chapter
TWENTY-EIGHT

He released me and I picked up my clothes and ran out of the room. I didn’t even think of Raven or Meph elsewhere in the suite. I went straight to the bathroom and ran the water in the shower as hot as it would go. I was still in thrall to the immense pleasure and desire he had given me, but I felt—broken.

I couldn’t stop shaking and I couldn’t stand to think about Nathan, who pounded on the bathroom door.

“Lily, Lily, please,” he pleaded. “Come out here, talk to me. I didn’t mean that.”

“Yes you did,” I said, but I wasn’t sure the words could be heard over the water. I was sure I didn’t want them to be.

“Lily, I’m sorry,” he yelled. “Please, Lily, open the door. Talk to me.”

But I couldn’t. I couldn’t bear to see him. I couldn’t face how much I’d let myself be taken by him for the second time.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

He didn’t trust me, not even to let him survive. He was still afraid, too aware of the succubus in me, too afraid of his own humanity. Not arrogant enough in some ways, without the confidence in my feelings for him to know that I would never take his soul or his life.

“Lily?” I could hear his voice and I tried to let it fade into the background. I paid attention only to the pummeling water and the French-milled lavender soap and the shampoo that washed the smell of sex from my body without washing my memory clean.

I don’t know when I stopped hearing him. I have no idea how long I stayed in that shower, just that my fingertips were all turned to prunes before I left. And then I thought only of the thick, thirsty towel around my body, smelling of good detergent and powdery fabric softener. Smelled all clean and safe like home, like the soap and the suite, everything from last night dispersed with sunlight and life.

“It’s okay, you can come out now,” I heard a young woman’s voice. “He’s gone.”

I opened the door and Raven was standing there in her own form and her own clothes. She must have gone shopping with Meph, and there wasn’t much to her taste in Orangestad. She held her arms wide and I collapsed into them.

“I told him to go and Meph told him too and he’s gone. He’ll be on the plane, but we can change the seating,” she said, comfortingly. “Meph even said that he’ll change the flights so that you don’t have to see him. You should have something to eat and we’ll get you dressed nicely. That will make you feel better. What did the jerk do?”

“He’s not a jerk,” I said, and sniffled. “No, maybe he is. He’s a good guy who can’t deal with me being a succubus. He’s jealous. He doesn’t trust me.” Raven gave me a mango smoothie in a take-out cup. It was cold and sweet and almost as soothing as ice cream.

“That sucks,” Raven commiserated. “But if he’s acting like an asshat because he’s just lame, well—you’re too cool for a lame-ass, Lily. You do know that.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” I could almost smile at her choice of words. We’d have to clean up her language; Satan doesn’t like thoughtless profanity.

“Smoothie good?” she asked kindly as I finished it. I nodded.

“Okay, clothes,” she suggested. “Meph is coming back soon and didn’t Marten want you to stop by before you leave? I mean, wow, I so envy you. I wish he wanted to see me. You’ll have to tell me about his place and everything, okay? Are you actually dating him, or is it just, ummm, a thing?”

Well, after that ritual last night, no wonder the poor girl had a crush on him. Hot magician and all that blood, saving her, I couldn’t fault her.

So—was I actually in love with him? I didn’t know . . . no, I knew. I knew last night when I was afraid for him in the ritual.

“We used to be dating. We’re not anymore,” I said as Raven pulled clothes out of my drawers and draped them over every available surface. “These are okay,” she pronounced a pile with my Seven jeans, my Rick Owens skirt, the D&G camisole and my Armani Exchange sweater. “That other stuff, I don’t think so.” Given that she’d consigned the Prada suit, the Anna Sui top and the Michael Kors pants to purgatory, I had to laugh. The girl had an awful lot to learn about clothes.

Laughing felt good. The smoothie was gone and Marten was waiting. To please Raven, I put on the jeans and the green camisole. She made a face at the cute green Jimmy Choo sandals that made the outfit. I made her come and watch me put on makeup, and we experimented with her a little bit too, though my foundation was all wrong for her skin.

“Blush? Yuck. I don’t want more color in my face,” Raven protested as I tried to warm up her cheeks.

“You’re dead,” I reminded her. “You don’t want everyone to know you’re dead. A little color helps.”

She pulled a face and made me laugh again. “When I was alive I worked so hard to make myself look dead, and now that I’m really dead and have this perfectly dead white skin, you’re saying I need color. I can’t win.”

Still, she did like the effect of the gray eye shadow and good mascara. And it was fun. I hadn’t done this with my girlfriends since—not since we’d done the makeover on Sybil. That had been fun for her in Aruba, but she’d gone back to her sweet pastel palette when she returned to New York.

“This is like when I was in middle school and my friends and I would buy all this Wet N’ Wild makeup at the drugstore and play with it,” Raven said.

“I think you’re going to have fun with us in New York,” I said. “When we get back, with my friends and all. We’ll go out to clubs and restaurants and shopping. And you’ve got to take your advanced exams as soon as possible because Satan’s Companions should have high rank and set an example. It’ll be great,” I promised her.

Then I was all dressed and made up and my eyes weren’t red, or at least weren’t red enough to matter. I looked good. My heart might be breaking but Marten would still find me beautiful.

And thinking of Marten made me feel just a little better, a little lighter. The warm flush of emotion that I had experienced when I was afraid for him in the ritual washed over me again. Maybe it was time I admitted that if Nathan hadn’t been in the picture I would have known I was head over heels in love with Marten for a while. Probably since his last trip, though the ritual had clinched it.

I did love Nathan. I thought. He hadn’t treated me well but . . . he was hurting and scared and didn’t know what to do. And I was certain that he was behaving badly because he did love me. Otherwise he would have just walked away. Otherwise there wouldn’t be that electricity between us every time we looked at each other. Otherwise . . .

Otherwise, Marten was waiting for me. Marten who understood about demons and didn’t care that I was a succubus. Marten who could talk about the politics of Hell and knew what we were trying to trace down and why it was important. Marten wasn’t afraid of me—in bed or out.

Marten had been clear that I wasn’t just a fling for him, either. He might like the fact that I was a succubus, but if I were being honest I had to recognize that he truly cared for me just as me.

He didn’t live terribly far from Margit, my succubus friend (who was currently shopping in Paris), in an elegant section of the city with sprawling houses that looked like pastel bungalows from the outside. Marten’s was painted a frighteningly cheerful blue with pink flowers climbing over the front of it. I rang the bell and Marten came to the door.

I couldn’t help but look around, drink in his personal space. So very different from Nathan’s trendy Brooklyn loft, this was a small, warm, cozy house. The Dutch like cozy. They have a special word for it, hezellig, and that applied perfectly to Marten’s house. The floors were richly golden wide plank wood polished to a high sheen and matching gold-toned furniture upholstered in tan and café au lait leather. Inside the walls were a softer blue that set off the warm golds. The colors reminded me of the beach, sun and sand and water. Wide windows let in the brilliant tropical sunlight, making everything even more wholesome and cheerful.

Marten, with his casually cut blond hair that fell over the collar of his Caribbean blue cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up, looked perfectly of a piece with the living room. Today he really was the Armani ad surfer boy: toothpaste smile, light bronze skin, expensive leather sandals on his feet.

For the first time I felt like I was seeing him just as he was, without the magician or the Eurotrash boy toy. He was more relaxed. Maybe that was because he was at home, or maybe because I’d seen him in ritual and now he and I had a history. He’d been in my apartment, in my life, and he was showing me his.

“Welcome,” he said, and it sounded almost formal, almost like one of the old greetings of Hell. Stepping over the threshold felt like a kind of ritual. I had the impression that Marten didn’t invite many people over.

“Would you like something to drink? Some coffee, perhaps? I have some made.”

I smiled and accepted. He disappeared for a moment into the kitchen and came out with two blue mugs that matched the room. Sugar and milk in cheerful crockery were already on the table. He had set out a plate of little pastries, tiny flaky tarts with bits of pineapple and mango decorating the tops. Another plate held cheese and a knife, creamy gold Gouda and dill Havarti.

I thanked him and sat down on the sofa, which was comfortable and lush, and fixed my coffee. He seemed strangely shy almost, as if my being in his home had changed something between us.

“How are you feeling?” I asked. “You were in pretty rough shape last night.”

“Quite recovered,” he said, smiling.

“We did pretty well back there,” I said. “I have to admit, what you did to get Raven back, I’m really impressed.”

“I’m impressed by the way you bargained with the incubus,” he said and smiled at me. “But I’m concerned about the fact that he showed up in the first place. We thought these were not the type to summon demons and here it appeared this one was working for them. Or with them.”

“Could you have gotten the incubus with the ritual by accident? Does he have to be connected to the people who held Raven?” I asked. “Meph says he must have been sent by the demon who is running that group. To make sure that you couldn’t pull her through without being destroyed. I guess whoever it was didn’t know you couldn’t summon Raven yourself, and so they didn’t think there would be anyone else around. It’s a good thing that Satan insisted that we come, even though I didn’t think we were needed.”

He got up and went into another room, returning with a thick book. He sat close to me on the sofa, close enough that the distance should dissolve entirely. Why were we bothering with coffee and stilted conversation when all I wanted was to be lost in his eyes?

He balanced the book held between us. It was covered in ancient leather, dark and worn around the edges. Once it had been stamped with gold writing, but only a few flecks of the foil remained.

“It’s a grimoire, a real one. I have to explain something to you. I had not told you everything before. Yes, I am an accountant, but I’m a forensic accountant and I work for Interpol, mostly investigating money laundering. I was on a team that was following a money trail and broke a child-trafficking ring. I got into the library before anyone else in the team, maybe because they figured that was the right place for the accountant.” He smiled at this and shook his head. “Anyway, the library was full of ancient magical texts, things that anyone trained in ritual would have given years of soul to own. All there.”

“You took them?”

He shrugged. “None of my colleagues would have understood their value. And—I understood not only what was in them, but why the ring had managed to escape for so long. In fact, I was able to use the notes and diaries to trace the criminals to where they had hidden.”

“I thought you’d caught them?” I was intrigued in spite of myself. If he could track down international child traffickers he could probably find our kidnappers and whoever was stealing from Hell. Considered objectively, Marten was one very impressive guy.

“We found more,” he said. “There are always more with that kind of evil. Does this matter to you?”

“Of course it matters,” I said. Everything he did mattered. But on top of being a ritual magician he captured criminals—and here I thought the days of white knights were long gone. “But if tracking down missing money and disappearing money is what you do, then you’re much more what Marduk needs than I ever thought. It’s all just so . . .”

“Efficient,” Marten finished the sentence. “Mephistopheles likes the way this plan is coming together. Now all I need to do is actually sit down with Marduk’s records. Which should have been downloaded to my machine while we were otherwise occupied.”

“You haven’t looked at them yet?”

He shook his head. “There will be time when you are not here, in my living room. I want you to stay, Lily. I know you cannot, that you have a life in New York that you cannot leave. But I wish that you could.”

I didn’t want to leave. Marten was staying here and I was getting on a plane to New York and I had no idea of when I would see him again. I had to know that I wasn’t losing him, that we would work out . . . something. I couldn’t imagine my life without Marten. I kissed him and it was as if he had been waiting for me all along. He held me so hard that it felt he was holding me safe from all the hurt and harm strewn around us.

I was in love with two men. One was afraid of what I was and fell apart when he thought about it, and the other one lived thousands of miles away.

For a moment I thought about it. Then all my attention was on Marten’s lips and hands, the smell of his hair, the warmth of his skin and the strength of the muscle underneath.

We took our time. All I could think of was how he tasted of pineapple and sunshine and French Roast, black. He kissed my hair and I ruffled his, reveling in the softness. So little about Marten was soft . . .

He picked me up as if I weighed nothing. I could feel no strain in his arms as he carried me across the living room and down a short hallway to his bed. The sheets smelled of sunshine and clean, the Caribbean light penetrating the gauze curtains and the scent of tropical flowers wafting in from the garden encroaching on the wall. I reached up to unbutton his shirt, but he shook his head. “No, let me . . .”

And he kissed every inch of my exposed arms and shoulders before he lifted the green silk cami over my head. No second agenda intruded. He didn’t care that I was a succubus, or that he was a magician or that we lived thousands of miles apart. I didn’t care either.

I wanted to tell him that I understood, but as soon as I tried to talk he lay a finger over my lips. “Shhhh,” he said, and kissed me again. “Poor Lily. Everyone sees you for what you can do for them, for your beauty, for your demon irresistibility. Shhhhh. I want to show you that I love you for you, because you are smart and brave and so loyal to your friends, and I admire that.”

I wanted Marten. I didn’t want him to be Nathan. I wanted him to be Marten, the magician, the accountant, the surfer dude, the kind of guy who lives in Paradise. I wanted him to be exactly who he was, and I was a little awed and a little thrilled that he loved me.

Marten loved me.

He had removed his clothes. I wanted to trace the hollows in his hips, the delicate molding that defined his developed chest and arms, the deep curve of the deltoid meeting the bicep, changing topography as he moved over the sheets. He made no attempt to hide himself and his arousal was almost painfully evident, but his whole attention was only for me.

“Marten, please,” I pleaded. Me, who never asked, who never had to ask. He smiled lazily and stroked my belly and licked my belly button, which made me squirm and beg even more noisily. My fingers tore into his honey hair, trying to push him down to pay attention where he ought, where I needed him. Every second was eternity, every eternity doubled my desire.

He was beautiful and I wanted him, I wanted him right now. I wanted his fingers and his mouth and his cock. I wanted everything all at once, so badly that I couldn’t even ask any more. I could only writhe and pant and moan.

Finally his hand brushed between my legs, far too gently, and found me slick. When he touched me again he wasn’t too gentle and I screamed with relief and mounting desire.

“Now,” I ordered him. “I want you hard now, now, now!”

He knew how to obey as well as command. He gave me his body as he slid into me, a gift without any thought of return. I had never appreciated just how large he was; now I reveled in how completely he filled me. And then I started coming and didn’t stop, didn’t stop for how long, until I felt truly, thoroughly satisfied, his huge cock hammering faster and faster until there was only overwhelming pleasure with no respite.

Only as the waves of desire started to build again did I realize that he had kept up the rhythm and his face was red with effort. “You may come now,” I said, delighted with the notion of giving him permission, more delighted that he had waited, had served me so completely and still held off his own satisfaction. And even that was mine.

Then he gave himself over to the demands of his body, and mine, with a focused passion that reminded me that he had remained celibate since he had left New York. His orgasm held nothing back and I felt complete and powerful again, fully satisfied and fulfilled in his abandonment.

Afterward he cradled me in his arms and wouldn’t let me go. His skin smelled of sunshine and sweat, clean and simple.

I could have stayed all afternoon and all night. I could have missed my flight, missed New York entirely, if Meph hadn’t called just then. The jangle of Marten’s mobile interrupted our reverie. I didn’t hear what Meph had to say, but after he hung up Marten told me that Meph had reminded him that I only had a few hours until I left. And that we should remember that we still had to check in and pass security.

Maybe I should have taken a shower, but I wanted the smell of him on my skin. I wanted to think about these moments all the way back to New York, think about my wonderful island lover who was, now, truly my love.

My boyfriend, I thought. Only the word boyfriend seemed too small to cover what I felt.

“What are we going to do?” I asked softly after I had dressed. My hair was messy and I hadn’t touched the makeup that must have been smeared during sex.

“Something,” Marten said softly. “I will not let you go, Lily. I will not let you slip out of my life into New York and never see you again.”

“Promise,” I said as he pulled me in to his chest. “Promise that you’ll see me soon, that you’ll come to New York.”

“Or you’ll come back here,” he added. “Or we can meet on another island, not so far for you. I often have to work in St. Maarten or St. Kitts or any one of a thousand places. But you will come down and I will see you, if you will promise me too.”

“I promise,” I said solemnly, and he kissed me to seal our bargain.

I got on the plane brokenhearted and elated at the same time. Marten loved me. Really truly loved me. I spent the entire flight home thinking about this new relationship. When we changed planes in Miami I pulled out my Treo and found that Marten had already sent me a text message. Just a quick “I love you” that made me warm and glowy all over.

It wasn’t until I had made it back to my own apartment that I remembered that I hadn’t seen any trace of Nathan at the airport.