Page 8 of Succubus Sins
David’s garbled cry cut through the closed door and I cringed. It took all my willpower not to go after him, but he was safer with Mr. Anderson, wasn’t he? If the Detective had figured out how to thwart my gifts, maybe that meant there was a cure for the deterioration. Maybe David wouldn’t have to die.
However, I didn’t trust the bastard to help David on his own, even if he had the means. I’d need some backup to make sure he kept his priorities straight.
“Sarah!” I shouted again, this time more frantic.
A blonde head bobbed at the entrance and I launched myself, putting my palms together like I was going for a swan dive in an ocean made of unshaven men and whiskey. My nose pinched and I wondered how starving I’d been to have been attracted to anyone in this place.
Sarah’s eyes locked onto mine a split second before she bolted outside. I knew that look. That’s the look she had the last time I’d failed her. The last time someone had to die.
And she’d disappeared for two years.
I shoved my way to the front and ignored elbows stabbing my ribs. I didn’t have two years this time. Mr. Anderson was right outside and he had David. I needed someone to watch him. Someone to guide him in the right direction without them knowing they were being influenced. Someone with skills I didn’t have.
By the time I made it out onto the dusty street, Sarah was gone.
I was on my own.
Disbelief rooted me to the spot. How could Sarah abandon me? Not now, not when I needed her most.
“Move, wench!” A drunken man shoved me from behind and I stumbled.
I turned and glared at him. When his eyes met mine he locked into my spell. I slipped into my magic so easily. I couldn’t resist. I’d just fed and the sexual energy made me giddy and spontaneous.
He stiffened and wavered as the wall of desire hit him. His eyes grew wide so that they looked like yellow orbs protruding from his leathery face. His tongue flicked across his dry, cracked lips.
Taking one empowering step towards him, the man faltered back with one hand pushed out in defense. A gold ring glinted against the bar’s neon light.
I shoved an accusatory finger in his face. “You’re going to go back home, tell your wife you’re sorry, and not touch a drink again for the rest of your life. Got it?”
He swayed side-to-side, fighting against my compulsion.
I smiled sweetly, leaning in and grazing my nail across his cheek. “You understand?”
Skin contact made it solid. His shock melted into a goofy grin. “Yes, but me wife’s dead.”
“Do you have anyone at home?”
He pondered for a moment. “No, but me boy’s struggling down in Texas. He’s the only family I gots left.”
“Why’s he in Texas?”
He grinned as his eyes searched my face. “You’re so beautiful.”
“Answer me.”
He blinked as if he couldn’t focus. Alcohol always messed with the interrogation side of my powers. Something to do with the brain synapses not being able to connect fast enough. At least, that’s what my mom had told me.
“Drinking,” he answered after a moment. “I can’t keep a steady job ‘cuz me drinking. I drink away any money he sends me. Texas is far enough he don’ have to see it. But he sends me money anyway.” His gaze grew distant. “Maybe he hopes I’ll use it to visit him someday.”
I pressed both hands against his cheeks and resisted a gag against the sour plume of alcohol. “Then get home. Rest. And go to your boy tomorrow. Work hard and don’t touch the drink again. Pay him back and earn his respect. Got it?”
He nodded against my grasp. I released him and he stumbled down the street mumbling, “Me boy, me boy.”
I took in a deep breath. That inner voice tried to justify what I was.See? You do good with your gifts. You may take a life, but how many do you save? Imagine what you could do with your four…
I stomped my foot. It wasn’t a matter of mathematics. I couldn’t just justify infidelity, rape, murder…no matter how much good I did. And four? What was this damned four my nutty voice kept going on about?
I scanned the street. Parked cars judged me with their frowning grills and broken headlights. Even a few toothless hookers added their own oppressive stare for good measure.
