No wonder he wasn't here; he'd gone home to crash. That also meant he hadn't necessarily taken off from the hospital to get away from me. He'd done it to help Doug. A pleasant flutter spread through me at this, half of it relief, half of it a response to still more evidence of Seth's continuing decency and consideration of others.
Maddie left me her cell phone number and promised to send my good wishes to Doug. As she was leaving my office, Janice entered it.
“Hey Georgina, Lorelei Biljan's here.”
“Oh, okay. Wait.” I did a double take. “You mean E. J. Putnam.”
“No. It's definitely Lorelei. E. J.'s a guy.”
“I know that,” I said. “But her signing's a week from today. Putnam's is today. I had a message about it and everything.”
“I don't know. I just know she's here.”
A horrible sinking feeling built up in me. I followed Janice out and shook hands with a small, solidly built middle-aged woman. I'd seen Lorelei Biljan's pictures in her books. Everything was the same from her brown pixie haircut to her characteristic black clothing.
“I'm going to see some sights today but wanted to check in first,” she told me.
“Oh. Okay. Great.” I smiled thinly, willing myself to keep breathing.
We chatted a little bit more, and as soon as she was gone, I tore back to Paige's office and ransacked her desk. Sure enough, her schedules showed both authors coming in today. On the master staff calendar, however, she'd put them on separate days. Our own in-store posters also had them on separate days, but checking newspaper ads, I saw them again scheduled for the same day. Our website declared both appeared today, which meant we'd have fans of both here tonight.
Good grief. This was like some bad, clichéd sitcom. We had two dates for the dance.
I sat at Paige's desk and rubbed my temples. How had this happened? How had perfect, efficient Paige messed up? I quickly answered my own questions: because she had other things on her mind. She had an increasingly complicated pregnancy on her hands, one that had kept her out for almost three weeks now. A distraction like that would let anyone make mistakes. Unfortunately, I had to deal with them.
Andy stuck his head inside. “Oh, hey, there you are. Bruce said to ask you if any of us can help in the café. They're short. And Seth just called the store's main line. Said to tell you he can't do the thing tomorrow.”
“Seth called?” I asked stupidly. So he wasn't asleep. And the “thing” tomorrow had been a date to see a local Celtic band play at a pub. But he was cancelling. The noble reasons I had attributed to him for keeping away from me suddenly seemed less altruistic. “Okay. Thanks.”
I stared into space. My world was falling apart around me. I wasn't speaking to the two men I cared about the most. I was in charge of a bookstore that didn't have enough people to run it. Two authors were coming tonight, each expecting to have center stage to promote their books. We didn't have room for that. And to top it all off, I felt like shit. The residual effects of that drug had left me with a wicked headache, and I hadn't gotten nearly enough sleep. Killing a god will really wear you out.
I had too much to do and not enough energy or willpower to do it. Let alone the means. I needed a miracle. Divine intervention. And as feasible as that might seem in my line of work, it probably wasn't going to happen. Unless . . .
Divine intervention?
I found my purse and pulled out one of the packets of ambrosia. Those weird crystals pulsed out at me as I stared at them. What would happen? Nocturnal Admission had risen to stardom in a short time on these. Could I survive one hellish day at work? Would these give me the stamina and know-how to get through it? Or would I just turn into a slobbering sex kitten? I no longer believed Sol had given these to me last night. That had indeed been a date-rape drug. But these . . . these might be able to offer me some sort of inspiration to get out of this mess.
Of course, there was the whole dangerous addiction and withdrawal problem. But this was my first time. Even mortals had to go through a couple doses before things got nasty, and Carter had said it would take even longer for me to hit the downside. I was probably safe, so long as I didn't get too into whatever it was I was about to become.
Maybe it was the fatigue, but I didn't hesitate further.
Don't overthink it, just act
. I ordered a white-chocolate mocha from the café and dumped the crystals in once I was back in my office. “Bottoms up,” I muttered, just before knocking it all back.
When I'd finished, I rested my head on the desk and waited for something to happen. Anything. Mostly I still felt sleepy. I yawned. When did this stuff kick in? How would I know? And good grief, what would I do if this turned into a disaster too? What if it made my day worse? I mean, not that it could get worse. I had two authors booked for tonight. The jealousy Tammi had once joked about could very well occur. Two was a bad number. Two led to rivalry. Add more, and it becomes a friendly group matter, not a one-on-one competition for space and spotlight. I'd been to big events where lots of authors spoke and read. Sometimes they sat on a panel and answered questions together about writing, inspiration, and publishing. Getting those perspectives was neat. It was a cool opportunity for fans of all the writers, and then later, said fans could have books signed by multiple authors. Those events were big deals. They took a lot of planning and a lot of advertising, not to mention a lot of staff.
I sat up a couple minutes later, realizing I'd long since jolted to alertness. I didn't have time to note when that had happened or what it meant. I had too many things to do. My mind raced. In a flash, I was out on the main floor, hunting down Andy. I handed him a staff roster.
“I need you to call every person who's not working today—except for the sick ones. See if they'll come in. Preferably for the rest of the day. If not, we'll take what we can get. Then ask everyone here who's not closing if they can close. Tell them they'll get time-and-a-half.”
Andy stared as though he'd never seen me before, but I didn't give him time to question me. I went back to my office, paged Maria, and called Maddie Sato while I waited. When Maddie answered, I explained to her what I hoped she could do for me. She sounded surprised by my request, but she agreed nonetheless. She also promised to make another phone call for me that I wasn't too keen on making myself.
Maria appeared just as Maddie and I hung up. Maria worked part-time and was shy and quiet. She preferred to avoid the registers if she could, being much happier lost in the shelves. She was also an amazing artist.
I handed her a piece of poster board from our supply cabinet. “I need you to make a poster for tonight's event.”
“The signing?” she asked. “Er, signings?” Everyone had heard about the double booking by now.
“Not just a signing. It's a literary extravaganza. It's . . .” I came up with and then promptly rejected several possibilities. “It's the Emerald Lit Fest.” Boring, but straightforward. Sometimes that was better than a gimmick.
“Yes. The first annual one. And put on here that these authors will be there.” I handed her a list I'd already made up. “Mention that they'll autograph books. And that we'll have drawings for prizes.” I thought some more, making it up as I went along. The ideas just leapt off my tongue. “And that 10 percent of all sales will be donated to the Puget Sound's Literacy Project.”
“Wow,” she said. “I didn't know all this was going on.”
“Yeah,” I agreed briskly. “Me either. Draw it, type it, cut and paste, whatever. Just do it. I need it in twenty minutes. And it needs to look good.”
She blinked and then immediately set to work. While she did, I made phone calls. Print ads were a no-go, but almost everyone had a website. I called the big papers and the small artsy ones. I also called the local writers' groups and convinced them to e-mail their members. Finally, I called radio stations. They were less willing to do anything on short notice, but they were my best bet at immediate advertising. I could have the DJs mention us without a formal commercial. That took a bit of finagling, but we had an account with most of them already that guaranteed payment, and the charitable angle was hard to resist. Okay,
I
was hard to resist. Even over the phone, I could hear myself wooing and persuading with an unholy skill. Maria stopped working at one point to stare at me with an almost hypnotized look. Shaking her head, she returned to her poster.
Andy popped in with the annotated roster. We hadn't roped in quite as many as I would have liked, but we'd definitely increased our numbers. And most of the current staff was staying.
BOOK: Succubus On Top
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