Page 51 of The Succubi's Choice

His lips twitch, again, like he finds her very amusing. “There will be five people besides us here tonight. They all want to influence me. I want to show them that I will not go in the directions they think I will.”

“And so you bring me for eye candy?” She asks, a frisson of hurt bubbling up. Granted, it’s the age-old use for succubi, how many succubi got power and influence but...still.

Way gentler than she would have anticipated, telegraphing his movements, he rests a hand on her bare shoulder, and she’s...immediately aware.

He knows just how much she needs physical contact and seems to be free with his touch, in a way that very few people are with succubi.

Just the simple touch, with the very comfortable environment, and the nerves makes her eyes sting in a way she doesn’t want to think about.

“The dead demigod promised them power based on exclusivity. By the mere act of you being there, it shows that I am not there for the same thing.”

Her skin prickles under his touch, but she doesn’t move, as the memory of all who died under the demigod washes over her, and the weeks of trips to the morgue and to funerals.

“I still don’t understand this,” she says, but she steps closer to him once more, and judging by the quick intake of breath, he didn’t anticipate that.

But if he’s going to use her need for contact against her, then she’s going to use it right back.

Still holding the tie in her hand, she lifts her hand up to his chin, as if comparing the color to his eyes, close to the point where he twitches. But, instead of saying something, instead of breaking the moment, she lets it sit. Lets it linger, with just the two of them in the room and the silence of the space and the terror that is only now beginning to fade in her bones, until nothing else seems quite real in the small room.

After a long moment, after letting it roil and roll around until it’s louder than the silence, his lips part, as if he is about to speak, but no sound comes out.

It’s as close to charming a non-human as she’s ever come, and a fission of triumph bubbles up inside of her.

“Now, tell me what you want me to do,” she says, keeping her voice low, in the pitch that she feels in her bones. “I don’t like being kept in the dark.”

He smiles, then, a little bit satisfied. “Don’t let anyone in there talk over you. Some will try to demean you, some will try to say your words don’t count because of your employment. Don’t let them.”

Instead of answering, she runs her thumb right on the point where his chin meets his neck, and a barely there shiver runs through his body before he ruthlessly squashes it.

Despite being clearly unnerved by any contact there, his face doesn’t change, and his control over his expressions and all of his motions is so complete that, barring all the crazy circumstances and the fact that he could easily erase her existence, she wishes she could break that control. Just for a bit, just for a moment.

“Okay,” she says, after another long second of him waiting. “I can do that.”

For a split second she thinks he’s going to lean forward, to press his lips against hers, before he leans back, abrupt.

“You brought a gun in your purse?” He asks, his voice something close to startled. “Copper?”

“It’s for self-defense.”

A smile grows over his face, self-satisfied and charismatic. “I can’t see your Organization allowing that.”

“That’s why we were at the shooting range at night, when it was closed,” Miri says, with a significant look to where he was shot several times. Then, because he seems to be waiting for an answer—“They don’t know.”

“Perfect,” he says, like he honestly believes that. “Just perfect.”

* * *

After a momentof finishing dressing and clearly waiting for a signal, the Archdemon offers her his arm, then guides her to the restaurant.

The moment they’re clear of the room, all sound comes rushing back, dizzying and intense.

“That’s why I put up the runes,” he whispers to her, his voice deep in his chest, so low she has to lean to hear him. “This place is a marvel, but it’s noisy.”

“I have roommates, I know what that’s like,” she says, feeling immediately better after quipping. “It’s never quiet.”

He crooks another smile at her, before pushing open the fogged glass doors to the restaurant.

There’s a pause in the clink of silverware and the shuffle of plates, for just a brief breath, until they take a step forward and all eyes studiously leave them alone. Like they realized, after a moment, that their attention is rude and they cannot be seen that way.

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