Richelle Mead - Succubus Dreams

Dante smiled. "I thought succubi were supposed to make friends everywhere they went. Or is that a myth like the bat wings and flame eyes?"

"He's just being an asshole about Seth."

Dante looked at me expectantly. I sighed.

"He thinks us dating is a waste of time. And not because of the sex thing. He thinks I'm going to get hurt."

"Terribly altruistic of an imp. But then, considering your quasi-morals, I'm starting to think it's a bad idea to assume anything about you guys." He took a few steps toward me and playfully tapped my nose. "And what about you? Do you think you're going to get hurt?"

"No. And if I do, that's for me to deal with. Hugh shouldn't be worrying about it. And he shouldn't make Seth worry about it either!"

"Don't get so upset about people worrying about you. It means they care. If enough of us were like that, there'd be a lot less pain in the world."

That was an unexpected observation from Dante. "Maybe. But there'd also be a lot less unnecessary stress."

He chuckled and caught hold of my hand. Flipping it over, he looked at the palm. "A random assortment of lines for this body?" he asked.

I nodded.

"Can you change it to your original?"

"What, so you can read it? I thought this was a bunch of bullshit."

"Sometimes."

I waited for more, but it didn't come. His gray eyes were serious and thoughtful as they met mine. Something in them compelled me, and with great reluctance, I shape-shifted my hands back to the ones I'd been born with. I hadn't worn my original body since the day I'd become a succubus, and this small change felt unnatural. I hated this form. While my original hands weren't gargantuan, they were larger than was proportional to this petite frame I carried and appeared weird and mismatched.

Dante held my hands in his and glanced back and forth between the palms. After just a few seconds, he snorted and dropped them both. "Surprise, surprise."

I shape-shifted them back to the way they had been. "What?" I asked.

"Right-handed?"

"Yeah."

He pointed to the left hand. "Those lines represent what you're born with—your inherent traits. The right hand is the hand that shows how you grow and change and adapt to what you're born with. Nature and nurture."

"So?"

"Yours are identical on both hands. Your heart line is high on the palm—which means you have an intense, passionate nature. No surprise there. But it's broken into a million pieces. Sliced and diced." He tapped my left hand. "You were destined for heartache." He tapped my right hand. "And you are going to repeat that pattern forever. You aren't learning. You aren't changing."

"If I'm destined for it, then what does learning or changing have to do with anything? Isn't it a done deal?" I didn't like the censuring tone in his voice, like I'd done something wrong by having these palms.

"Don't start," he said. "I'm not a philosopher and don't want to get into any pre-destination or free-will debates. Besides, palm reading is a bunch of bullshit."

"Yeah," I said dryly. "So I hear."

To my surprise, Dante put his arm around me and drew me close in a sort of half-hug. "Be careful, succubus. You've got a mess o' dangerous things in your life right now. On all fronts. I don't want to see you get hurt either."

I stayed in the embrace and rested my head on his chest. "When did you get so nice? Are you still trying to get me into bed?"

"I'm always trying to get you into bed." He pressed a kiss to my forehead, to my nose, and then to my lips. "But I kind of like you too. Just watch out."

I drove home after that, a bit confused over Dante's surprising behavior. Thinking about him, I soon arrived in Queen Anne before I knew it. I found neither Vincent nor the angels in my apartment and decided to go to the bookstore. I had today off too, but I knew they were busy and could use the extra help. I needed the distraction.

Just before closing, Seth called my cell and asked if I could pick him up at his brother's. He and Terry had indeed gone to see the movie, but Seth's car was actually here in Queen Anne and he needed a ride now since Terry had originally picked him up. I finished what I was working on in my office and headed out.

Terry and Andrea greeted me warmly when I showed up, reminding me to come to Christmas dinner—even though I'd long since told them I'd be there. They always regarded my relationship with Seth as a tenuous, fragile thing (which it was) and felt compelled to do all they could to protect it. The girls were as thrilled as always to see me, and they assaulted me with questions and chatter.

All except Kayla. She'd apparently gotten to stay up late tonight. In some ways, her silence wasn't surprising. Aside from the startling conversation the other night, she almost never spoke anyway. But usually, she'd come forward with the other girls to see me. Tonight, she simply stayed on the couch, watching me solemnly. When Seth made motions to leave, I broke from the girls and went over to Kayla.

"Hey, you," I said, sitting down beside her. "How's it—"

I hadn't touched her, but Kayla suddenly jerked away from me as though she'd been burned. Backing up, she scrambled off the couch and tore out of the room. We heard her small footsteps on the stairs as she ran to her room.

Startled, I looked at the others. "What did I do?"

"No idea," said Andrea, puzzled. "She's been fine all night."

"Something must have gotten into her," said Terry. "No telling with kids. Especially with girls." He mussed Kendall's hair, and she yelped.

Everyone promptly forgot about Kayla and continued to make farewells to Seth and me. I spoke to them half-heartedly, though. Kayla was always happy to see me, and last time, she'd demonstrated a special trust and belief in me. Tonight, she had looked at me with abject terror. Why? Was it a little girl mood? Or was there something hanging on me from another plane that I couldn't see?

Just before we left, I asked if I could go say good-bye to Kayla and give talking to her another shot. Upstairs, I found her curled into a corner of her bed, clutching the unicorn. Her eyes widened in terror when she saw me, and I stopped in the bedroom door.

"Hey," I said. "You okay?"

No answer, just wider eyes.

"I won't come any closer," I said. "Promise. But, please…just tell me. What do you see? Why are you afraid of me?"

For a moment, I didn't think she'd answer. Then, finally, she spoke in a voice I could barely hear.

"You're bad," she whispered. "Why are you so bad?"

That wasn't what I'd been expecting. I'd thought maybe she'd tell me there was a ghostly hag hovering above my head. Something in Kayla's words made my stomach sink. I knew I was evil—it was kind of the definition of a Hellish servant. I lived day to day with my eternal task, seducing and corrupting men. But somehow, a little girl telling me I was "bad" hit me harder than the cruelest, most profane accusation could. Without another word to her, I headed back downstairs.

As I drove Seth back to my place, I gave him the scoop on the angels and my subsequent lack of progress.

"You've got some creature stalking you, and you decided to go into work?" He sounded both amused and exasperated. "You might as well have gone to the movie with me."

"Oh." I felt kind of stupid. "I didn't want to interrupt any brotherly bonding."

"And," he added, "you forgot."

"I never forget about you," I said stoutly. "But I was kind of distracted."

"Funny how that's never a good excuse when the roles are reversed…"

My apartment was still empty when we got there. I left my coat and Dante's charm in my bedroom and then went to sit on the couch with Seth. "I hate waiting," I told him. "Why does this always happen? Some big, supernatural crisis pops up in my life, and I always end up sitting around and feeling useless. I'm always dependent on others."