Page 10 of Wicked Succubus
There’s a lot of loud music bleeding through the open doorways of different clubs. I peek inside some of the dimly lit bars as we pass, watching the people drink and dance. The Velvet Lounge is written in pretty pink cursive, and I’m surprised by how long the line is to get in.
“Let’s go,” I tell Sandy and Trisha.
We bypass the line and walk straight to the front, and the bouncer looks down at us expectantly. They pull out their IDs, and he looks like he’s about to send us to the back of the mile-long line, but I smile seductively and whisper in a sultry voice, “We’re on the list, just let us in.”
His eyes glaze over, and he nods his head. He’s human, so I don’t have to use too much power to sway him.
I look around the club as we step past the entrance and into the flashing lights. The latest hit song blasts through the speakers. Women dance close to their partners, moving to the rhythm of the beat, and my hips move almost involuntarily.
Sandy and Trisha walk straight for the bar, their steps synchronized in the pulsating rhythm of the club. I trail behind them, weaving through the crowd. My senses are heightened, and the thumping bass of the music vibrates through me.
As we reach the bar, Sandy seems blissfully unaware of anything but the night’s potential, and her laughter mingles with the music. She’s under my glamour, and it shows in her carefree demeanor. Trisha, on the other hand, carries a different air about her. She orders a drink, her eyes casually scanning the crowd, but they linger on me just a moment too long. There’s a slight narrowing of her gaze and a flicker of something unreadable before she masks it with a nonchalant smile.
I can’t help but feel a tingle of unease. Did I successfully glamour Trisha like I did Sandy? Her actions suggest compliance, but her sharp and probing eyes tell a different story. She laughs at something Sandy says, yet the sound doesn’t quite reach her eyes. It’s as if she’s playing her part in a script she’s not fully committed to.
“Want a drink?” A guy says from right behind me. He’s cute, maybe in his thirties, has dark brown hair, light brown eyes, and is definitely human. I nod my head, and he takes it as an invitation to step into my personal space. I look around, but Trisha and Sandy are both gone.
“What can I buy you?” the man asks.
I turn my attention back to him. “Cranberry vodka.”
He smiles and pulls out his card, handing it to the bartender. It’s in my nature to be flirty, to want to get close to him and pull him in to eventually feed, but I know how dangerous this is. I’ve only ever intentionally fed on the men who deserve such a fate, but my need to feed quickly and get back to Agent Cooper’s place before he notices I’m gone makes me feel desperate.
He hands me the glass, and I take a drink from the tiny, red straw. “You want to dance?”
“Yeah.” His eyes light up as I place my alcohol down and grab his hand. “My name is Chase by the way.”
I don’t bother giving him mine. I’m here on a mission. Before he can ask me for my name, I drag him to the middle of the dance floor. As I move to the beat of the music, his eyes trail over me, and I can feel his desire pulsing through me like my own heartbeat. I bring my hands up in the air, and he tentatively grabs my hips.
I’m in too deep with this, and before I know it, I nearly feed on his lust. Memories of Nick come crashing down like a ton of bricks. Waves of sorrow, regret, and despair overtake my senses. I can feel the tightness in my chest, and my hands tremble as I try to forget. Thoughts of shame, guilt, and self-loathing course through me as the tears blur my vision and bile rises in my throat. I desperately want to find a way out, to scream or claw my skin off, to do anything to escape the unbearable pain that is tearing apart my soul. But no matter how much I wish for it, I know there’s no way to go back. The damage has been done.
When I try to feed on someone’s lust, I drain them of life. It’s not supposed to be like this, but killing someone is the only way I can manage to keep myself alive. I don’t want to be a murderer, but I decided long ago that when I have to feed, I would hunt down the people who deserve to die. So as much as I want to have sex or feed off lust like others of my kind, I can’t. That would mean putting someone at risk who doesn’t deserve it. Someone like Nick. So, I need to choose my kills carefully.
“I’ve got to go.” I stumble backward, nearly falling in the middle of the dance floor.
I need to feed now.
“But wait.” His brows scrunch, confused by my sudden outburst. “Can I at least get your number?”
“I don’t own a phone.” That’s the last thing I say to him before I disappear into the crowd to find a dark corner of the club. If I’m going to find someone who is up to no good, they’re not going to be in the center of the dance floor.
I look down at my trembling hands. Shit, I can’t believe this is the second time I’ve lost control. Thankfully, I didn’t start to feed because if I had, I wouldn’t have been able to stop, and I would’ve killed him. The thought frightens me. It would’ve been out in the open. Anyone in the club could have seen. My body craves touch, and it’s understandable, I’m a Succubus, after all. In the days leading up to my twenty-fifth birthday, all I wanted to do was feed on lust and have sex, that’s why I tried it with my boyfriend. I need to learn how to control that part of me or else everyone I come in contact with will eventually die.
As I slip to the farthest corner of the back bar, a group of guys catch my eye immediately. They are dressed like your average frat boys, but they seem too nervous and shifty to be here for the cheap beer.
I stalk toward the group of three guys talking among themselves behind a pretty brunette leaning over the bar. She’s wasted and reaching for the tray of olives the bartender has for garnish. If she came with friends, they are nowhere to be found. I watch through narrowed eyes as one of the men reaches underneath her plaid skirt and touches her ass, giving it a squeeze. She brushes his hand off and nearly topples over. Disgust and rage heat my blood as I work my way through the crowd, getting closer so I can eavesdrop on their conversation.
They’ve stepped back a few feet from the wasted brunette, and the one with the wandering hands digs something out of his pocket and covertly hands it off to a lanky guy with brown hair.
“Make sure you give her the whole tablet, don’t screw it up like last time, Brad,” the handsy guy whispers harshly.
The third guy, a tall, intimidating man with a neck tattoo, leans close to her, murmuring what seems to be sweet nothings. She giggles, swaying dangerously. Seizing the moment, the lanky brown-haired man discreetly drops a white tablet into her drink and signals to his friends that it’s done.
Mr. Neck Tattoo gives a cruel smile in return, retrieves the spiked alcohol, and places the drink in her unsteady hand.
I stride over, quick as a flash, and plant myself squarely in front of the men. On the outside, it looks like a catty move, but I’m shielding the brunette’s body with mine, careful not to knock her off balance. Keeping up appearances, I flash the men a seductive smirk.
“Hey, boys.” I grab the girl’s cup and pretend I’m drinking. They watch with open mouths and a predatory glint in their eyes. These idiots think I just drank the drugged booze. Little do they know that between them and me, I’m the real threat. “I just broke up with my boyfriend, and I’m so lonely. I want a guy to keep me company.” I look each man in the eye and bite my lip, making sure to keep my voice sweet. “Or maybe it’d be even nicer for a couple of guys to take my mind off him. Can you guys help me with that?”