T. Grey: Bonds of Fire

As a young teenager, she’d lifted her chin and said she’d never need a man like that, but now she realized her mistake. She could easily see how a succubus could become nothing but a desperate raging slut. The thought had her shivering with disgust. She wanted one man, just one. Who that was or where she’d ever find him, she had no clue.

She had to admit, she liked the way the Alpha tested her, challenged her. She enjoyed beating him at his own game.

A taxi pulled up, and she told the driver to take her to a hotel. Any hotel. She didn’t speak Russian, but the driver understood what she said well enough. The horizon grew dark as night dropped in like a dark velvet blanket over the sky. The beginning sliver of the moon was already growing.

When Papa had sat her and her sisters down for “the sex talk” all those years ago, he’d told her that a succubus didn’t need to have intercourse to survive. Sometimes a “make-out session” as Papa put it, would hold a succubus over for a day. But only a day. Being given an orgasm worked also and could feed the succubus for longer, maybe even close to two days. He said it worked for both giving an orgasm and receiving, though not by your own hand. How she could jerk some guy off and have that feed her; she had no idea.

Even sitting in a taxi in Moscow, with Papa dead, and that conversation over twelve years old, her face flamed bright red.

Willow cracked the window to let in some cool air. They pulled onto a small bridge that reminded her of something she’d see in an old painting. It was made of stones with thick stone pillars shaped like a vase. Snow drenched the bridge and roads making even the taxi, with chains on the tires, drive slowly.

Halfway up the bridge the taxi started breaking. Squinting, Willow stared through the flurry of snowflakes and saw two black SUVs blocking the road. The taxi driver rolled down his window and started yelling while several big men started towards the taxi. She recognized one of them in an instant. Shit.

Willow grabbed her backpack, sent an apology to the taxi driver, and bolted out the door. The snow slowed her down, but she trudged through it. The boots she’d bought didn’t help her as she hit a patch of ice beneath the snow.

Yelping, she skidded on the ground. Her momentum was too fast, and she slammed into the railing of the bridge.

She didn’t stop moving.

The railing was covered with ice, and the downward angle of the bridge combined with her slipping speed sent her tumbling over the edge.

Her piercing scream tore through the night. The blackest water she’d ever seen was headed straight for her, ready to engulf her. She had only a moment to squeeze her eyes shut as freezing cold water swallowed her.

Instantly her heavy clothes and boots weighed her down, sinking her deep into the water like some monster eating her. Her skin froze like ice but adrenaline pumped hard inside her veins. She kicked her arms and legs, but the water was so dark she didn’t know which way was up anymore. Heart pounding loudly in her ears, eyes, wide and frantic, she took her best guess and made for the black surface. She didn’t make it far before her struggles grew heavy and slow.

Her lungs squeezed tight, burning with the need for oxygen. She gasped and water spilled into her lungs, burning with its icy temperature. The heavy coat stifled her movements, and she hadn’t even made it a foot before she could no longer keep her eyes open.

Her eyes drifted shut, blocking out the freezing water from burning her eyes. She was going to die. Her heart thundered and roared in her ears. Her legs twitched with electrical impulses, fingers convulsing. Then all she heard was the deafening silence of her heart slowing...and slowing.

Draven paused in the motion of knocking.

Sighing, he combed the hair back from his face. It was too late for him to do this. He should have come to her before he checked out the demon problem in Germany, but hell, he’d been too much of a coward. Now he was pushing it if he didn’t see her.

He’d stopped in the city before coming here. The bars were always filled with beautiful women desperately searching for their true loves. It was easy to woo one of them quickly enough to get what he needed. Then with a little “charm” thanks to his demonic side, they would never remember more than the wooing, a kiss, and a goodbye. His stomach rolled. He hated it, but not as much as he hated the thought of taking from her.

He took a step back, shaking his head. Shit, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t. He turned to walk away when the door quietly opened behind him.

“Draven?” Her voice was as soft as she was. From temperament to dress, Lucinda was lovely and beautiful. Now she was his frimar .

He turned to her and tried to smile. It came out more as a grimace. “Hello, Lucinda. How are you this eve?” God, her presence even made him talk differently.

She smiled at him and dipped into a curtsy. It was as if she’d been living her whole sheltered at this castle. Didn’t she have any idea that women no longer had to dress that way? Her dress was elegant but old-fashioned. A dark royal purple fell to her feet, cinched at her waist, and cupped her breasts lovingly. Draven tore his gaze away. The woman had entirely too much in that area.

“It seems the night is improving now. Please, come in,” she said, holding the door open. Unease filled Draven. He knew that if he crossed into that territory, he’d be going into the lion’s den, and he might not leave whole.

Yet he entered anyways. His chest felt tight as he looked around. Her room was lavish. The walls were adorned with old paintings of her, her family, and some of landscapes with great green fields and valleys. His eyes fell to her bed, and something else tightened inside him. The bed too was richly adorned. A four-post canopy bed with white sheer sheets draped the corners and sides. The sheets looked like satin or silk, the comforter thick and luxurious.

How easily he could picture her there sleeping. Even more easily he could see himself thrusting between her thighs there, her soft hands curling into his back as she panted.

“Warrior?”

Draven’s eyes snapped to hers. He barely controlled his face from blushing. “Pardon, what did you say?”

“I asked if something was amiss.” The concern in her eyes was so sincere he had to look away.

“Everything’s fine.” He started to say why he came, but she smiled gently at him. When she took his hand, he let her lead him to a chair by the roaring fireplace. He sat in it, feeling like a fool.

He’d taken from thousands of women. It meant nothing to him. God, why did it have to be her? She looked happy with this arrangement while he couldn’t get his stomach to go along with the idea.

She sat in the seat across from him, perched at the tip of it with her back straight, hands plaited neatly in her lap. Her long dark hair shined in the firelight. Perfect elegance. His hands curled tightly.

“I wish to thank you again for your generous offer, warrior Draven. I am honored to act as your frimar for your needs.” Her voice wasn’t quite as soft as the rest of her but rich, almost sultry. And when she said that word need, his body actually tingled.

Somehow he spoke. “Yes, of course. It is I who am honored, Lucinda.” He started to say more but clamped his teeth together. What the fuck was he supposed to say to her? How the hell did one go about this? He was beginning to talk like a dandy.

She smiled that gentle, understanding smile then rose and came to him. She was like a dream when she moved. Soft and graceful like a dancer. Draven tensed in his seat, both hands coiling as she came to her knees beside him.