Authors: Richelle Mead
Succubus On Top (3 page)
“Why don't you?”
“Not our lot. You and I are glorified prostitutesâcourtesans, if you want to be more genteel, but it's all the same thing. Switching to bad ones won't change our fates. Won't even do anything in the long run, really, except relieve our guilt a bit, and even that relief doesn't last forever.”
“Christ. You aren't really making me feel better.”
“Sorry.”
“No, no, it's okay. Whatever. I mean, it's nice to have someone to talk to about this. No one elseânone of the other immortalsâreally get it.”
He snorted. “Of course they don't. How could they?” My silence agreed for me, and Bastien gave me a kindly look. “Not that your friends weren't nice. Are there other immortals in the city you can talk to? Any succubi or incubi?”
“A few more vampires and minor demons, but that's it. They're less social than the ones I run with. I have some good mortal friends too. Still. They're not the same either.” I smiled gently. “They're not you. I've missed you.”
Bastien tousled my hair, earning a critical glance from my cat Aubrey. “I've missed you too.”
“So will you tell me what's going on now?”
His serious mien turned jovial. “Not sure what you're going to think about it, now that I've heard all of this.”
“Try me.”
Sliding off the couch, Bastien settled next to me so we could speak face-to-face. “You ever heard of Dana Dailey?”
“I live on this planet, don't I? She's always my first choice when I'm driving in my car and feel like listening to some highly commercial, conservative rhetoric.” I didn't make any attempt to hide my disdain. In addition to touting worn-out family values, radio host Dana Dailey also enjoyed working thinly veiled racist, homophobic, and even sexist insinuations into her talk show. I couldn't stand her.
“I imagine that mood strikes you quite a bit. Did you know she's Seattle based?”
“Of course. It's a wonder she hasn't dragged down the property value.”
“Funny you should mention that. A house in her neighborhood just came up for sale.”
“So?”
“So, our employers have purchased it.”
“What?”
Grinning, knowing he had me hooked, Bastien leaned in eagerly. “Pay attention, Fleur, because here's the good part. We got wind of some rumors concerning Mrs. Dailey's expool boy in San Diego. He claims to have been âromantically involved' with her.”
I racked my brain, recalling a promotional picture I'd seen of her and her politician husband on a billboard. “Have you seen Mr. Dailey? I'd opt for a pool boy too. What became of the rumors?”
“Oh, you know. The same thing that always happens to rumors with no proof. They faded away; nothing happened.”
I waited expectantly. “Okay, and the house fits in how?”
“Well, like you said, her husband's no prize. Of course, she isn't going to get divorced or anything, not when it could potentially tarnish his political future and her whole prissy, on-air family-values campaign. But . . . the naughty streak is still there. If she's strayed once, I bet she could be lured into doing it again.”
I groaned as the pieces fell together. “Like with a handsome, debonair neighbor?”
“Debonair? Really, you're too kind.”
“So what happens after that?”
“Then we just let the evidence do its work.”
“Evidence?”
“Well, yeah. We're not going to go the way of the pool boy. When I manage to lure the illustrious Mrs. Dailey into physical pleasures surpassing her wildest dreams, there'll be a camera rolling. We're going to record this for posterity, then go to the press. Full exposure, full takedown. No more radio empire preaching to the masses to return to pure, decent ways. Even her husband's political campaign will be marred, thus opening the door for some liberal upstart to take his place and help get this area back into the corrupt rut it so desperately longs for.”
“Gee, it's all so neat.”
He eyed me. “You doubt the plan's brilliance?”
“I don't know. I appreciate the ballsy factor here, but I think this is kind of out-there, even for you. I can't imagine Dana Dailey'll go down so easily.”
“Leave the going down to me.”
“Your ego's out of control.”
He laughed and pulled me to him. His arms felt good around me. Familiar. Reassuring. “Admit it. That's why you love me.”
“Yeah, you're like the brother I never had. One that doesn't set my hair on fire.”
His eyes sparkled wickedly. “And once again, you've jumped ahead of me. I want you to see me in action on thisânot to mention keep me company while I'm in town. You've got to come visitâas Mitch's sister.”
“Who?”
Bastien suddenly stood up and shape-shifted. The familiar features morphed, leaving no trace of the rakish incubus I knew. Six-two and broad-shouldered, he now had dark blond hair and sky blue eyes, his face only just losing its pretty boy aspect and giving way to the sizzling promise of an experienced, confident man in his early thirties. When he smiled, those perfect teeth lit up a room.
He winked at me. “Mitch Hunter,” he explained in a suave, movie-star voice. No accent now.
“You got an equally cheesy title to go with that? âMitch Hunter, MD' or âMitch Hunter, Private Investigator?' Seems appropriate.”
“Nah. I'm a consultant, of course. Everyone's favorite nondescript yet well-paid white-collar job.”
“You look like you need a golf club in one hand and a burger flipper in the other.”
“Tease all you want, but Dana won't be able to resist this. Now”âhe gestured for me to stand upâ“let's see what you can do.”
“Are you joking?”
“Do I look like I'm joking? If you're going to come visit me, you've got to put on some family resemblance.”
I rolled my eyes and stood up. After a moment's study of his features, I shape-shifted my petite body into a taller, more athletic one with long blond hair.
He scrutinized me, then shook his head. “Too pretty.”
“What? This is perfect.”
“That body's unreal. No one looks that good. My God woman, that ass.”
“Oh, come on. You don't think Special Agent Mitch Hunter's sister isn't the type to spend two hours a day on a stair-climber?”
Bastien grunted. “You've got a point there. At least lose some of the hair. These suburban types go for boring and practical.”
“Yeah, but I'm not suburban. I'm your hipper, more stylishâ”
Someone knocked at my door. He glanced at me questioningly.
“Oh! It's Seth.”
I changed back to my normal body, and Bastien did the same. I opened the door.
Seth Mortensen, best-selling author and professional introvert, stood outside my apartment. Clad in a Frogger T-shirt and corduroy jacket, he seemed to have forgotten to brush his hair again. It was messy and brown with a faint coppery cast, mirrored in the perpetual five o'clock shadow across his lower face. His lips turned up in a smile upon seeing me, and I couldn't help but briefly ponder how soft and kissable they looked.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey.”
Despite whatever attraction burned between us, the engine of our conversation always took a little while to turn over. I led him inside, and his expression faltered a bit when he saw Bastien.
“Oh. Hi.”
“Hello,” boomed Bastien, extending his hand. “Bastien Moreau.”
“Seth Mortensen.”
“A pleasure. I've heard all about you. Your books are fabulous. I mean, I've never read any of themâjust don't have the time for that anymoreâbut I'm sure they're
magnifique
.”
magnifique
.”
“Um, thanks.”
“Bastien is an old friend,” I explained. “He's going to be in town for a while on . . . business.”
Seth nodded, and silence dropped in between all of us like a fourth companion. Finally, Bastien cleared his throat. I could see from his face that he was already losing interest, dismissing Seth as too quiet and unexciting. The incubus craved action.
“Well, I should take off. I don't want to interrupt your plans.”
“What are you going to do?” I asked. “You can't have any plans of your own yet.”
He winked. “I'll improvise.”
I gave him a knowing look.
Ruffling my hair again, he embraced me and kissed each of my cheeks. “I'll be in touch, Fleur. Make sure you keep an eye on the news.”
“I'll never leave my television.”
Bastien gave Seth a friendly nod. “Nice meeting you.” When the incubus was gone, Seth asked, “When you say âold friend,' are we talking, like . . . since the Ice Age?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Oh.”
“It's only been about four hundred years.”
“Ah. Yes. Only four hundred.” A wry expression spread over his face. “Being with you is a continual experiment in perspective. Among other things.” He considered. “So what is he? Werewolf? Demigod?”
“Nothing so exciting. He's an incubus. You must have heard of those.”
Seth nodded, frowning. “Sure. Like a succubus only . . . he has to go after women to survive?”
I nodded.
“Wow. For all eternity.
Wow
.” His eyebrows shot up as true wonder played over his face. “That's got to be . . . wow. That's really rough.”
Wow
.” His eyebrows shot up as true wonder played over his face. “That's got to be . . . wow. That's really rough.”
My eyes narrowed. “Don't even start down that road.”
Bastien had said he didn't want to interrupt our plans, but we didn't really have any, short of spending the evening together. I suppose most couples, running out of options, could have resorted to sex or at least making out, but the nature of our relationship required a full itinerary. We mustered some ideas.
“You want to rent a movie?” I offered. “I've got some coupons.”
We ended up renting
Gladiator
, at which time I discovered Horatio's free rental coupons had expired long ago.
Gladiator
, at which time I discovered Horatio's free rental coupons had expired long ago.
“That son of a bitch!”
“Who?” asked Seth.
But of course I couldn't explain. Fucking demons. Back home, Seth and I snuggled on my couch as we watched, warm and close yet still safe from any detrimental succubus effects. He listened with bemusement as I pointed out historical inaccuracies, most of which involved how much dirtier and smellier the Roman Empire had been.
When it finished, we turned off the television and sat together in the dark. Seth stroked the side of my face, sifting through the strands of my hair and occasionally brushing my cheek with his fingers. A small gesture, yet when that was all you could do with another person, it became startlingly erotic.
I looked up at him. I knew what I saw when I studied him. He was everything I could want and everything I couldn't have. The steady, loving companion I'd pined for all these years. I wondered what he saw with me. The expression he wore now seemed fond. Admiring. And a little sad.
“But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair ow'st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st;
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.”
Nor lose possession of that fair ow'st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st;
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.”
“Sonnet Eighteen,” I murmured, thinking he recited beautifully. Hell, forget his recitation skills. How many guys in this age of instant messaging even knew Shakespeare anymore? His amused little half-smile played over his face.
“Clever and beautiful. How could any man settle for a mortal woman?”
“Easily,” I returned. My friends' misgivings suddenly loomed up in me. “You could, you know.”
He blinked, and his rapt look faded, giving way to exasperation. “Oh. Not this discussion again.”
“I'm seriousâ”
“And so am I. I don't want to be with anyone else right now. I've told you that a hundred times. Why do we keep talking about this?”
“Because you know we can'tâ”
“No buts. Give me some credit for being able to control myself. Besides, I'm not with you for sex. You know that. I'm with you to be with you.”
“How can that be enough?” It never had been for any other man I'd known.
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