Page 5 of Wicked Succubus
“Did you kill Ms. Clarice?” He shifts his position, lowering his leg and crossing them at the ankles.
“No.” A tightness in my chest eases just a little. I can’t lie under his scrutiny. I know it, and Radnor knows it.
“Did you murder Ms. Johnson, the first victim?” With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he waves the sucker in my direction before returning it to his mouth with a smirk.
“No.” The heavy weight of anxiety that’s been hanging around my neck ever since I walked in here falls away, and I sit up a little straighter. They have to know I’m not lying now.
“Lies,” Agent Cooper says as he smashes the table with his fist.
“She’s not lying. She can’t,” Radnor responds, still staring at me with a grin and twirling his sucker in his mouth.
Radnor opens his lips to ask the next question. “Do you think I’m hot?”
“Uh . . . what?” My cheeks start to heat up. My jaw moves to give him the answer. My palms are sweaty.
“That’s enough,” Agent Cooper says before I embarrass myself.
“Fine,” Radnor says playfully. “She’s free to go. She isn’t your kill—”
“Go!” Agent Cooper shouts, not letting him finish his sentence. He’s clearly angry that I’m not the killer.
“Yeah, whatever you say, your highness.” He gives a mocking bow, and before he leaves, he tells me, “Come find me, Zelyah. I think we’d have lots of fun together.”
The door closes before I can say anything. Between the two feds sitting in the room, only one holds all the power in my situation.
Agent Cooper.
I briefly look over at Agent Rodriguez. She doesn’t take her eyes off him, she’s staring longingly at his full lips, watching him run his tongue across the edge of his perfect white teeth as if either of us might be nothing more than a meal to him.
He taps on the desk, his stare never wavering from mine, his eyes sending jolts of breathlessness through my body. Why do I find him so attractive? Is it his position of absolute authority or the predatory look on his face? He watches me like he would rather take me apart than take me to bed, and it’s clear he’s as ruthless as they come. Typical fae.
Just when I think he’s going to push away from the table and leave me in silence, he clears his throat to get my attention.
“I don’t know how you’re getting around our powers, but it’s obvious you’re still lying. Until I figure out what you really are, you’ll stay with me. You will not leave my sight. Is that clear?” It’s a command. “I’m not sure what I’ll do with you yet, but for now, I need to make sure you aren’t the killer.”
Chapter 3
Rhett
We wait impatiently for our next hunt. We’re in front of a discreet warehouse located in the middle of nowhere. The job we do requires us to always remain unseen. No one knows who we are, that we exist, and most importantly, no one knows we work for the Arcana Society. They are the original demons on earth.
We’re part of a small unit that does the dirty work for them while their hands remain clean. The Council technically policed the supernatural community in the human realm, and I say technically because not everyone followed their rule. The Arcana Society watched them make a fool out of themselves from behind the scenes. The once-mighty Council, a power and authority, has since been reduced to nothing more than a memory.
We’ve pledged our loyalty to the Arcana Society. Our allegiance to them remains unbroken, and their word is our command. We’re bound, not merely by duty, but by a shared history and the lingering echoes of the oath we swore.
As a Dreamweaver Demon, I have the power to manipulate dreams and warp reality. It’s why the Arcana Society recruited me for my special abilities. When hunting the supernatural, I can turn a target’s mind against them by bringing their worst nightmares to life. While trapped in the terrifying illusions I construct, my prey is rendered helpless, unable to distinguish waking from sleep. I can keep them paralyzed in panicked delusions long enough to capture them.
Or, if needed, I can also make a target believe their deepest pleasures are coming true, lulling them into complacency. The dreams I weave feel completely real while under my spell. I’m unmatched when it comes to navigating the realm of the subconscious. I can walk the border between dreams and reality, molding each to my advantage. My victims’ minds become weapons used against them.
As a Dreamweaver, I’m highly valued by the Arcana Society for my unusual abilities, but it’s a lonely gift that sets me apart from others. Only my best friend Killian can truly understand the isolation of being so different. Whereas I manipulate dreams and construct illusions while targets are awake, Killian has the power to infiltrate sleeping minds as a Specter Demon. Once a victim has drifted off, Killian can subtly enter their subconscious dreamscape and alter it however he pleases. He shapes nightmares or soothing visions, warping the dreamer’s reality while they’re helpless in slumber’s embrace.
We make the perfect team, able to attack from both fronts. No one can hide from us across the veils of perception. Our complementary abilities are why the Arcana Society recruited us together. Alone, we each have powerful gifts, but combined, we’re unstoppable. We’ve got the best record of bringing in the worst of the worst—second only to the Iron Beast Pack. When they worked for the Council, they brought in more supes than everyone combined, but we’re planning to beat their record.
I find myself casually reclined against the cool hood of the car, the rough texture of the vehicle pressing into my back. A slight breeze whips through the air, carrying with it the faint scent of gasoline. In contrast to the exterior stillness, inside the vehicle, is a different story. Killian, ever the charmer, is deep in a heated conversation, his voice lowered to a seductive murmur. A woman’s name escapes his lips, her laughter echoing through the phone pressed tight against his ear. An amused grin crosses my face; his reputation as a flirtatious supernatural precedes him, but his reckless romantic endeavors never seem to deter him from his duties. His focus is divided between our mission and the call that has his attention. He knows damn well he doesn’t have the time to be with a woman with the type of job we have.
Killian opens the door and gets out of the car. I look back at him just as he’s hanging up the phone. He looks human but he’s definitely not. Killian’s golden-brown skin is adorned with tattoos on his arms. His right eyebrow is pierced, adding to his rugged appearance, and a shimmer of white hair frames his features. We both have infused tattoos to help us hide our true, demonic nature. We can change our form at will. The Supe Unit keeps track of people who have tattoos like ours. This way, they can keep track of the supes living in this realm.
“Hey, Rhett. Do you think they’ll ever send us to Hawaii? I’ve been dying for a vacation.” Leaning nonchalantly against the sleek black sedan, Killian peers at his cell, a playful smile dancing on his lips. Probably texting someone else.