Page 64 of The Succubi's Choice

Of course, Lundy doesn’t answer, because why would he, at this time of night and when he’s taking care of his infant son, but it sits deeply, horribly wrong in her stomach.

Katya leaves at 2 AM, off to hunt down someone for some answers, but the lack of the righteous anger in the room makes it a bit easier to breathe. Like now that she doesn’t have lean against someone filled with rage, her ribs can expand, and she can...do something. Think. Or something.

“Don’t you have class tomorrow?” She asks Gabriel, after realizing, belatedly, that he’s there still, quiet and just leaning against the wall.

He shakes his head. “I cancelled.”

“You can do that?” She asks, shrugging the blankets around her even more, because for no other reason than they feel good and she still feels way too cold.

“I mean, I’ll have to pull overtime at office hours, but it’s better than leaving you here alone.” She sees his jaw work, and then he looks up around the room, obviously searching for cameras, for something. “Are we being recorded in here?”

“I mean, probably.”

His lips thin, and he goes “hmmmm” and then falls silent again.

* * *

Somewhere between fiveand six AM a nurse lets her know that she can go home, with no additional details or information, and she takes the fucking blankets out of some sort of protest.

The moment they clear their doorway, the moment the door clicks shut, Gabriel spins and faces her, bracing her by her shoulders with both hands.

“Call your demon friend,” he says, matter of fact, his voice dark. “This isn’t okay, and no one’s going to do anything about it.”

She stares up at him, feeling strangely hollow at the thought. “Yeah that’s good you didn’t say that there,” she says, flopping onto the couch and staring at the opposite wall. “Also, the woman in charge was at his fucking little...meeting thing.”

Gabriel paces, because also he hasn’t gotten enough sleep and probably feels similarly awful as she does and this is how he expresses it. “But they track your phone, right? So they’re expecting something?”

“Or something, I’ll...” Her mind spins off, her arm throbbing with the cold, and her stomach feeling so empty she just wants to cry and —

“And you still haven’t hunted, have you?” He says, and she can hear the exhaustion in his voice, the sort of exhaustion that usually only creeps in when he has papers due and midterms and hasn’t slept for days. “This is bullshit.”

She nods, because she can agree to that, at the very least. “I am going to sleep,” she says, her voice tremulous, because at least sleep is a thing she can do without crazy implications or anything. “Then I really hope I get an explanation from Lundy, and then I’m going to find a library or something that has some horny person to fuck, then I’m gonna...” She shrugs, because really, there has been too much going on that picking something else seems too overwhelming and too weighty.

Gabriel exhales, explosive. “Yeah I’m gonna crash,” he says, running his hand through his hair and thoroughly messing it up. “Fuck Lundy for putting you through that.” And with that wonderful statement, he wanders into his bedroom, leaving her with an empty room and empty heart.

MIRI (6:44 AM): I think I need to talk to you.

* * *

LUNDY HANDLER (11:09 AM):I got clearance for you to hunt tonight at the Tiki bar again.

LUNDY HANDLER (12:41 PM): I have let Gabriel know. And Katya knows you won’t be at work today.

LUNDY HANDLER (1:01 PM): If you choose, there is a prescription of antibiotics for your arm. It shouldn’t get infected, but if you are worried you can pick it up at any Walgreens.

BLOCKED NUMBER (1:07 PM): Let me know.

* * *

Miri wakesup to a distinctly shitty taste in her mouth when the mid-afternoon light streams through her window at just the correct angle that it hits her right in the eyes.

Thankfully, for once, the apartment is silent, with only Gabriel’s comforting snoring echoing from the next room.

Miri lays in her bed, staring up at the stucco ceiling in the afternoon light, her eyes so gritty the patterns in the ceiling dance. Like her eyes play such tricks on her that she can’t focus, can’t fully understand what they’re seeing.

But, as the stucco swims and wavers in the light, she sighs, pushing herself up. Her arm is an angry red, with the black veins even more prominent, and it throbs with every movement.

Still in her pajamas, she contemplates throwing her phone out the window to avoid having to answer to any of the texts. Fuck Lundy and his offer of antibiotics—if he had shown some spine and refused to bring her, she wouldn’t need them.

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