Page 26 of The Prospect's Succubus
“Lilith,” I said, and her whole body jerked at the name.
“She calls herself mother, but it’s not nurture. It’s just more hunger.” Jasmine’s voice went flat, defensive. “Every assignment, every soul, it was all a test. And every time I passed, she made the test harder. The last one—” She stopped, searching for the words. “The last one was you.”
I didn’t react, but she saw the truth hit me.
“You’re not a normal mark, Torch. You’re a warning shot. If I can take you, I can take anyone. That’s what Lilith told me.”
“Guess she didn’t count on the blood pact.”
“She didn’t count on me wanting something different.” Jasmine looked away, eyes shining red in the dead light. “You make it sound easy, telling the truth. But every word burns.”
I stepped closer, half a meter between us now. “Why keep going? If you’re sick of the leash, why not walk away?”
She laughed, bitter. “Because there’s no ‘away.’ There’s just more leash, or a bigger monster at the end of it.”
I understood. The club was my leash, but at least it didn’t drag me down to the pit every time I fucked up.
“Why me?” I asked, and hated how desperate it sounded.
Jasmine shook her head, frustrated. “Because you’re the only man I've ever met who makes me feel like I’m not just a weapon. Because you see the monster, and you don’t flinch. Because you want to kill me and fuck me and save me all at once, and I—” She stopped, hands shaking. “I want that, too.”
The wind picked up, scattering a handful of dried leaves across the blacktop. For a second, the silence between us was absolute.
I reached out, slow and careful, and let my hand rest on her shoulder. Her skin was ice. She didn’t pull away.
“If I could let you go,” I said, “I would.”
She leaned in, just enough for her breath to fog the air between us. “If I could kill you, I would.”
We both laughed, because there was nothing else to do.
The moment stretched, held, then snapped. Jasmine’s eyes lost their glow, and she shuddered, collapsing against me. I caught her, surprised by the weight and the warmth.
“Blood bond,” she muttered, face buried in my chest. “What a fucking mess.”
I stroked her hair, not sure who I was comforting—her, or myself.
“Tomorrow’s Halloween,” I said. “End of your contract.”
She nodded, slow. “End of everything.”
I felt the truth of it settle in my bones.
We stood there, locked together, until the sun threatened to rise. Then she pulled away, wiped her eyes, and smiled. It was shaky, but real.
“Can I ask you to do something, Torch? Something for me?”
“Shoot.”
“Will you kiss me?”
She must’ve seen the shock stamp itself across my face, because she grinned, all teeth and desperation. I opened my mouth—habit, reflex, a defense mechanism—but she was already moving, closing the gap between us in a single, honeyed step. Her hands slid up my chest, fingers splayed, seeking the heartbeat she’d haunted for weeks. I let her, arms slack at my sides, because to do otherwise would have been a lie.
She tilted her head, black hair fanning across her cheek, and lifted her chin as if she was being presented for inspection, or execution. Her eyes searched mine for the barest hesitation.
There wasn’t one.
I could have gone rough. Hell, she probably expected it. But instead I slowed everything down, savoring the anticipation,letting her feel the tension build like a gun cocked just short of the trigger. I cupped her jaw with my palm, thumb tracing the line from ear to chin, then angled her face up toward mine. Her lips were parted, but not in that practiced, stagey way, but more like she was bracing for a punch and hoping it would land sweet. The air between us turned viscous, every sense tuned to the pinpoint where her mouth hovered just out of reach.
