Succubi Are Forever

SUCCUBI ARE FOREVER

Copyright 2012 by JILL MYLES

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.

“Once upon a time there was a beautiful woman with great big knockers and shitty taste in men.”
—The True Story of a Porn Star,
by Remy Summore

~*~

If there was one thing I struggled with, it was being deliberately sexy. Unfortunately for a succubus, if there was one rule of our so-called afterlife, it was that I could get a lot more by using my boobs than my brain. Sad but true.

Even with this in mind, I grasped the front of my low-cut black gown and hauled it up a little higher. The bodice of the darn thing was super tight and angled so that my breasts jutted forward and jiggled like they were trying to make a run for their freedom. If I wasn’t careful, I was going to put someone’s eye out.

“Quit fidgeting.” My best friend Remy slapped my hand as I tugged on the straining spaghetti straps. “You look fine.”

“I look ridiculously busty. Like, tavern wench busty.”

“You’re supposed to, remember?”

Well, sure. As a porn star, Remy was used to all her girly bits hanging out. It still unnerved me—I was far more comfortable in a sweatshirt and jeans. And besides, she was missing the point of this conversation. “Yeah, but I also thought we were supposed to blend. How can I blend if I look more like a pair of torpedoes primed for the launch sequence? That’s not blending.”

She rolled her eyes at me and gave a little bounce in her own tight red dress, like a boxer heading in to a fight. It was a move, I realized, that was designed to make the dress slide down and reveal even more of her ample cleavage. As it was, her dress was barely clinging to her top. The thin straps were held together by a knot at the base of her neck that looked ready to give at any moment. “Like anyone’s going to care if you blend or not. They’ll be too busy staring at your tits and ass to think about anything else. Come on. Do you want to get this crappy old book of yours or not?”

“Why are you so excited about it?”

“I’m not. I just came up with the perfect title for my memoir.”

I stared at her. “Memoir?”

“Hell yeah,” she said with a brilliant smile. “All porn stars quit the business and write a memoir. Gotta do something to increase the cash flow again.” With that, Remy put her hands on her hips and sashayed into the crowd. I caught a brief glimpse of her head as she introduced herself to a silver-haired man in a tuxedo, flipped her hair, and gave him a charming smile.

And that was that. A memoir. Good God.

I adjusted my boobs again, smiled at a few people who were nearby, and headed to the back of the room, pretending to head for the bathroom. With Remy taking her place to be the center of attention, I could move on to my goal. I heard a bright peal of her laughter as I moved to the outskirts of the crowd, watched heads turn in her direction. All part of the plan. I gave my uncomfortable dress one last tug and slipped into the crowd, trying to blend in with the dark formalwear of the partygoers as I stepped past. The ballroom was crowded, but I wasn’t interested in the party itself.

Men paused to smile at me, gazes raking over my figure in the revealing floor-length gown. Occasionally a bolder one would step in my direction, but I’d gotten adept at avoiding eye contact and looking busy. As I walked, a woman in a champagne-colored sequined dress scowled at my fire-engine red hair, my sleek black gown with the high slit, and my too-jiggly breasts. That was the sort of reaction a succubus always received. Nothing to be done but ignore it and focus on my goal.

At the far end of the massive ballroom, there was a short hallway cordoned off with a velvet rope, leading to a pair of gilt double doors. The hall was lit with flickering candles in ornate sconces on the wall.

Why
hello,
goal.

I moved toward that velvet rope with single-minded purpose, murmuring excuses to the people I moved past. I smiled and nodded and even cast a flirty look at one man, since I needed to shove past him and he wasn’t moving. I brushed my breasts up against him and slid by with a smile. He looked as if he wanted to speak to me, but I quickly stepped around a waiter, losing eye contact and disappearing into the crowd. He’d follow me if he saw me again, but I didn’t stop. Eventually, I made it to the other side of the room and stood at the rope.

This end of the packed ballroom was quieter than the other end, though in about fifteen minutes, it was going to be the spotlight of the party. I needed to move fast. With a quick glance around to ensure that no one was looking in my direction, I unhooked the rope and stepped on the other side. If anyone asked, I was just looking for the ladies’ room. Or something.

“Can I help you find something, miss?” A waiter paused near me, frowning as I re-buckled the rope to the pillar.

Oh. Oops. Where was Remy with that distraction? “I’m just running to the ladies’ room,” I said to him with a bright smile.

He raised an eyebrow and then his gaze dipped to my generous cleavage. “That’s not the restroom.”

I put a stupid look on my face. “It’s not?”

“That’s the unveiling room. It’s off-limits for party guests. No one should be back there until Mr. Melledin gives the word.”

“So it is,” I agreed, thinking fast. He was staring at me expectantly and I had frozen like a deer in headlights. “Thank you.”

His gaze dipped to my breasts again.

An idea occurred to me, and I stepped forward, reaching for a glass of champagne. I smiled at him and gave him a very blunt, appraising look. “Is it a private room?”

The waiter stared at me. My chest. My face. “Private?”

“You know.” I winked at him and then glanced back at the room I was dying to enter.
“Private.”
When he hesitated, I added, “I’ll meet you in the room at the end of the hall in three minutes?”

And to make sure he caught my suggestion, I licked my lips and trailed a finger down my exposed cleavage. If that didn’t do the trick, I was going to have to start drawing him pictures. Maybe a crude hand gesture or two.

He swallowed, hard. “The unveiling is in fifteen minutes.”

I bit my lower lip, and gave him a hungry look. “We won’t take long.”

He gave me the dazed, dopey smile of a man who had just been wrapped around my finger. His hands clenched the edge of the tray eagerly. “Three minutes.”

I wiggled my fingers at him and moved toward the shadows. “See you soon,” I purred.
Creep.

The waiter stumbled backward, grinning at me, and then disappeared into the crowd—presumably to dump his drink tray. I continued to smile in his direction until he disappeared from sight and then bolted down the hallway.

Now to find a good hiding spot to ensure that he wouldn’t be able to find me for the rendezvous I had just promised and had zero intention of following through with.

“Nightingale to Robin Red Breast,” buzzed a voice in my ear. “Nightingale to Robin Red Breast, do you read me?”

I rolled my eyes as I moved farther down the hall and touched my finger to the earbud headset hidden by my long, thick red hair. So far, despite the crush of the party, no one had noticed me heading for the room other than the waiter. That was good. “Hello, Remy,” I replied. “I can hear you.”

“Nightingale to Robin Red Breast,” she repeated cheerfully, ignoring the fact that I was not using our code names. “The Vulture is heading in your direction. I repeat, Vulture is heading your way.”

Who the heck was the Vulture? No one was supposed to be heading in my direction. I tested the double door and found it unlocked and slipped inside. “Who’s heading my way? Remy? We don’t have to use code names. We’re the only ones on this frequency—”

“I have a bogey on my radar,” she said, interrupting. Her voice dropped to a stage whisper. “Gotta go.” The headset clicked off.

“Isn’t a bogey golf?” I asked, but she was no longer listening.

I sighed, then glanced around the room I’d just entered. A massive sitting area, furnished with what looked like Louis XIV chairs and crystal dishes that probably cost more than I had made at the university last year as an archaeologist. Paintings in gilt frames lined the tall walls, and there was a fresco of fat, naked cherubs on the ceiling. It was all very old money and all very rich.

Well then, they wouldn’t mind if I stole a little something, right? I told myself that, anyhow, and moved farther into the room, eyeing the heavy red velvet drapes next to each incredibly tall window. It was night, so they were pulled shut. I stepped forward and examined the first window carefully. Wires ran along the sill and a light flashed in the top corner. Alarm system. I peeked out the windowpane, wincing at the sight of the security guards walking the grounds outside. Sheesh. It was like our wealthy billionaire host didn’t trust his guests or something.

The handle on the door clicked.

I froze as the door opened, then flattened myself along the wall behind the curtain. That damn waiter. Ugh. Hopefully he’d assume the room was empty and that I’d bailed on our rendezvous, then quickly leave again. And if not, I’d have to take more drastic action.

The door shut and revealed the person who had just entered. His back was turned to me. I stared at a broad pair of shoulders covered with a long, floor-dusting black leather coat. It might not have been that unusual except for the fact that it was summer, and his beat-up coat was squarely out of place at the party.

But my heart gave a happy little flip at the sight of it anyhow, and my internal tuning fork thrummed with pleasure. It always stirred when an immortal was around, but the sight of this particular immortal never failed to make me quiver.

He didn’t turn around. As I watched his broad shoulders flex, he reached into a pocket and pulled out a cigarette, placed it between his lips, lit it. My body gave a tingle as he glanced over his shoulder, and I saw the beautiful mouth, which was keeping the cigarette held firmly in place edge into a smile.

“You playing hide-and-seek, Princess?”

I stepped out of the curtains and moved forward, drawn toward him. When I reached his side, I ran a hand along the back of Zane’s long leather coat, feeling the twitch of his wings underneath. “I thought you were waiting in the car in case we had to make a quick getaway?”

“Thought I might come in and make sure everything was okay. You know I don’t trust Remy to have your back.” He shrugged, and the faint scent of tobacco touched my nostrils as I stepped into the smoke of his cigarette.

A momentary twinge of annoyance swept over me. I’d spent the last three months blissfully happy with Zane at my side… that is, blissfully happy unless he and Remy were in the same room. Then it was more like I was stuck between two bickering siblings. I thought we’d gotten past that, though, ever since Zane had helped me free Remy from her master. “Remy has my back just fine—”

“Really? Because I saw her in the main room,” he said, gesturing back in the direction he’d just come from, “with a leg wrapped around some guy and her tongue down his throat.”

She worked fast. “She’s providing a distraction for me.”

“I’ll say she’s a distraction. I’m not sure Ethan would approve if he saw that.” He frowned at me and more specifically at my low-cut dress. “You know that you can do other things than just manipulate people with your bodies.”