Page 2 of Moonlit Alexandrite

A rough jerk on my arm brought my attention back to Colbie, eyeliner slightly smeared from her earlier laughing fit at my expense.

“Drinks first, then you feed. Otherwise, I won’t see you again for hours,” she said as she steered us toward the bar.

“What can I get you?” The voice, full of laughter, shifted my focus from feeding to more social pursuits. Blue eyes sparkled from behind thick black frames, and the sharp cut of the man’s jaw momentarily stunned me. I blamed his polished good looks for what happened next. Before I realized what she was doing, my succubus took the wheel, and I found myself leaning over the countertop.

“I’ll have a cock-sucking cowboy, and you can have a red-headed slut. How about it?”

What was with her tonight? I tried to keep my cool as the guy ran a hand through his sandy hair, looking uncomfortable. I was ready to run and call this thing a failed experiment, when Colbie piped up beside me.

“What’s your issue? She wants a shot and a cocktail. I’ll take the same.”

Okay, best friend status had been reinstated.

“Yeah. Right,” he muttered, slanting a glance at me to ask, “Are you sure you want to mix milky spirits with cocktails so early in the night?”

I crossed my arms and gave my best glare. I would have told him where to stick his spirits, but I didn’t trust myself to open my mouth right now. Girl was hungry, and clearly she had decided she wanted club staff on the menu tonight.

Colbie snickered quietly as we received our drinks and made our way down two staircases to the dance floor. “What the hell was that?!” She cackled as I threw back my shot and pretended I didn’t know her. “Seriously. She’s never that bad. And twice in one night?”

I didn’t have an answer for her, so I turned my attention toward easier problems.

Like feeding.

I scoped out the dance floor for couples, thruples... If I was lucky, I may get a harem, grinding and sweating and doing everything short of copulating. Who was I kidding? I would have loved to find someone screwing in that heaving, sweaty mass. Maybe if I filled her up, my succubus would stop going rogue with the pick-up lines.

I drained my glass, cast a quick look at the Giggling Gertie beside me, and made my way into the heaving mass of humanity.

Almost immediately I felt caught up in the ebb and flow of the dancers. The music so thick in the air, I could feel the texture as I slid around a couple grinding and making out. I hit the jackpot with two guys fumbling under the pleated skirt of a siren — it had to be with the way they were getting worked up. Our eyes met, and she winked, clearly recognizing my species. The blue shadows cast across her face told me my eyes had begun to glow as I absorbed the sexual energy that emanated from the thruple in waves. She urged the two men into a passionate kiss, and as I continued to feed, her hands slipped down to cradle each of the men’s erections. Suddenly uncomfortable with my own voyeurism, I nodded my thanks and moved on.

After a couple of passes through the crowd, I leaned against the wall of the club in a darker corner, my succubus satiated.

The way the light played across the crowd made my fingers twitch for a paintbrush. There was beauty in this, and if anyone had a problem with me wanting to render my dinner to canvas, I would remind them humans frequently paint fruit in still life.

They seem to have a fascination with photographing their food too, so I guess this wasn’t so weird.

I grinned as I watched Colbie cutting up the dance floor with no less than three guys gazing on in rapt fascination.

Movement in the corner of my vision caught my attention, and as I turned, I noticed a small boy in a doorway. I smiled and waved. He ducked his head, but raised his hand, returning my greeting.

I glanced around in case he was waving at a parent or other responsible adult, because I had experienced one too many awkward moments where I was the idiot waving at someone who wasn’t waving at me. Nope, no one. When I realized he was definitely signaling me, I made my way over.

Up close, he could not have been over five years old. His skin was a beautiful deep color, like fine dark chocolate, and his eyes glowed yellow. His hair was clipped close to his head and reminded me of sheep's wool.

“How old are you, sweetheart?” I asked. He held up an open palm, five fingers fully extended. So I was right. I paused, unsure if I should find his parents. I mean, why was a five-year-old in this place? Didn’t his parents know what was going on, out on that dance floor? The boy beckoned me through the door. By this point, I had decided I should be the one to keep him safe. So I followed.

Beyond the door was a hallway cut out of the rock. It was clear that minimal effort had been given to the aesthetics back here. At the far end, a large elevator lay open, revealing trolleys and beer kegs, forgotten in the madness of a busy Saturday night.

With no sign of hesitation, the boy led me past several closed doors before turning into an office space, where colored pencils were strewn across a low-lying table. Without a word, he sat on the floor and picked one up. I stood awkwardly in the doorway for a minute, unsure of what to do, before making the decision to join him.

A small pile of paper occupied one corner of our work surface, and from that stack, he carefully slid two sheets. One came to rest in front of me, while the other, he squared off neatly on his side.

I wanted to ask where his parents were.

Whether they knew where he was.

Whether he was safe.

The questions stuck in my throat as I found I didn’t want to break the peace of the moment.

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