Page 49 of The Prospect's Succubus
She snorted. “Is that your idea of foreplay?”
“I mean it. There’s Spam, ramen, and whatever’s in the freezer. Not fancy, but—”
“Sold,” she said, kicking off her boots. She padded barefoot across the floor, toes painted black and chipped. “Show me your pantry, mountain man.”
I opened the fridge and she leaned in, examining the shelves like she was making a point. “No blood. You’re slipping.”
“Didn’t want to tempt you.”
She laughed, then straightened, closer than I expected. Her hair, freshly dyed from blue-black to something near the color of midnight, smelled faintly like chlorine and tobacco. She wore one of my old flannel shirts, which on her looked like a dress. She caught me staring again, and this time she held the look, waiting.
I lost the staring contest. “I’m going to build a fire,” I said. “Storm’s rolling in tonight.”
She trailed after me, a few paces back, until I started stacking logs in the wood stove. She folded onto the old couch, legs tucked under her, hands worrying the hem of the shirt. “So,” she said, “what now?”
I shrugged. “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”
She cocked her head. “You mean you don’t have a post-apocalypse five-year plan?”
“Never figured I’d last this long.”
She chewed on that for a minute, gaze going distant. I fumbled with the kindling, trying not to look like a moron. After a while she said, “You ever think about just running away? Like, really away? Disappear into the wild, go full feral?”
“I’ve spent enough time in the wild to know better.”
“Yeah, but if you had to.”
I considered it, then shook my head. “If I go feral, I’m dragging you with me.”
She smiled, genuine this time. “Promise?”
I tried to play it cool, but my hands shook as I flicked the lighter. The fire caught, crackled, and soon the stove radiated a low, comforting heat. Jasmine stretched like a cat, then patted the couch beside her. “Sit down, soldier. You’re making me nervous.”
I obeyed, and she leaned into my side, skin cold at first, then warming by degrees. She let her head fall to my shoulder, and I felt the old tension unspool, just a little. We watched the fire together, the only sound the snap of the logs and the hum of the generator.
“You know,” she said, voice softer now, “if you wanted to make a move, this would be a hell of a time.”
I hesitated. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I still half-expected her to bite.
She must have sensed it. “I’m not going to eat you,” she said. “Not unless you ask.”
“Old habits die hard.”
Her hand drifted to my thigh, casual but not accidental. “You could try trusting me,” she said.
I grunted. “You first.”
She laughed, a sound that was more music than threat. “Deal.”
We sat that way for a long time, saying nothing, the world outside reduced to rain on the roof and wind in the trees. The brand on my arm faded to a dull ache, then nothing at all. Ilet myself relax, just a little. Jasmine curled in closer, her hand tracing lazy circles on my leg.
Eventually, she stood, stretched, and walked to the window. She looked out into the dark, hands braced on the sill. “No one’s coming for us, are they?”
“Not tonight,” I said.
She nodded, then turned back to me, eyes gone nearly black in the low light. “Then let’s not waste it.”
She crossed the room, slow and deliberate. When she reached me, she straddled my lap, her legs folding around my hips like it was the most natural thing in the world. The shirt she wore slid up her thighs, and I realized she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. Her skin was cold, but she pressed herself to me, breathing in the scent of woodsmoke and sweat.
