Page 34 of The Prospect's Succubus
She woke, just for a second, eyes snapping open. They weren’t the color I remembered. Now they were black, pure black, with a tiny white dot in the middle. She saw me and tried to smile.
“You look like shit,” she whispered.
I smiled back, because what else do you do? “You should see the other guys.”
Her hand clawed for mine, found it, squeezed.
“It’s killing me,” she said.
I nodded. “I know.”
She closed her eyes. “You gotta cut it out.”
I looked at the brand, then at the knife, then back to her. “If I do, it’ll hurt.”
She laughed. “Everything hurts.”
She faded again, but didn’t let go of my hand.
I sat with her for a long time, counting the seconds, listening for the change in her breathing. I watched the mark eat away at her, watched the color drain from her lips and the old strength in her arms melt into nothing. I thought about my brothers, about the club, about what they’d say if they saw me now, cradling a demon, watching her die, doing everything I could to keep her here.
Eventually, I stood, checked the locks, and started prepping the next step. Hiding wouldn’t cut it. If I wanted Jasmine to live, I’d have to go after the thing that made her. I’d have to break the link, or die trying.
I wasn’t sure which was worse, but I knew I’d have to choose soon.
The air in the safe room stilled, and the candles flickered once, then burned steady.
***
Jasmine woke with a violence that nearly shattered the circle. Her eyes snapped open, black gone to starburst violet, and she tried to roll to her side. The effort cost her as she coughed, spat blood, then scrabbled at the floor, trying to claw herself upright.I grabbed her by the bicep, gentler than I wanted to be, and propped her against the wall.
“Easy,” I said.
She didn’t hear me, or if she did, she ignored it. Her hands fumbled for the edge of the salt line, then hovered just above, afraid to break the barrier and invite something worse inside. The brand on her shoulder glared angry, so bright it lit the sweat on her back.
“I can’t stay here,” she managed, voice shredded raw. “You have to let me go.”
“Nope,” I said. “You’re on lockdown.”
Her head whipped toward me, hair stuck to her forehead in damp ropes. “If you don’t let me go, she’ll find you. She’ll find everyone. You don’t understand—”
I shook my head, cutting her off. “Already happening. Club’s got reports of Hell’s finest crawling through Lexington. Fires on Fifth, four missing kids in the university district, three priests burned out of their rectories by—get this—‘unexplained electrical malfunctions.’ They’re not waiting for you. They’re hunting both of us.”
Jasmine blinked, the news hitting like a hammer. “I was supposed to keep it clean,” she said. “No witnesses. No mess. She’s burning down the city?”
“She’s burning down the world,” I said, and it sounded exactly as stupid as I felt.
Jasmine shuddered, then doubled over, dry heaving. She pressed her head to her knees, hands locked at the nape like she could throttle her own brain. “Fuck,” she whispered. “Fuck fuck fuck. This wasn’t the play. I’m not worth that.”
I crouched next to her, careful not to touch the circle. “Too late. You’re the star attraction now.”
She looked up, pupils narrowed to pinpricks. “You have to let me go,” she repeated. “I can draw them away, buy you time. She’ll kill me, but maybe it’ll reset the board.”
I almost laughed. “Are you listening? There is no board. There’s just you and me, and her. She’s not gonna settle for a quick reset. She’s gonna make an example.”
Jasmine started to shake. The brand on her shoulder crawled, lines writhing under the skin, and a thread of smoke rose from the edges. It smelled like burning cinnamon, sweet and sharp enough to hurt my nose. I put my hand on her shoulder, palm flat, and felt the heat bleed through. The scars on my arm lit up, blue on red, a fireworks show for nobody’s benefit.
She flinched, then leaned into my touch.
