htm Hybrid Misfit (2 page)

I pressed against him, my mouth opening and preparing to suck the life—putrid as it was—right out of him.

“Now,” Jonathon croaked, managing to force the word out through the enthralling spell I’d placed him under. That surprised me. Usually, once I had them under my spell, they couldn’t move until I released them.
My brothers have grown stronger.
Not a reassuring thought given the situation.

The sound of several thumps hitting the ground behind me forced my hand—and deprived me of dinner. With a quick slicing slash, I opened up Jonathon’s throat before he could raise a hand to defend himself—I’d lost my fear of violence after my escape when I realized it was kill or be killed. As Jonathon sagged to the ground, leaving the wall he leaned against bare, I whirled and pressed my back against the rough concrete.

It would seem I had miscalculated. Jonathon might have entered the club with only two lackeys, but facing me were a half dozen faces, of which I only recognized two.

Who are the strangers? And a better question, are they vamps like my brothers?

My question was quickly answered. With a snarl that showed a lot of pointed teeth, they dove on me. Deciding the bottom of the pile wasn’t a good position for me—I preferred to ride my bucking men—I sprang up, calling forth my tarnished wings which burst from my back in a shower of fluffy grey feathers. I was a woman with many hidden talents.

I flapped my wings at the apex of my leap, but gravity pulled me down with the help of a tall attacker who wrapped his hands around my ankle like a steel vise. Pump my wings as I might, my free foot kicking at the restraining hands, I couldn’t break free and my ankle fetter’s companions joined him in pulling me down.

I let out a piercing shriek, not of maidenly distress, but rage.
How dare they?
I’d suffered as much as they. We should have shared a bond. We should have banded together against those who changed us. Instead, because I’d turned out different than all of them, they thirsted for me.

I just wanted my freedom and to be left alone. Simple needs that would prove impossible if I let them get away with news of my continuing existence. I stopped my attempts to escape and let myself suddenly fall, my unexpected capitulation sending them stumbling. I hit the ground and moved. My fist shot out and jabbed the one who’d clipped my wings, the diaphragm shot bending him over to gasp. Even if they were no longer human, one thing remained the same; they still needed to breathe.

Bodies with glowing yellow eyes and gnashing teeth moved in to crowd me. That wouldn’t do at all. I needed breathing room to lay down the law—/my law/. My wings retracted as I spun and kicked out, my high-heeled foot hitting and sinking into soft flesh. For a moment, my stiletto stuck, but a vicious yank broke my foot free and the figure slumped to the ground gushing blood.

Great, I’d ruined my shoes.
This evening was getting worse all the time.

A blow from behind snapped my head forward, but I’d been hit harder than that before—the hospital staff didn’t know the word gentle—and before I’d even brought my head back up, my foot kicked backwards like a pissed donkey and connected with some soft male parts. My fists were also busy, driving forward, claws extended, to rip and punch with bloody effect.

The problem with fighting others like me though was the rate at which we healed. Even as I took one down, the first bounced up again, his eyes burning and his lips pulled back over snarling teeth.

I had to admit, it wasn’t looking good for me, but I refused to give up. Even if they managed to take me down and capture me, I’d never stop fighting. I’d learned one important lesson while in that prison shrouded under the guise of a hospital—freedom was the most precious thing I could own, and by damn, I wouldn’t allow anyone to take that from me again, not without a vicious fight.

Slugging left and right, kicking back and forth, covered in a sticky layer of blood, I wasn’t aware the tide of the battle had changed until the body I fought fell over and I discovered there was nothing left to hit. And yet, the sound of someone’s fist hitting flesh still filled the air. I pivoted in time to see the last of my attackers drop, laid flat by a giant of a man.

I meant to say thank you, but the words caught in my throat as eyes glowing the green of spring grass rose to meet mine. For once, I was the one spellbound. My breath caught, my lower extremities heated and my lips parted on a sigh. I couldn’t see the face of my sparring partner, the gloom of the alley hung too deep, but I didn’t care, for sinking into the green depths of his eyes, I felt a calming peace—and a naughty thrill. I took a step towards him, or I meant to, but my legs buckled. I sank to my knees, my mind fuzzy with incomprehension.

Was I injured?
I looked down at myself and noted the blood staining my clothes and skin. I vaguely felt the sting and throb of dozens of scratches and bruises, none of them grievous enough to cause such a weakness. The needle, however, sticking out of my side explained a lot.

“Fuckers,” I slurred before keeling forward on my face.

Chapter Two

I awoke in a bed—a nice, fluffy soft one. And, so totally not mine. I sprang out of the bed in a flash, instinct placing me in front of a wall while my eyes scanned the room I found myself in.

Did I die and go to heaven?
I’d earned my confusion because all around me, from the sheets to the walls to the rugs, everything gleamed a snowy white, including the t-shirt covering my body—a huge tent of material that hung down to my knees. The reassuring feel of my thong between my cheeks and lack of labial soreness led me to believe that despite my undressed—or considering what I usually wore, dressed—state, I was unmolested. But, that begged the question…

“What the fuck?”

“Maybe later,” replied a deep voice that shot a shiver right down to my toes, but especially lingered in my crotch.

I whirled and beheld a behemoth, a handsome one, but still a freaking beast of a man. He towered over me and thick muscles stretched the fabric of the—you guessed it—white t-shirt he wore. His thighs strained the seams of his jeans and peeking down, I noted the size of his bare feet—extra freaking large. He was handsome in a square jawed, nose flattened by fists kind of way—in other words a brute of a man. The most shocking feature of his appearance though, if one ignored his size, was his hair. White and tinged with the blue of an iceberg in the northern seas, it stood in spikes on his crown, but despite its pale color, he appeared to be in his early thirties. My arousal woke with a sensual purr, tightening my nipples and moistening my cleft. He was so totally my type, which made me distrust him right off the bat. “Who the hell are you?”

“Funny, I was going to ask you the same thing.” His green eyes twinkled and even without the glow, I recognized them.

“You’re the guy who helped me out last night.” Which didn’t mean he was a good guy in my books—yet. But it did mean I’d give him a chance to prove he didn’t have nefarious intentions towards my body before I killed him. Or I’d let him fuck me. Either way, I’d ensure I came out on top—/Yeehaw/.

He shrugged. “I needed the exercise.”

Big, handsome, and modest. I wondered what flaw he hid. “Thanks,” I said grudgingly. Having survived on my own for so long, it galled me to admit, his aid saved my ass from the proverbial frying pan, but, the warmth in his gaze let me know I hadn’t escaped the fire yet.

“Thanks for what? If they hadn’t played dirty with the tranquilizer, I do believe you’d have flattened them on your own.”

I blushed at his praise. Then almost choked at the sensation.
Since when do I react like a bloody girl when a guy praises me?
My smile transformed into a scowl, which only deepened his grin. “Who are you and where am I?” I asked in a grumpy tone that had a lot to do with the reaction of my body to his presence, but for my peace of mind I’d blame on a lack of coffee.

“My name is Simon and you’re in my loft on the twelfth floor,” he said his voice, a low soothing rumble that I enjoyed way too much.

Good manners dictated I introduce myself even if I still remained unsure of the situation—besides in case we ended up naked in bed, he’d need a name to bellow when I gave him the best orgasm of his life. “My name is Beth.” I almost slapped a hand over my mouth when my old name came flying out as natural as you please. I must have looked shocked, for he tilted his head.

“Beth. It’s much nicer than your stage name I must say.”

“How do you know about that?”

The giant chuckled. “You had Trixi labeled inside your clothes, so unless you like to wear other people’s underwear and outfits, common sense dictates, along with the fact that I found you in the back alley of an exotic dancing location, that you have a stage name. If it makes you feel any better, Simon is my real name.”

“What’s your stage name?” I blurted, curious.

Again his lips curved into a smile that made my panties wet and I had to wonder if he were an incubus because quite honestly, despite all the men I’d enticed over the years, he was the first to return the favor.

“My stage name when I used to step into the ring, was Puff.”

I wrinkled my brow. “As in puff pastry?”

Again he laughed, the low timbre of the sound reverberating throughout my body pleasantly. “No, as in Puff the magic dragon.”

He’d really lost me at this point, and he must have noticed it because he snorted in amusement. “Don’t worry. You’ll figure out why soon enough. Now what do you say to some breakfast?”

Hunger gnawed at me sudden like, and my mouth watered, but not for the bacon I smelt drifting through the open bedroom door. Looking him up and down, my eyes lingered on the distinct bulge in his pants. I licked my lips as I realized I could go for some
sausage
. Injuries always wakened my hungers. Smiling at him, I turned on the juice to prep him for my idea of a morning pick me upper.

“Bad succubus,” he chided. “Is that any way to thank your host?”

My jaw dropped as he outed me. Before I could ask him how he knew—and resisted me!—he walked away. The view was surprisingly nice, especially for a guy his size. But I was allowing myself to get distracted. How the hell had he known? Other than my two best friends from the club, I held my state of being a close secret.
And how come he’s not on his knees worshipping me with his tongue?
Having never experienced rejection before, I quickly decided I didn’t like it one bit.

I scurried after Simon, my bare feet sinking into the plush carpeting that ended outside the bedroom door. The gleaming wood floors—white pine, what else—were chilly under my feet, actually his whole condo was a tad cool, not that it bothered me. How hot or cold a body was remained a human concern. And I was far from human anymore.

I crossed the wide expanse of the living room, which shone bright and white, probably because of the wide bank of windows that stretched from the floor to the cathedral ceiling. Good thing my other side didn’t suffer from the sunlight curse like my brothers.
I am starting to wonder at his obsession with white though. Would it kill him to have a little color?

A clanging of dishes alerted me to Simon’s presence in the kitchen. The white kitchen—gee, did they forget color when they decorated—opened into the living area, separated only by a gleaming island that was topped by—you guessed it—a white slab of marble. I perched myself on the bar stool tucked under the breakfast bar and studied Simon as he plated some steaming food, the only spot of color in the whole place.
I can’t deny he’s nice to watch.
For such a big man, he moved light on his feet, and the play of his muscles under his clothing warmed me better than any coffee.

He didn’t say a word as he finished making breakfast, but his eyes often shifted to me, along with a half-smile that made me want to smile back. I clamped my lips tight instead, not trusting how comfortable I found myself with this veritable stranger—whom I’d probably have to kill for guessing my secret. What a shame.

The silence stretched as did my curiosity. Only once he handed me my portion on a huge plate heaped with enough food for three did I voice my question. “Why did you call me a succubus?”

In the process of shoveling food into his mouth—a fascinating process that made me flash to him devouring my pussy instead—he swallowed and took a sip of his orange juice before he answered me. “Haven’t you figured it out yet? I’m not human, just like you.”

His reply threw me and I peered at him more closely. On the outside, he looked like a man—a drop dead, gorgeously muscled one. I tuned in my other senses and sucked in my breath.
What the hell is he?
His aura glowed, thick and colorful telling me without any words he’d not only lived a long life, but a full one that ran the gamut from sweetness to violence. To me, a person’s aura, their soul so to speak, appeared as a shroud around them. Over the years, I’d learned to read them—most of the time. The thicker the shroud, the older the person. Simon’s was the thickest I’d ever seen.

Another neat thing I’d learned was the colors of a person’s soul told me what kind of life they’d lived. Darker colors stood for the violence and ugliness in a person’s life, while lighter colors, represented happy times and caring for others. Most people tended to lean towards one shade or the other; however, Simon was a kaleidoscope, with all the colors of the rainbow plus some swirling in his super thick shroud. My mouth watered just looking at it, for he stirred the hunger of my succubus side. But, unlike a true soul sucking nymph, I could control myself and take what I needed without killing the provider. And, if the sexual energy around me ran high enough, I could feed without even touching. Hands free was definitely not as yummy as the power fed to me via skin to skin contact, though.

“You have a pretty aura, but it doesn’t tell me what you are.” Although I did know whatever supernatural caste he belonged to was definitely long lived.

“What does your other side tell you?” His eyes glittered, their faint glow pointing to his less than human DNA. And once again, he shocked me.
How does he recognize what I am?