Page 28 of The Succubi's Choice

“No,” Gabriel says, and Jacqueline looks as frozen as Miri feels. “Whoever you are, back off.”

“Noble,” the Not-Thomas murmurs, like he’s sharing a secret, like he’s letting her into a deal. Like they’re co-conspirators.

She opens her mouth to respond and he surges forward, vice hand gripping her by the collar and lifting her up, as if she weighs nothing. His fingers burn where they graze her, searing hot.

She kicks out futilely, and - -

Gabriel shoots, the bang too close and too painful and too bright, so loud she can practically see it.

Blood blossoms across the demon’s white shirt, and this time, Jacqueline screams.

The fingers briefly spasm against Miri’s collar, but he doesn’t otherwise even waver, even look over at Gabriel. His lips quirk up into the smile again as he watches Miri twist to try to get away, but her thrashing does nothing.

He’s not choking her, she can breathe but for the terror clawing down her.

“I want to talk to you,” he murmurs, as if this is a normal way to convey that sentiment. His fingers against her burn so hot, she wouldn’t be surprised if they left marks. “Alone, without your Organization —"

Gabriel shoots again, and another flash of blood bursts across the white shirt, and this time the demon jerks back, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

Gingerly, as if she is what’s injured right now, the demon sets Miri down back on the ground. She staggers away from him, her knees buckling.

And, drawing himself to his full height, he turns to Gabriel. Who’s still standing there, gun trained and eyes wide.

He shoots, four times in quick succession, but the bullets do nothing.

Gabriel’s lips part, as if not knowing what to do for the first time, and Not-Thomas takes a step towards him, face full of something resembling fury, and—

Miri dashes in front of Gabriel, knocking him back several steps, throwing an arm behind her.

“No, no, no, stop, please,” she says, once again staring into the blood red eyes and the blood splatters across the white shirt.

There’s a moment of hesitation, and Miri strips off her glove and extends her hand, her heart pounding, somehow finding that golden spark, and her fingers touch the demon’s arm.

“Please don’t,” she blurts, pouring all of her charm behind the words. “Please.”

His eyes never change, never flash gold, but instead he cocks his head at her. She digs down, pulling all of her will and power and charm behind it, gripping his arm.

His lips split into a proper smile, and, quick as a whip, he grips her arm back and pulls.

There’s a tug at the back of her throat, like something yanking her by the spine, and..

And they’re outside the shooting range, her feet hitting the dusty asphalt and scraping against the gravel.

He watches her, eyes hooded, as she sucks down one breath, then another, his hand never leaving her arm, as if afraid she’ll run. Which, fair.

“I want to speak to you,” he says, again, as if he hadn’t been shot and hadn’t just threatened her best friend and hadn’t just...teleported her outside.

“Great, I got that. I got that.” Her heart flutters in a way that’s probably insanely unhealthy.

She’s never been teleported before, though the one person she knows who has (Katya) had described it rather differently. For Katya it was suddenly in one place instead of the last, and this had given her the distinct feeling of being pulled. Yanked. Moved viscerally.

Frantic, she looks around, but nothing’s changed. Her car, still parked under the only street light, sits innocently, too far to run and too far to get to.

Abruptly, his eyes narrow. “Your friends are calling your handler,” he says, the grip on her arm briefly tightening, but not to the point of being painful.

“No shit,” she says quickly, but really because she has no clue what else to say, why he’s talking with her, why he’s here, anything, and - -

“They’re stopping you from feeding, aren’t they,” the Not-Thomas says, his voice quiet. “Isn’t that cruel.”

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