Succubus Shadows (25 page)

All things are possible.

I sat up from the couch, my gaze falling on the spot where Aubrey and Godiva slept next to each other. Godiva had come to me after I’d dreamed her. The dream I still maintained was impossible.

Miracles are real, Georgina. You’ve just got to lift yourself out of the muck to make them. You’ve got to take the chance.

Could I? Would I? Was there a miracle somewhere in the muck of this despair, heartache, death, and betrayal? I couldn’t see through it. I didn’t know where to start. Carter had said change happened through small acts. All I had to do was pick something. Anything. Take the chance.

Again, I focused on Godiva. The man in the dream. Maybe it was Seth. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe I could make it him. His love had been great enough to rescue me and then try to rescue himself. I realized now what had been bothering me. He was doing all of this—how could I do any less? All my life, I’d hidden from hard choices. I’d always found some compromise to avoid bad things, the results of which never really turned out that great. If anything, they’d become worse. My love for Seth was no less than his for me, but I hadn’t been willing to do the things that might hurt.

He’d told me there was no way the universe would let us stay apart. He was right—and this time,
I
would be the one who made sure we came together again. I wouldn’t abandon him.

I was moving toward the door, my coat and purse in hand, when Roman came home, carrying flowers. He took one look at me and offered a small bitter laugh that carried all the woe and resignation in the world. The bouquet sagged in his hands.

“You’re going to Seth.”

“How did you know?”

“Because…because you’re shining. Because you look like you’ve found all the answers in the universe.”

“I don’t know about that,” I said. “But I’ve found some kind of answer. He’s risked so much for me…. We found each other across all the other souls in the world….” I trailed off, feeling horrible. My decision about Seth burned brightly in me, but Roman’s face…there seemed to be nothing in this world that didn’t end up causing someone pain. “I was wrong to abandon him. Especially now.”

“Sounds like you better go to him,” said Roman at last.

“Roman—”

He shook his head. “Go.”

I went.

I hadn’t been to Seth’s condo in so long, not in the flesh. Walking up to the door, a barrage of memories flooded me, particularly that first night I’d stayed over when he had taken care of me….

It wasn’t that late, but when he opened the door, there was a scattered, mussed look to him that made me think he’d been sleeping. Or maybe he’d just been too consumed by writing to properly groom. It happened sometimes when he got caught up with the worlds in his mind.

From the look on his face, it was clear he was in this world now. I don’t think he’d believed he’d see me for a very long time. I wondered if I was still shining the way Roman had claimed I was because Seth’s eyes regarded me with more than just surprise. There was wonder and awe there. I’d only driven across town, made one impulse decision to come here, but we might as well have been meeting across time and space again.

“Georgina,” he breathed. “What are you—”

I didn’t let him finish. I threw myself into his arms and kissed him.

And this time, I didn’t pull back.

N
ot even when I felt his life energy come into me. I kept going.

He pulled me into his condo, deftly kicking the door shut with his foot. His arms gripped me close, and we never broke the kiss as we stumbled through the living room and into his bedroom. We fell onto the bed, removing each other’s clothing with practiced ease, almost like Mexico had just been the warm-up. My hands ran over the lean muscles of his chest, the scent of his skin drowning me. Letting down all restraint made me feel that much giddier—as did the sweet, glorious taste of his soul wrapping around me.

Was it my imagination, or was it a
little
purer than it had been in Mexico? Had one decision to come back and face his fears cleaned that darkness even a little? I didn’t know for sure, and even if it wasn’t perfect, the energy still felt amazing.

“Why?” he asked at last. His thoughts and feelings were coming through with the energy, and I’d wondered when he’d bring up the question warring with his desire. His hands continued touching me the whole time, one sliding up between my thighs. “Why now?”

I arched my hips against his, crying out softly as his fingers slid into me. His mouth crushed mine, killing off my response for a moment. “Because I’m tired of fighting it. You’re right. We’re going to keep coming back to each other over and over….” My eloquent speech was put on hold again when his mouth moved down to my breast, letting his tongue toy with my nipple. “You’ve said before you’ll risk the shortening of your life…. I’ll risk your mortality. I’ll risk it all to be with you…to help you. If you still want it…”

“Yes,” he breathed against my flesh. “Yes.”

“I won’t leave you alone through this,” I murmured. “And I don’t want to be alone either….”

Those were my last coherent words. He gently rolled himself onto me and slid his hands up my arms so that they could hold my wrists against the bed. I spread my legs, welcoming his body as it pushed into mine. Just like the first time we’d had sex, there was one perfect moment—one moment of astonishing, total completion. Like we’d found something we’d lost and were afraid we’d lose it again if we moved.

Then, the metaphysical sentiment was gone, replaced by the driving desire of our bodies. He thrust into me, gently at first, then steadily increased the strength. I stared at him wide-eyed, taking in every feature, refusing to miss one instant of this experience. And believe me, I was getting quite the experience. Aside from the ecstasy of our bodies moving together, I still had his energy and feelings coming in. Knowing what he was thinking as we made love added a whole new dimension to it all. Sometimes with men it would be coherent thoughts. With him, it was just pure emotion. Love and trust and longing…feelings so strong that he was willing to risk anything for them, anything to be with me. Even his life.

My body burned against his, growing increasingly turned on by the rapture and love on his face juxtaposed with the fierceness of the way he held me and kept pushing into me. Everything grew more intense—both physically and spiritually—and my body finally reached its breaking point. I came with a loud cry and thrashed against him, wanting to free my arms and wrap them around him. He continued holding me until he came, which didn’t take much longer. The full burst of his soul’s energy flooded me with his orgasm, and I heard myself moaning again at the joy of it. He thrust in a few more times, the motions growing slower and longer as his body took its release. The grip on my wrists loosened, and he shifted over to his side, taking me with him. I pressed against his chest, feeling the racing of his heart and sweat on his skin.

My own heart was pounding too as my body reveled in its own satiation. Every part of me still tingled, and though there was really no way to get closer, I tried anyway. I wanted as much skin to touch as possible. I wanted as much of him blending into me as possible. He brushed the hair from my face and rained kisses down upon my forehead.

“So that’s the full succubus effect, huh?”

“Yup.”

“Worth it,” he murmured. Already, I could see the loss of energy taking its toll. “Whatever the cost, worth it.”

I refused to allow myself to ponder that cost. Making love in the full throes of my succubus abilities might have added a powerful element, but it had undoubtedly taken years off his life. It wasn’t for me to decide if it had been worth it, though. He’d made this choice.

Said choice was exhausting him, and I knew he’d soon sleep for a very long time as his body and soul recovered their losses. I shifted so that we changed positions, bringing his head to lie against my breasts.

“Rest,” I said, wrapping my arms around him.

He tilted his head, looking up at me with warm, sleepy eyes. “Don’t want to sleep yet…I want to stay with you. Will you be here in the morning this time?”

“Yes,” I said, kissing the top of his head. “I promise. I won’t leave you again.”

A small smile played over his lips, and he allowed his lids to close. He snuggled against me, body relaxing. “The world…” he said softly, as sleep began taking him. “You are the world, Letha….”

I stiffened.

“What did you say?”

My voice was too loud, jarring enough to momentarily startle him out of the slumber his body now longed for. “Hmm? I said you were the world, Georgina.” He gave a small yawn.

“That’s not what you called me,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm.

“What did I call you? Thetis?” Oh, if only. If only it had been his nickname for me.

“You called me…Letha.”

He fought to keep his eyes open and yawned again. “Why would I have said that?”

“I…don’t know. Where did you hear it?”

Yes, indeed. Where
would
he have heard my name? Hardly anyone knew it. Greater immortals knew it, and that was pretty much it. The only lesser immortals who did were Niphon and Kristin, who’d had access to my records. I was pretty sure they’d never told my other immortal friends. I was confident they’d never told Seth.

Seth’s brow furrowed a little, then smoothed as he closed his eyes again. “Don’t know. Greek myths, I guess. The River Lethe, where the dead go to wash away the memories from their souls…to forget the past. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” I said, scarcely breathing.
Where did he pull that name from?

“Letha, Lethe…” I could barely hear him now. “Almost the same.”

“Almost,” I agreed. My voice was nearly as inaudible as his. My name. He shouldn’t have known my name. A panic I couldn’t explain began fluttering within me.

Something about my mood must have still penetrated his haze because he stirred slightly, though his eyes remained closed. There was worry in his drowsy words.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Get some rest.”

Where had he heard my name? Minutes ago I’d been on fire. Now I felt cold.

“You sure?” he murmured. “Everything’s okay?” He exhaled deeply, and I felt him succumb to sleep with those last words.

“Fine,” I said, staring off into the night. “Everything’s fine.”

Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of Richelle Mead’s next Eugenie Markham novel

IRON CROWNED

coming soon from Kensington Publishing!

D
on’t confuse fairy queens with fairy princesses.

Where I come from, girls who want to be fairy princesses usually dream about gossamer wings and frilly dresses. Pink dresses, at that. I’m pretty sure rhinestones are part of being a fairy princess too, as are cute wands with stars on top that grant wishes. Fairy princesses expect lovely lives of luxury and lounging, ones that involve small woodland creatures waiting on their every need.

As a fairy queen, I can admit that there
is
a bit more involvement with woodland creatures than one might expect. But the rest? A total joke. Fairies—the kind I deal with, at least—rarely have wings. My wand is made of rough gemstones bound together, and I use it to blast Otherworldly creatures out of existence. I’ve also whacked a few people in the head with it. My life is dirty, harsh, and deadly, the kind of life no frilly dress could withstand. I wear jeans. Most importantly, I look horrible in pink.

I’m also pretty sure that fairy princesses don’t have to deal with this kind of shit first thing in the morning.

“I have killed…Eugenie Markham.”

The words rang out loud and clear through a dining room filled with about thirty people eating at round wooden tables. The ceilings were vaulted, and the rough stone walls made it look like part of a medieval castle because…well, it kind of was. Most of the morning diners were soldiers and guards, but a few were officials and high-ranking servants who lived and worked within the castle.

Dorian, king of the Oak Land and my bondage-loving Otherworldly boyfriend, sat at the head table and looked up from his breakfast to see who had made such a bold statement. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”

The speaker, standing on the other side of the table, turned as red as the uniform he wore. He looked about twenty-something in human years, meaning he was probably a hundred or so in fairy—or gentry, the name I preferred—years. The guy bit his lip and straightened his posture, making another attempt at dignity as he glared at Dorian.

“I
said
I killed Eugenie Markham.” The man—a soldier, it appeared—looked around at the faces, no doubt hoping his message would inspire horrified reactions. Mostly his words brought about good-natured confusion, largely because half of the people gathered in the room could see me standing in the hall outside. “I have killed your queen, and now your armies will crumble. Surrender immediately, and her royal majesty, Queen Katrice of the Rowan Land, will be merciful.”

Dorian didn’t answer right away and didn’t look very concerned. He delicately patted his mouth with a brocade napkin and then returned it to his lap. “Dead? Are you sure?” He glanced over at a dark-haired woman sitting beside him. “Shaya, didn’t we just see her yesterday?”

“Yes, sire,” replied Shaya, pouring cream into her tea.

Dorian brushed autumn-red hair out of his face and returned to cutting up the sugary, almond-coated pastry that was serving as his most important meal of the day. “Well, there you have it. She can’t be dead.”

The Rowan soldier stared in disbelief, growing more and more incredulous as people continued to either regard him curiously or simply ignore him altogether. The only person who seemed mildly concerned was an elderly gentry woman sitting on the other side of Dorian. Her name was Ranelle, and she was an ambassador from the Linden Land. She’d only arrived yesterday and clearly wasn’t used to the wacky mishaps around here.

The soldier turned his attention back to Dorian. “Are you as insane as they say you are? I killed the Thorn Queen! Look.” He threw down a silver-and-moonstone necklace. It clattered against the hard tiled floor, and the pale, iridescent stones just barely picked up some of the morning light. “I cut this off of her corpse.
Now
do you believe me?”

That brought some silence to the room, and even Dorian paused. It was indeed my necklace, and seeing it made me absentmindedly touch the bare spot on my throat left by the necklace’s absence. Dorian wore his perpetually bored expression, but I knew him well enough to guess at the maelstrom of thoughts swirling behind his green eyes.

“If that’s true,” Dorian replied at last, “then why didn’t you actually bring us her corpse?”

“It’s with my queen,” said the soldier smugly, thinking he’d finally gained ground. “She kept it as a trophy. If you cooperate, she
might
release it to you.”

“I don’t believe it.” Dorian peered down the table. “Rurik, will you pass the salt? Ah, thank you.”

“King Dorian,” said Ranelle uneasily, “perhaps you should pay more attention to what this man has to say. If the queen is dead—”

“She’s not,” said Dorian bluntly. “And this sauce is delicious.”

“Why don’t you believe me?” exclaimed the soldier, sounding oddly childlike. “Did you think she was invincible? Did you think no one could kill her?”

“No,” admitted Dorian. “I just don’t think
you
could kill her.”

Ranelle tried again. “My lord, how do you know that the queen isn’t—”

“Because she’s standing right there. Will you all shut up now so I can eat in peace?”

The interruption—and end to this farce—came from Jasmine, my teenage sister. Like me, she was half-human. Unlike me, she was totally unstable and was consequently eating her breakfast with loose but magic-stunting handcuffs on. She also had headphones on, and the breakfast debate must have been overpowering her current playlist.

Thirty faces turned toward where I stood near the doorway, and there was a mad scramble as almost everyone shoved back their chairs and tried to rise for a hasty bow. I sighed. I’d been comfortable leaning against the wall, resting from a hard night’s journey as I watched this absurdity unfolding in my Otherworldly home. The gig was up now. I threw back my shoulders and strode into the dining room, putting on all the queenly airs I could.

“The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated,” I announced. I had a feeling I’d messed up the Mark Twain quote, but in this crowd, nobody knew the reference, anyway. Most thought I was simply stating the facts. Which, really, I was.

The Rowan soldier’s flushed face suddenly went white, his eyes bugging out. He took a few steps backward and glanced uneasily around. There was really nowhere else he could go.

As I walked up to my necklace I gestured for those who were standing and bowing to sit down. Picking it up from the floor, I eyed it critically. “You broke the clasp.” I studied it a few more moments and then turned my glare on him. “You broke it when you ripped it off my neck while we were fighting—
not
when you killed me. Obviously.” I just barely recalled grappling with this guy last night. He’d been one among many. I’d lost him in the midst of the chaos, but apparently Katrice had decided to send him here with a story after he’d captured this “evidence.”

“You look amazing for being dead, my dear,” called Dorian. “You should really come join us and try this sauce that Ranelle brought.”

I ignored Dorian, both because he expected me to and because I knew I didn’t look so amazing. My clothes were ripped and dirty, and I’d accrued a few cuts in last night’s battle. Judging from the haze of red I kept seeing out of the corners of my eyes, I had a feeling my hair was frizzy and sticking up in about a hundred different directions. It was already turning into a hot day, and my stuffy castle was making me sweat profusely.

“No,” gasped the Rowan soldier. “You can’t be alive. Balor swore he saw you fall—he told the queen—”

“Will you guys stop this already?” I demanded, leaning in close to his face. This made a few of my own guards step nearer, but I wasn’t worried. This loser wouldn’t try anything, and besides, I could defend myself. “When is your fucking queen going to stop turning every rumor about Dorian or me dying into some huge proclamation? Haven’t you ever heard of
habeas corpus?
Never mind. Of course you haven’t.”

“Actually,” piped in Dorian. “I know Latin.”

“It won’t work, anyway,” I growled to the Rowan guy. “Even if I were dead, it’s not going to stop our kingdoms from trampling yours.”

That pulled him out of his stupefied state. Fury lit his features—fury spiked with a little bit of insane zeal. “You half-breed bitch!
You’re
the one who’s going to be blighted from existence! You, the Oak King, and everyone else who lives in your cursed lands. Our queen is mighty and great! Already she’s in negotiations with the Aspen and Willow Lands to unite against you! She will grind you with her foot and take this land, take it and—”

“Can I kill him? Please?” This was Jasmine. Her gray eyes looked at me pleadingly, and she’d taken the headphones off. What should have been teenage sarcasm was actually deadly seriousness. It was days like these I regretted keeping her in the Otherworld rather than sending her back to live with humans. Surely it wasn’t too late for reform school. “I haven’t killed any of your people, Eugenie. You know I haven’t. Let me do something to him. Please.”

“He’s under a truce flag,” replied Shaya automatically. Protocol was her specialty.

Dorian turned toward her. “Damn it, woman! I’ve told you to stop letting them in with immunity. Wartime rules be damned.” Shaya only smiled, unconcerned by his mock outrage.

“But he
is
protected,” I said, suddenly feeling exhausted. Last’s night battle—more of a skirmish, really—had ended in a draw between my armies and Katrice’s. It was incredibly frustrating, making the loss of life on both sides seem totally pointless. I beckoned some of my guards forward. “Get him out of here. Put him on a horse, and don’t send him with any water. Let’s hope the roads are kind to him today.”

The guards bowed obediently, and I turned back to Katrice’s man.

“And you can let Katrice know that she’s wasting her time, no matter how often she wants to claim she’s killed me—or if she even manages it. We’re still going to see this war through, and she’s the one who’s going to lose. She’s outnumbered and outresourced. She started this over a personal fight, and no one else is going to help her with it. Tell her that if
she
surrenders immediately, then maybe we’ll be merciful.”

The Rowan soldier glared at me with pure malice but offered no response. The best he could manage was to spit on the ground before the guards dragged him off. With another sigh, I turned away and looked at the breakfast table. They’d already brought up a chair for me.

“Is there any toast?” I asked, sitting down wearily.

Toast was not a common item on the gentry menu, but the servants here had gotten used to my human preferences. They still couldn’t make decent tequila, and Pop-Tarts were totally out of the question. But, toast? Toast was within their skill set. Someone handed a basket of it to me, and everyone continued eating peacefully. Well, almost everyone. Ranelle was staring at all of us like we were crazy, which I could understand.

“How can you be so calm?” she exclaimed. “After that man just—just—and you…” She looked me over in amazement. “Forgive me, your majesty, but your attire…you’ve clearly been in battle. Yet, here you are, sitting as though this were all perfectly ordinary.”

I gave her a cheerful look, not wanting to offend our guest or project a weak image. I’d just arrogantly told the Rowan soldier that his queen would never gain any allies, but his comment about her negotiating with the Aspen and Willow Lands hadn’t been lost on me. Katrice and I were both scrambling for allies in this war. Dorian was mine, giving me the edge in numbers right now, and I didn’t want to risk any chance of that balance being altered.

Dorian caught my eye and gave me one of his small, laconic smiles. It warmed me up, easing a little of the frustration I felt. Some days, I felt like he was all that was going to get me through this war I’d inadvertently stumbled into. I’d never wanted it. I’d never wanted to be queen of a fey kingdom, either, forcing me to split my time between here and my human life in Tucson. I certainly hadn’t wanted to be at the center of a prophecy that claimed I’d give birth to humanity’s conqueror, a prophecy that had driven Katrice’s son to rape me. Dorian had killed him for it, something I still didn’t regret, even though I hated every day of the war that had followed in its wake.

I couldn’t tell Ranelle any of that, of course. I wanted to send her back to her land with an image of confidence and power, so that her king would think allying with us was a smart move. A brilliant move, even. I couldn’t tell Ranelle my fears. I couldn’t tell her that Dorian and I took turns visiting the armies and fighting with them—and how on those nights, the one who wasn’t fighting never got any sleep. Despite his flippancy, I knew Dorian had felt a spark of fear at the Rowan soldier’s initial claim. Katrice was always trying to demoralize us. Both Dorian and I feared that someday, one of her heralds would show up telling the truth. It made me want to run away with him right now, run away from all of this and just wrap up in his arms.

But again, I reminded myself that I had to brush those thoughts away. Leaning over, I gave Dorian a soft kiss on his cheeks. The smile I offered Ranelle was as winning and upbeat as one he might produce. “Actually,” I told her. “This
is
a pretty ordinary day for us.”

The sad part? It was true.