Page 19 of Wicked Succubus

A van pulls up and a group of people step out. They move with a precise efficiency that tells me they’ve done this many times before. They open the back doors and start pulling out biohazard suits and full-face masks. It's clear they’re a cleanup crew, here to handle the aftermath and remove any evidence. They’re swift and methodical, getting ready to sanitize the area and take away the body.

I watch them for a moment, then make my way down the stairs when I know Trisha won’t say anything else. They’ll probably take her to Radnor to confirm her story. I pause mid-step. As I get ready to get in Agent Cooper’s car, my body shivers, and it’s not from the breeze. When I look up, a set of dark eyes stare at me from across the street. I reach into my hoodie and grip my hands through the center pocket. Could this be the murderer lingering at his crime scene, or has someone realized my secret? I’ve been so messy lately, and letting the man go at the club while I fed on his friends was a huge mistake. Until I find him, every stranger in the night could be here to blow my cover or exact revenge. I hate unfinished business.

Chapter 11

Cooper

This is a bad idea. A very bad idea. The worst idea I’ve ever come up with. I’m taking Zelyah to see my father, King of the Spring Court. This will not end well for either of us.

It’s Friday afternoon, and I have to meet my father in my realm—Faerie. I’m not looking forward to this. Zelyah talks at inappropriate times, and I know my father won’t understand her humor. Dealing with her at the best of times tests my patience, but introducing her snark and impulsiveness into the formal Fae Court seems like a recipe for disaster.

My father, High King, has little tolerance for anything. He demands order and respect from his subjects at all times. Zelyah knows none of our customs or etiquette rules. Her instinct will be to mock and provoke. I don’t know if my father and Zelyah are going to get along, or if they’re going to yell at each other the whole time at dinner. The latter seems more likely. Zelyah takes no shit from anyone, and my father . . . well, he definitely doesn’t take shit from anyone, even from me or my younger brother and sister. So, after thinking this through, this is probably a horrible idea. She has no filter and even less self-control. I can already envision her blurting out something rude.

I don’t know her very well, but although she gets on my last damn nerve, I can’t seem to get her out of my mind. Every time I’m trying to do something, she breaks my concentration, and it only makes me hate her more. Just the other day, I was tracking an Orc, and she decided to call me mid-pursuit. I told her only to call if it was truly important. She insisted brownies qualified as vital enough to interrupt my work. I told her I was busy and ended the call, trying to refocus on the target.

Unfortunately, the distraction allowed the Orc to slip away uncaught. When I got home without brownies, I found she’d made good on her threat of payback. Changing all my phone settings into a foreign language, hiding my keys, and resetting my work alarm to 3 a.m. Minor but infuriating inconveniences I had to waste time fixing. And clearly it was just a warning, because she insists that she’s capable of much worse. As aggravating as she can be, I’ve learned it’s smarter to simply indulge her cravings. A small price to keep her here. There’s no way I’m leaving Zelyah here by herself. There’s something off about her, and I plan to watch her like a hawk until I figure it out.

I’m standing outside of her room trying to decide how to deliver the news to her. I sigh before knocking softly, and the door swings open with ease, offering me a startling view of Agent Easton Barlowe spending time with Zelyah . . . in her room. Anger bubbles up, and I try to squash it down. There’s no need for that. Still, I can’t help how much it rattles me to see her laughing with him. I assigned his ass to watch the fucking house, not make friends. He’s helping her build something, but I’m not sure what it is yet. He’s got a drill in one hand while Zel holds on to screws.

“Easton, what are you still doing in my house?” I try to sound nonchalant, but I know it comes off a little edgy. I just hope they don’t notice.

“Zel and I were just discussing some plans, and I’m helping her build a bookshelf,” he answers, unaware of how much I’m seething inside.

Plans? Plans . . . ? Why the fuck are they discussing anything? This guy is only supposed to watch her from afar, nothing else.

“Yeah, is that a problem?” She crosses her arms and lifts her chin in defiance, “I’m technically still being watched if that’s what you’re worried about.”

She smirks, knowing she has me where she wants me, and I fucking hate that she can do that to me. No one has been able to push me this far.

I clear my throat before answering, “Yeah, it shouldn’t be a problem.” I grit my teeth.

He grabs the drill, lines up the head with the bit, and slowly squeezes the trigger. The head spins just like my emotions, and as he pushes the drill, Zel watches intently.

“When are you two planning on hanging out?” I can’t bring myself to say go on a date because it makes me nauseous. Maybe having her go out with one of my agents knowing she kills human men for a living freaks me out. What’s stopping her from attempting to take out a supernatural man as well? I should probably say no, but if this cocky asshole thinks he can handle her, then by all means, let him try.

“Tomorrow night.” She smiles and gives him a look that makes me want to gag. He’s staring up at her like he’d give her the world if she only asked, but something doesn’t sit right with me. Although she sounds genuine about going on this date, she seems way too excited. I can’t quite pinpoint what it is about her that makes her so dangerous.

Easton’s phone rings, and he looks down.

“Oh shoot, I have to take this,” he says, juggling her finished bookshelf into a corner. He hurries out of the room, leaving me to step inside. She’s beaming at his retreating figure, but when she turns to me, her grin turns angry.

“What do you want?” she snaps, her cloyingly sweet tone now brimming with resentment. At least she’s real with me. The voice she used with Easton was so fake. I don’t know why, but I think she’s using him for something. The fact she asked him to build her a fucking bookshelf in my home when she literally doesn’t have a single possession that I haven’t provided her with was obviously a ruse to get him in the door. I don’t know what she wants from him yet, but I intend to find out.

“I have stylists coming here for your hair, makeup, and clothing. You have—” I look at my watch, “five minutes.” My tone is clipped. My mood has soured even more now.

She moves closer, and I fist my hands next to me for self-control. She’s a killer. I can’t get close to her, but she draws me in so effortlessly that it’s hard to remember why distance is necessary. She kills humans for fun, and although I’m not human, I still feel a little something for the men she’s murdered. She isn’t someone I want to get involved with.

“What do I need to get dressed up for?” She looks at me suspiciously, showing she still doesn’t trust me. The feeling is mutual.

“You’re coming to Faerie with me.”

“No—” she stutters, and her face turns pale. I honestly wasn’t expecting her to shiver at the thought of my home. Most supernaturals are intrigued and want to go. “I’m staying here.”

“This is not up for debate. I can’t get someone to watch you, and I can’t leave you by yourself, so the only other option is to take you with me.”

“I’m not going to Faerie,” she replies, and I know that I’ll have to drag her along if she doesn’t want to come willingly.

“Fine. If you come, I’ll let you drive my car tomorrow night on your . . . date.” Those words leave a sour taste in my mouth.

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