“What’s wrong with here?” I asked.
“It’s not private,” Zane said with a frown, eyeing my neck. He hadn’t yet had a chance to feed, and the bloodlust had to be driving him crazy. “We should leave.”
“We need clothes,” I told Zane. “That includes you.”
“The clothes here won’t fit my… appendages.” He wiggled his eyebrows at me. “I think you know what I mean.”
“Oh, I think I know, you naughty man.”
He leaned in as if sharing a secret. “I meant my wings.”
“I didn’t.”
He grinned.
“You’re still naughty. And I don’t know about you, but I am not going to Colorado in this trampy dress.”
“I like you in that trampy dress,” he mused with a smile, eyeing my figure. “Reminds me of when I first met you.”
Man, I sure did spend a lot of time dressing up in scanty clothing around him, didn’t I? I was probably setting women’s lib back fifty years. Oh well. I’d be around for it to catch up.
“So why’s the clothing so important?” he asked.
“You’ll see,” I said. “Don’t change the subject. We need to talk. Now.”
“It can wait for the plane, along with my feeding.”
Sophie was at the airport, chartering a private jet for us. I made a face, just thinking about the henna-covered assassin. I didn’t like her. I certainly didn’t like her smug attitude, or the fact that she seemed to know quite a bit about my vampire lover.
As if reading my thoughts, Zane pulled a black sweater off a rack and put it in the cart. At my raised eyebrow, he commented, “It’s for Sophie. In case she needs to cover up. I can’t imagine that leather is warm and her tattoos catch the eye a bit too much.”
Fuck Sophie. I stared down at that black sweater and ground my teeth. What was the deal with him and her? It was making me anxious. “What’s going on that you can’t tell me about?”
He shook his head. “Later.”
I didn’t want later. Sophie would be back later, and that was precisely why I wanted to talk about it
now
. I shoved my cart past him and stalked toward the dressing room.
Zane trailed behind me, his leather duster swishing as he walked. “Are you really going to try those on?”
I parked the cart at the dressing room and pulled the red bra out of the cart, then glanced over my shoulder at him.
He rubbed his lip, grinning, and I saw the barest hint of fang. As I sauntered into the dressing rooms, I headed for the back. Someone was in the front stall, and I could hear a lot of shifting and clothing rustling. I picked a dressing room and slid in, shutting the door behind me, and waited, counting the seconds.
Seven passed before there was a soft knock at the door. “Come on in,” I said softly, and opened it for him.
His eyes were blazing red as he entered the small room, his gaze on me. “Going to model for me, Princess?”
I tugged at the knot at the back of my neck. The dress top fell to my waist, my long curls bouncing over my now-bare shoulders. “Maybe.”
He sat down on the bench in the dressing room across from the mirror, his long legs sprawling out. “Keep going, then.”
I grinned and gave a little shimmy, the dress pooling at my ankles and letting my breasts bounce free. At his rapt gaze, I took a step forward, brushing the tips against his mouth, his fangs prominent. He gave a low groan in his throat and laid a hand at the small of my back, tugging me against him until I had to brace my hands on his shoulders for support. My breasts were now crushed against his face, and as he glanced up at me, his teeth elongated.
“No drinking,” I whispered, feeling the pulse of desire flooding through my body. “Not until the plane.”
He raked his fangs over the swell of one breast, not breaking the skin, just a reminder. His red-eyed gaze remained hot on me, and I felt my sex grow wetter with need.
God I loved this man. My fingers twined in his hair and I leaned forward to kiss him, sucking at his upper lip. My legs slid over his until I was straddling him, feeling the hard length of his cock against my thighs.
And then I rolled my hips atop him.
He groaned, tilting his head back against the wall.
A fist banged on the wall behind us. “Get a room, you two.”
I stiffened in surprise. “Remy?”
A pause of silence, and then I heard a male groan in her room. Was that Ethan? I stifled the laugh in my throat. Looks like she and I had the same idea.
I glanced back down at Zane, my lips quirking. I swerved my torso slightly, letting my nipples brush past his face. “I’m not sure I can do this with Remy ten feet away and listening,” I whispered.
“I can,” he said, his tongue snaking out to lick one nipple.
My breath caught in my throat at the pulse of pleasure it sent through my body. I forced myself to pay attention to the reason why I was here. “Sophie?” I asked quietly again.
He shook his head. “Not here. Remy and Ethan—”
Another louder groan punctuated the air. I brushed my fingertips over Zane’s jaw. “Sounds like they’re busy. Just tell me.”
He gave me an agonized look. His hands went to my waist and he pulled me close, wrapping his arms around my naked body, hugging me. Just hugging me. His black head was nestled against my breasts.
That pang of foreboding hit me again. “What is it? Who is she? Why won’t you say?”
“I want you to know that I love you, Jackie,” he said softly against my skin. “Nothing has changed that since the day we met. You know that.”
“I do,” I said, brushing my fingers over the shell of his ear. I caught his earlobe between my fingers and then tugged, hard, trying to get his attention. “But just
tell
me.”
He paused, looking as defeated as I’d ever seen him.
“You’re scaring me,” I told him softly, anxiety making my entire body tense.
He shook his head and looked up at me. “You should know that she wasn’t my idea.”
“I don’t understand,” I said softly. “What do you mean, she wasn’t your idea?”
He heaved a sigh, glanced away, then back at me. “Sophie’s mine.”
I wasn’t following. “Yours?”
His gaze was solemn. “I created her. She’s another succubus that I made.”
“Did he introduce something into the relationship that you’re not keen on? Whether it’s an anal plug the size of a football, a pair of lick-happy twin blondes, or a wedding ring, the response is the same: If you want this to work, you’ve got to loosen up your muscles and just trust your partner.”—
The Bad Girl’s Guide to Dirty Sex,
by Remy Summore
~*~
We weren’t speaking.
Or rather, I wasn’t speaking to him. I had nothing to say. What could I possibly say that would relieve my seething jealousy? How could I possibly blithely explain away my sudden hatred of Sophie?
I couldn’t. So I said nothing.
I’d gone stiff in his arms, and Zane had quickly tried to explain that he’d never had a romantic relationship with Sophie. That she’d been a meal back in the days when meals had been scarce, and a Serim friend had wanted a companion. So Zane had helped turn her, and had thought nothing more of it. She’d dropped off his radar millennia ago.
Until she’d arrived with me.
So that was why Zane had been so quiet and secretive since he’d awoken. And that was why Remy and Ethan were constantly whispering. No one had wanted to tell me the truth—that Sophie was just like me.
That I was no longer special to Zane.
It hurt. It wasn’t rational in the slightest. I was the one that he loved. But it still hurt to think that she had that same special connection with him that I did. Worse, it hurt that no one had told me.
And so I didn’t talk to him on the flight to Denver. Zane had taken me to the private room in the back of the plane, had tried to talk about it with me. But I hadn’t wanted to talk about it, even when Zane had peppered my skin with affectionate kisses, speaking words of love. Even when I’d returned his caresses, and he’d had his teeth sunk into my neck, his cock sunk deep into my body.
I still kept thinking about it.
We were supposed to spend eternity together. Me and him. Zane and I. And now there was Sophie to think about.
~*~
By the time we disembarked from the plane, the sun was rising. We went to the rental car parking lot and Remy squinted at the sun. “It’s almost daylight,” she pointed out helpfully. “Are we going to keep on or should we stop for the day?”
Zane’s eyes were already heavily lidded, as if he struggled to stay awake. “I need to crash somewhere safe. It can’t be helped. You can go on ahead.”
“Then who’s going to protect you?” Remy asked.
“I will remain by his side,” Sophie said in her smooth voice.
That broke me from my silence. Like I was going to leave her with him. Alone. “We’re waiting for Zane.”
Sophie raised an eyebrow at me.
I scowled, ignoring her amusement. “It can wait a day.”
“If you say so,” she said sweetly.
~*~
We ended up at some tourist trap motel on the side of the road. We sent Ethan for food, and Remy tagged along. She wanted him to use some of his new “slang” and greet everyone with a hearty “’Sup, bro?”
I stayed behind, because that was where Zane was.
After Ethan and Remy left, Sophie turned toward me. I watched her with wary eyes as she crossed the room and moved to her sheathed sword. She pulled it out along with a whetstone and began to sharpen the blade.
I crossed my arms over my chest, frowning at her movements. Every motion of the whetstone emphasized the muscles in her arms, the delicate henna designs that she’d covered herself with. She was beautiful. Tough, deadly, and beautiful. I was neither tough nor deadly. That sucked. Since we were created to be the ideal of feminine beauty, I had little to no muscle, my body soft curves. Sophie, however, was toned and sleek and strong. That seemed unfair.
“Why do
you
have muscles?” I asked, hating the petulance in my voice.
She looked up, arched a black eyebrow at me. “Muscles?”
Despite myself, I moved forward. “Succubi don’t get super strength. How come you’re so strong?” It wasn’t that Sophie was overdeveloped like a bodybuilder. It was that wherever I had softness and curves, Sophie had muscle. She could take care of herself.
Sophie ran the whetstone along the edge of the blade, eyeing the metal. “You know that a succubus must be the ideal of femininity in her master’s eyes, do you not?”
I’d been rather plain and plump before I’d been turned, with reddish-brown, frizzy hair. Now I was curvy with a long, gleaming riot of bright red hair, and I was downright beautiful. Remy had told me she was fat when she was turned, so I guessed that all succubi went through some change like that. “Yes, but how did you get
muscle
? I’d freaking kill for some muscle.”
“When I was turned, it was considered a female beauty.” She gave me an amused look, as if titillated by my question. “Is it so hard to believe?”
“So nothing changed for you?” That hardly seemed fair.
She shook her head, the ropy dreads bouncing on her shoulders. “My breast grew back.”
I stared at her, aghast. “Grew… back?”
“Have you ever heard the legends of the Amazons?” she asked, sharpening the blade again and raising it to look down the balance. “Warrior women who cut off a breast as an offering to the goddess Artemis? So that they might draw their bows more easily?” Her mouth twitched at my horrified expression. “One breast is apparently not an idealized look for a woman. Mine grew back overnight. I had to learn a skill other than archery. I took up swords instead.”
Dear lord. She was just a fountain of information, wasn’t she? “So you’re an Amazon?”
“The Amazons were not a true tribe. I am Scythian. The legends were simply built off us.”
“And the henna? Is that a Scythian thing too?”
“It is not,” she said, sheathing her blade again and pulling out one of her throwing stars.
I eyed her decorated arms. It must have taken hours and hours on end. “I don’t understand. Then why do it?”
She carefully laid one of the stars on the table and reached for another, grazing her thumb against the edge of the blade. “When I became a succubus, many choices were taken from me. My appearance was changed without my consent. I cannot change that. No spells or charms work. So I do what I can to make this body my own.”
I sat at the foot of the bed, my hand automatically going to Zane’s ankle, as if I felt the need to touch him even though he couldn’t touch me back. My mind slipped to his, reaching for a connection. His thoughts were frenzied, tortured. I traded them for a soothing dream of us together, sitting at a lake at sunset, watching the water ripple in the breeze.
Sophie glanced askance at me. “You truly care for him?”
My hands tightened on Zane’s ankle. “I love him.”
She studied me for a minute longer. “That is a foolish path. He is not a good man. No vampire is.”
“You don’t know Zane.”
Her smile was sad. “Don’t I?”
That made me furious. “Not like I know him.”
Sophie glanced back down at her weapons, then at me. “I believe you. I only seek to caution you that it is not a wise path. Those who can control you will never stop abusing the power. Love does not come with conditions, and you cannot have a relationship when such things stand in your way. You must love someone that you cannot control—and who cannot control you—or else you are doomed to fail.”
I said nothing. She was wrong.
“I see my words offend you,” she said with a slow, carefree smile. “I am glad to hear of your love for your master, though. It would make things difficult between us if you tried to kill him, as I would be forced to stop you.”
“Kill him,” I sputtered. “Are you crazy?”
Her blue eyes blinked at me, so bright in her dark face. “It is not so crazy. I killed my Serim master. Did Zane tell you that? He enslaved me because he was bored.” She sneered the words. “And I served him for many, many years. When I broke free, I destroyed him and vowed to never be another man’s puppet. I would have killed Zane as well, except I found out that if his existence ended, so did mine. I find that I rather like existing. As a result, I will take down anything that threatens that existence, be it Phryne or Serim, or you.”