Page 13 of The Succubus's Song

“How do like your steak, m-ma’am?” he stuttered, and the tremble in his voice started calling out to Mara’s instincts. A shiver went up her spine as she leaned forward, propping her elbow on the table and resting her chin in her hand.

“Rare.” Mara smiled, running her tongue over her teeth. The waiter blanched.

“Now, just so you know, ‘rare’ means there’s pink in the middle—”

Mara’s amusement quickly turned to anger, and she nearly hissed. She raised a brow as her smile disappeared, leaving a disapproving sneer in its place.

“I know that, you imbecile,” Mara mocked. “Did you want me to order a Cosmopolitan and the garden salad?”

“Well, n-no, whatever you’d like—”

“Take it easy, pal.” Finley McEwan emerged from the dark pub and clapped the waiter on the back like they were old friends. “Let me guess, you tried to explain the lady’s own order to her?”

“Finley!” Mara exclaimed, nearly jumping to her feet. “What the hell?”

Fucking Christ, Mara cursed, straightening up. What is he doing here?!

She leaned back until she brushed against the brick wall, trying to keep the surprise off her face. Mara was holding her breath entirely now, refusing to breathe with Finley’s scent so close to her.

And why does he always look so…delectable.

Over the years, Mara had always appreciated a distinct sort of companion—the well-dressed and forgettable type. Whether they were bankers or salesmen, Mara always looked for a tailored suit and a generic haircut—the kind of man who would always win over your parents but would never leave much of an impression.

She couldn’t be in the business of keeping men around, not when she posed an innate danger to them, and it was always easy to slip out of a John’s or a Jack’s or a Caleb’s bed the next morning without much fuss.

Finley McEwan, on the other hand, was not Mara’s type. He stood above most of the bar’s patrons at six feet two inches, with dark hair and darker features, perpetually dressed in athletic gear—even if it was still well-tailored. He was wearing a black sweatsuit that highlighted his athletic frame and looked more like something that a businessman would wear in first class. In the few months she’d known him, he’d always had a clean-shaven face, but recently, he’d been showing up with dark stubble across his jaw.

God, I bet the beard burn alone could make a woman… Fucking stop that right now, Mara Parker!

“Um…” the waiter stammered, clearly unsure what to do in that situation.

“I’ve been there.” Finley winked, sitting down across from Mara as if it was no big deal.

“Now, wait,” Mara pointed at him, “I didn’t say you could…”

“I’ll take the same as the lady.” Finley grinned, picking up Mara’s menu and handing it back to the server. “Oh, except, you know what? You can make mine a Cosmo. And don’t forget the garnish. I love those.”

Finley was smiling like he didn’t have a care in the world, sandwiched between an outraged Mara and a very confused waiter.

“You got it, pal,” Finley encouraged, flashing the waiter a thumbs-up. “I’m sure you can do this. She’ll behave, I promise.”

“Fuck you, I will not,” Mara grumbled, shaking her head in dismay as the waiter sprinted off to the kitchen. “What are you doing here, Finley?”

“Well,” Finley shrugged carelessly, “Emmett told me what you said this morning. Oh, sorry…” He paused, interrupting himself. “Emmett told me what you demanded this morning, and I haven’t been able to get it out of my head all day. So here I am.”

“I see,” Mara purred, regaining some of her composure. “And what is it that I’m supposed to have said?”

Finley opened his mouth to answer but paused as the bumbling waiter reappeared, visibly nervous, and placed their drinks down in front of them. He vanished again without saying a word, and Mara couldn’t help but smirk at how terrified he smelled.

She picked up her whisky and took a sip, appreciating the warm, smoky burn. It took some of the focus off the heat that pulsed through her veins, reminding her of her hunger. For a few moments, she could simply pretend it was the alcohol. Finley picked up the martini glass, which looked comically small in his large hands, and sipped at the pink drink without a care in the world.

He’s so endearing. Fuck him.

Mara took another sip and waited. Finley’s smile didn’t falter.

“Apparently, you told Emmett that you were responsible for… What was it… ‘Keeping my ass out of trouble’?”

Mara froze for a second. She must’ve given herself away because Finley looked even more pleased with himself.

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