Page 102 of The Succubi's Choice

“Because the Organization has been saying they scared you away,” he says, equally light. “And some people believed them.”

“Well, as long as I’m not tortured again, that’s pretty ballsy of them to say.” She ducks into her bathroom, grabbing a brush and running it through her tangles, yanking them into something resembling submission. “I mean, unless Lundy was the one feeding that, he was ridiculously upset stuff was kept from him.”

There’s a single quirk of an eyebrow, as he watches her go to battle with her hair like it’s as interesting as all the prep work he must be doing with whatever coalition. “As long as you’re willing, I’d like to show them you’re not scared.”

The way he says it hangs along a thread, like he’s stating a fact and simultaneously asking her permission. Asking if she had been scared.

“Shall I take off the cover up?” She asks, holding up her arm with the patchy foundation paint, and his eyes crease in a fraction of relief.

Without waiting for him to respond, she grabs her makeup remover wipes, and the foundation slides right off, revealing the angry black marks underneath.

“It’s looking more healed,” he says, even though it looks exactly the same to her. “Less...vicious.”

“It still aches like a mother,” she says, going back to her hair, piling it into a bun because doing anything else seems like too much effort, and it shows off the pretty neckline that way. “Are the same people going to be there...”

By the flicker of his eyes, he knows exactly what she’s referring to. “I do not have control of who is in attendance,” he says, smooth. “I understand if that means you do not want to attend.”

A small part of her, the part that’s always nervous and always queasy with anxiety, hardens into a lump in the center of her stomach. That the woman would be there, after staring at her and commanding she be tortured, after lying about her in such an explosive and destructive way. That she probably still believes, beyond the base scientific fact, that she is stronger than she actually is, that she’s able to do things she cannot.

“Can I charm her away from me?” Miri asks, only half joking, because that would not help issues but would feel entirely wonderful. “Or is it more of an honor system for that?” She puts on a quick swipe of mascara, but doesn’t bother with the rest of the makeup, not after how tired and crusty she felt after the last time.

When she gets no response, she pokes her head back out of the bathroom to look at him, and he’s writing down another rune on another post-it note.

“Do you just...keep those with you wherever you go?” She asks, and gets an absent-minded nod. “Wait, really?”

“It’s useful.” He steps close, slipping the folded up note into her purse, a quick motion of his long fingers. “It’s the easiest way for me to protect something...or someone...if I’m not able to lay my hand on them.”

And with that movement, he’s standing close to her, ever so close, and it’s like she can’t breathe for a few seconds. “Right,” she says, airily, blinking up at him. “Protect.”

“It’ll do a better job than your gun,” he says, but he doesn’t move away, looking down at her with heavy lids.

And this, at least, she knows how to react to. Knows how to respond and draw out a reaction, how to hold her body to get him to do what she wants.

So she turns into him, not quite touching him, but close, very close. “And you’re just trying to protect me,” she says, meeting his eyes.

They flash red for a brief, brief second, before he nods, so she slips her hand around his waist, underneath his suit jacket, relishing in the soft fabric and the warmth.

He twitches again, the same almost motion of not quite discomfort but not quite knowing what to do with himself, and she stands on her tiptoes, pressing a slow kiss to his lips.

He freezes, for a brief second, before he entwines his arm around her, opening his mouth to hers, soft and gentle. Like he’s the one afraid she’ll break.

She savors it, for a long moment, before pulling away and raising an eyebrow at him, her heart thudding nonetheless. “So we’re going to show them I wasn’t scared off?” She prompts.

It takes a few seconds of blinking, before he nods. “That your Organization isn’t keeping people from me.” There’s a hitch in his voice, ever so slight, before he leans back down and kisses her again, a hand coming up to the nape of her neck.

He kisses her like a man starved for food, like someone completely alienated from all touch, like someone who’s denied himself for too long, and it makes her head swim. Makes her feel like she’s spinning around and if he isn’t there to catch her she’ll fall down, makes her heart pound and her blood course through her.

Her charm sparks, completely useless, into the air around him with an audible snap, and he pulls away with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah, it still does that,” she says, dropping her arm from around him and rubbing the black marks. “It’s really distracting.”

He just smiles at her, a small moment, before he steps away, like a proper courtier of old. “Shall we?”

And he’s so flustered, such a powerful person crammed into such a normal body that he’s flustered, and she takes his arm with a smile. “Sure.”

She pulls out her phone, awkward in the motions, showing it to him with a forced smile. “I promised my friend I would give her updates,” she says.

He nods, as if he agrees it’s perfectly reasonable.

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