Page 50 of The Succubi's Choice

There’s a very muffled thump, then the door swings open, revealing Thomas. Or, rather, not him, but the demon currently in his body. He nods for her to come in, and, heart pounding, she does.

For a second, they just stare at each other. He’s wearing a suit, almost a tuxedo, with his tie untied around his neck, and his shoulders lean back, as if he’s making himself look larger than he is, like he’s inhabiting more space than he’s physically capable of. Like he needs to take up more and more of the room, until there’s no room for anyone else.

He watches her, like he’s studying her. Like he’s trying to unwrap the gift in front of him, like she’s some tome that’s almost as unreadable as he is.

After a too long pause, she gestures at the tie. “Having issues?”

The heavy moment is broken, and he sighs. “The last time I had to tie neck dressings, it was a cravat.”

“Doesn’t really transfer?” She steps into his personal space, reaching up and grasping the silk.

He leans his head back, exposing his neck, as if to give her more access. There’s a nick under his jaw, like he or Thomas cut himself shaving and he hasn’t bothered to heal it yet.

“Adorning a body has never been my strong suit,” he murmurs, as if trying to not move too much. “Before, my hosts had fashion sense. Thomas...does not.”

Her lips quirking up into a smile at the thought, she tugs on the tie, getting it placed, then slowly starts to fold it over. “Does he own things that aren’t white t-shirts?”

“Maybe.” As she ties the tie, he twitches, and it’s the most human thing she’s seen. Testing, she brushes her knuckles against the skin of his throat.

He twitches again.

“You know, suits look fine these days without ties,” she says, staring down at the sleek gray pattern. “Makes you look more casual, like you care less.”

“Says the succubi with the impeccably curled hair,” he drawls.

“Guys can get away with it, women can’t. Not really.” She slips the tie from around his neck, on the pretense of measuring it out again, and he barely, barely, relaxes. “Open up the top button, even.” Despite not touching him at the moment, she can feel the heat radiating off of him, a heat that just wasn’t there with Thomas.

Deliberate, he reaches up and unbuttons the top button, his face unmoving.

“In meetings, it shows you’re less stuffy, and that you care less about the people there. It’s...it’s a power move.” She’s rambling, not stepping away from him, holding the tie like it’s useless. “Why am I here?”

She gets a quirk of the eyebrow for that, one that’s not angry but way more amused, and for the first time she doesn’t feel like she’s going to be injured. Killed. Whatever the hell happens. Like with that tiny quirk of an eyebrow, he lets her know she’s safe. It’s small, it’s silly, but she can feel her back unwinding at that.

“You told me nothing, except that this is formal. You have to know that I have to report basically everything.”

“You warned me of that, so I’m counting on that,” he says, his voice relaxed, much more relaxed than anything else about him. “I’m counting on everyone else knowing that as well.”

“Everyone else?”

“The dead demigod had some less than scrupulous friends,” he says, and they’re finally getting somewhere. “They expect me to be just like him.”

This close to him, she stares at the buttons on the crisp white shirt instead of at his face.

“And I wanted to formally apologize,” he says, quieter. “I frightened you, first time I saw you. It seems appropriate to bring you here, in a gesture of goodwill.”

After a moment, a spare breath, Miri steps away, outside his sphere of influence, outside his insane body temperature and frightening sincerity.

It’s silent, so silent in the building, like the room is blanketed by another one of those sound destroying runes.

“I don’t like being ordered around,” she says, after a few seconds of interminable silence. “I don’t like being ordered places, and I don’t like being kept in the dark.”

He lifts his chin. “Yet you let yourself be ordered by the Organization.” The question hangs, even without the intonation.

“Doesn’t mean I like it.”

After a moment, he nods. “Then next time I’ll ask.”

It feels like a huge concession from an ages old Archdemon, so she nods back. “Great. Thanks.”

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