Page 54 of Wicked Succubus
I need to get out of here. I grab my clothes to throw in a dumpster and shut my phone off again, putting it in my back pocket. When I open the bathroom door, my heart nearly leaps from my chest.
“Hello, Zelyah.” I take a step back.
The man looming over me is undoubtedly the one from the sketch—the stranger I encountered at the club. Any trace of the boyish, harmless-looking man I remember is gone. His features have twisted into a chilling, predatory grin that makes my blood run cold.
“Ch—” I start to ask but he cuts me off.
“It’s actually Zack. I didn’t want anyone knowing my real name in case you let it slip to the agent.”
Shadows play across the sharp angles of his face, making his expression more sinister. His eyes glint with dark intentions. Everything about him radiates malevolence. This welcoming facade has slipped away to reveal the monster lurking underneath. Oh, this little human is fucking with the wrong person. I’ve just fed, and my power is vibrating inside me, waiting to be unleashed.
Wait, does he look ten years younger?
“How did you find me?” I ask in a surprised tone because, really, how the fuck did he?
“I followed you. I’ve been watching you,” he says, looking me up and down, his gaze lingering on my body. Thankfully, I’m fully dressed minus underwear and a bra, but I wasn’t going to steal those.
“And why is that?” He gazes at me like he’s the hunter and I’m the prey, but he’s got it all wrong. I’m going to be the one to eat him alive.
There’s movement in my peripheral vision, but I’m too busy paying attention to the man in front of me. I can’t wait to watch him bleed.
He’s killed several other women. These women—they mattered to someone, and this murderer is tearing families apart. This isn’t just another case for me. This monster is a reminder of the man who murdered my mother, the man I’ve dedicated my life to finding and killing. I don’t care if the victims are supernatural or not. I have a deep, burning hatred for anyone who preys on women, and I won’t rest until this killer is stopped.
Out of nowhere, I get hit in the back of the head and everything goes black.
***
My muscles spasm as I try to lift my hand, I try to pull my arm, but—what the fuck? I’m tied up. My head pounds relentlessly, a throbbing ache shooting through my skull as if someone savagely kicked it again and again. I struggle to open my eyes, but even my eyelids feel too heavy to lift.
Mustering my strength, I slowly pry one eye partially open, then the other, wincing against a harsh white light beaming down on me. As my blurry vision adjusts, I try to make sense of where this bright glare is coming from. Realizing my hands are bound, I can’t shield my sensitive eyes from the blinding brightness overhead. Squinting, I try to discern where I am and how I got here. But my mind is foggy, and my thoughts are slippery like trying to grasp smoke.
“There you are, you wicked Succubus.”
I groan. That’s the second time this week someone’s called me that. I need to remain hidden, yet everyone is uncovering who I am. Pretty soon, I’ll have humans and supernaturals hunting me if I’m not careful.
“I bet you wish you would have killed me, huh?”
His slimy voice is foggy in my brain. “The drug should be wearing off soon.” A second person’s voice. I’m trying to pinpoint who this other person is. I try to focus but can’t.
There are two people in the room. The one who called me Succubus, that voice belongs to Zack. He’s the man responsible for all the murders. How did I get so lucky to be tied up in his presence?
“Where the fuck am I?” My voice is low and weak, the words are coming out in a slur, and I hate it. I just fed.
“In my home.”
My head slumps down. It’s a challenge trying to keep it upright. I finally recognize that voice.
“I should have fucking killed you instead of your friends,” I grit out at Mitch.
He chuckles, and the sound annoys the shit out of me. I finally lift my head up again and face him, my energy slowly returning.
I look around the space. I’m in a bedroom. The windows are covered so the only light is from the lightbulb in the middle of the room. I’m sitting on a chair while the bed is beside me. Standing in front of the door are Zack and Mitch. They’re guarding it like they expect me to escape. Besides these two dimwits, I don’t hear anyone else.
I try expanding my wings to break the ropes, but they seem stuck.
“They won’t work here.” Zack gets closer to me. “Those ropes you’re tied up with, they’re magic ropes to keep supernaturals from trying to escape.” Now I understand why the rope feels like it’s stabbing me. The magic pierces through my arms every time I wiggle.
“Who else knows I’m a—” It’s hard to voice the word out loud. I’m afraid that someone else might overhear, but if someone else is in here, they probably already know.