Incubus Moon (12 page)

If succubi existed, and I was living proof that incubi did, Suzanne Donahue was their human equivalent. Bewitching in the seductive sway of her hips as she walked toward a man to the subtle parting of her lips just before she leaned in to speak to him, looked at him—like the way she was looking at me right now—a man had no choice but to succumb to her charms.

I offered her a sly grin, and then glanced up at the enormous Buddha floating above an infinity pool close to our table. “You up for a little scratch at Olympic Gardens?”

She grinned back at me and rested her chin atop linked fingers tipped by glossy, fire-engine red nails. “So that’s your itch.” Her Cleopatra-bobbed hair shimmered blue-black in the restaurant’s dim lighting, the charcoal eyeliner emphasizing the upturned sweep of her eyes. She was all vamp all the time and Vegas loved her for it. Mark Gold had loved her for it once, too. They’d dated our sophomore year in college, until he met Christie Stevenson. “Dollar bills stuffed into sweaty girl crotches.” As an afterthought, she added, “If memory serves, you always did enjoy a nice wet crotch.”

The budding erection I was struggling to conceal beneath my dinner napkin gave a twitch of appreciation. “Memory does serve.”

Suzie shot me a lewd grin. “I haven’t been to the O. G. in ages. But it might be nice to take in a man-candy show instead.”

Not what I’d expected, I nonetheless agreed. Suzie was clearly jonsing for a pre-show before I took her back to my hotel room for the main attraction. Besides, after my encounter with Mr. Lone Star, I was no longer a stranger when it came to sampling man-candy

And was there ever a lot of man-candy ready to be sampled!

The large, dimly lit second floor (female strippers did their thing on the floor below) was filled to capacity and contained a lounge area with a sea of club chairs and tables. But it was to the low, L-shaped platform dominating the space for live performances to which Suzie led me now. A row of chairs bordered this showy, strobe-lit coliseum for sexual gladiators and their throngs of adorning female fans, all eager to scream, cream, and turn over their hard-earned cash.

“You gonna be able to handle this?” Suzie yelled above the roar of the music.

“I’ll suffer through it!” I shouted back with a smile.

No sooner did our asses hit the pair of chairs she’d managed to reserve for us than Suzie fell prey to the charms and gyrations of a sexy cowboy wearing a black Stetson and not much else. Why were they always cowboys?

I might not be able to hear her pleasure over the pulsating beat, but her parted red lips and tilted-back head, as the cowboy gave her one of the hottest lap dances known to God and man, told me that she was in Man-Candy Heaven.

That was where the fun abruptly ended.

Over the blaring music and flashing strobes, Suzie’s stripper turned to leer at me. His expression chilled me to the bone, his dark eyes glittering like evil jewels in the intense chromium flashes. I could never forget that face, every aspect of it forever burned into my memory. The shaved head and pale skin, the cruel set of his mouth within the Van Dyke beard.

“I see you, little incubus!”

The monster’s silent words screamed inside my head and I jerked back in my chair, nearly toppling it and falling into a group of bachelorette partiers behind me, before shooting to my feet.

I steadied myself, shaking my head several times to clear my vision and loosen what felt like a boa constrictor crushing my brain. Suzie stared up at me from beneath the stripper with an expression that was a cross between concern and wondering if I were a strung-out junkie. From the uncontrollable trembling in my extremities I no doubt looked the part.

As for the stripper, he no longer looked anything at all like the Prague rapist.

Jesus!
The hallucination had been so vivid!

A tanned, athletic blond straight off the pages of one of those glossy catalogues that pushed the sexual youth exploitation envelope approached me and leaned in close to ask, “You suffer from seizures?” He placed a steadying hand on my shoulder. I was so rattled by the phantasm that I was having trouble making sense of his words. “The strobes. They can trigger seizures in people. I’ve seen it happen.”

Refocusing on Suzie and the stripper, I saw that they were once more lost to his pornographic gyrations and the whooping cheers of the women seated around them.

I blinked at the hunky blond a few times and nodded. “I’m good.” A boldface lie, but one which I hoped would end his questioning me.

He gave me a pat on the back before moving off once more into the energized crowd. On his next pass, we locked eyes and a familiar energy sparked to life inside me.

For the love of God, what was my problem? From all out terror in one moment to an overwhelming desire for hot, naked flesh in the next. Being an incubus certainly came with an unpredictable set of emotions.

This latest one gripped me with such force that I reeled from a need to satisfy it. The paralyzing fear and confusion from before were gone, and I fixed on the stripper now the way a bird of prey zeroed in on its target. I took in the expanse of his impressive bare chest and lean,
rippled stomach, in the way that his silver breakaway basketball pants flowed teasingly over muscular legs and other, more tantalizing, parts.

The handsome young man approached me again and leaned down to press warm lips against my ear. The contact sent an electric thrill through me.

With a nod in Suzie’s direction, he said, “For a hundred bucks, you can watch.”

The clean, male scent of his warm skin pushed me over the edge. I tilted my head back to meet his expectant gaze. “How much if we both get to party?”

The stripper pulled back and scowled. “Sorry, man, not my scene.”

The hell it isn’t
. Instinct told me his macho bluster was an act. The guy might be young, but he was also shrewd…and hungry. All I had to do was sweeten the pot.

The thought of bringing this male stripper into the fun I had planned for Suzie and I later that night sent another hot, electric jolt through me. He smelled so damn good, like something raw and delicious to eat. I could even hear the blood pumping through the chambers of his heart, feel it pulsating through his veins.

The tangy scent of all that delicious blood flowing just beneath the surface of his skin made me want to reach up and sink my teeth into his neck and let all that warm, delicious spice flood my mouth.
Do it now. Take him!

That voice. The cruel ring of it. The monster was still here with me, inside me, and he wanted me to hurt this young man.

Cold, metallic laughter echoed through my head.

“Get away from me!”

The stripper jerked back and stood up “What the fuck’s wrong with you, dude?”

“Austin?” Suzie was on her feet now as well. “Babe, what’s goin’ on with you?”

“I’m sorry, Miss,” the first of two bouncers who’d arrived announced, “but your friend here needs to leave the premises. Right now.”

I clambered to my feet and the bouncers nearly pounced. I held up a hand in a gesture of compliance. “It’s fine. I’ll go.”

Suzie made to follow, but I didn’t want her anywhere near me. With what I’d almost done to the stripper, who knew what might happen if she and I were alone together.

Outside the strip club, I tumbled into the rear seat of an idling taxi, “The Aria.”

The driver nodded, started the meter running, and exited the parking lot out into heavy Las Vegas Boulevard traffic.

I couldn’t shake the cold, insidious feeling taking root inside me. The monster in Prague had somehow infiltrated my mind, assumed control of my body, and he wanted…
blood
. What kind of creature craved human blood?

My mind flashed back to what Psychic Joy had warned me about over the phone. She’d said evil was coming for me. Well, she couldn’t have been more mistaken.

Evil wasn’t coming for me. It was already here!

CHAPTER 15

I reached Hollywood as the sun was slipping behind Pacific Palisades. The fall sky held a magical quality to it that only this time of year afforded; a vibrant canvas of burnt reds and oranges that bathed the City of Angels in rich, dramatic light that reflected off the many terracotta-tiled roofs and mirrored skyscrapers dotting Wilshire Boulevard all the way from downtown Los Angeles to the Pacific Ocean.

The idyllic setting was of little comfort in light of the shocking events of the previous night. The worst, I knew, was still to come—and it was waiting for me at home.

Cars lined our narrow, hillside street for blocks, with valets hustling to park and retrieve upscale automobiles. At first, I assumed Chaz Hartford, the hunky soap star who lived a few houses down from us, must be having another one of his mega bashes. The Range Rover and shiny Bentley Continental GT parked in our driveway painted a very different picture.

Mark hadn’t mentioned anything to me about a party.

An hour later, my freshly showered, uninvited self entered the main house through the front door, where I was greeted by the jaunty
rhythms of South American music and animated party chatter. If the sea of tailored suits and pretty cocktail dresses were any indication, the black jeans and graphite sweater I’d thrown on were sorely out of place.

Ironic that I could feel chaffed at being excluded from my best friends’ party and also gave a rat’s ass about fashion rectitude when some Big Bad was out to get me.

With my priorities in place once more, I made my way from the foyer into the bustling living room. There was no time to waste. I had to find Mark and Christie.

I was surprised to spy a famous pop/rock star amidst the partygoers, her signature platinum hair and tattoos as sexy as her gravelly voice and
fuck you
attitude. She gave me a chill nod and little half-smile from within the safety of her entourage, and then turned back to her conversation with none other than Chaz Hartford.

Under different circumstances, I would’ve headed over to introduce myself. That was when I spotted Mark through a rift in the crowd.

Halfway over to him, I froze in mid-step. Sitting on the living room sofa was our new neighbor chatting with a striking brunette. He stopped to fix me with an unreadable stare.

“Hey, look who decided to show.”

I turned to find Mark standing in front of me and dressed in the charcoal Prada suit he’d picked up on our trip to Rome. Too bad it was ruined by the deep scowl he was also wearing.

“Look, if you’re pissed at me for going to see Suzie, I get it,” I told him. “But right now it’s really important that I talk to you and Christie.”

This is it. No more hiding. I’m going to tell them everything!

“My ex?” I didn’t care for the urgency with which he grabbed hold of my arm, hustled me away from the main flow of guests, and into an alcove off the dining room. He’d also positioned me in a near-perfect sightline of the neighbor.

The man was studying us from the living room.

When Mark turned to see what had caught my attention his shoulders visibly tightened. “Fuck Suzie. The dude over there told me everything about your little visit to his house.”

Maybe Mark was right to be angry with me over that, but there was some serious supernatural bad on the way and I didn’t have time to defend my reasons for trespassing.

A passing waiter offered me a glass of red wine, which I readily accepted and downed.

Mark waved him away. “He could’ve pressed charges, Austin.”

“For what?” I hit back, my own temper on the rise. “Welcoming someone new to the neighborhood?”

Mark’s eyes widened. “What? So now you’re the goddamned social director of the neighborhood—
my
neighborhood?”

His voice had grown loud enough that several people close by were beginning to take an interest. Coming here was a mistake. I couldn’t talk to him about what had happened to me and why I had to leave. Not at a party and not when he was like this.

“Answer me!” he said, jabbing a finger into my chest.

Mark could be a volatile drunk under the right set of circumstances. Given his aggressive behavior and the dark edge in his voice, I’d say that set of circumstances had been met.