Page 123 of Problematic

I glared. “What’s funny about this, exactly?”

She gasped for air. “You,” she wheezed. “Little ‘I only read romance in the bath’ Liv just unlocked succubus mode with Lux Draven’s murder pet, and now you’re going to be feral for weeks.”

“Shut up,” I said, but a tiny, traitorous piece of me wanted to laugh too.

She sobered after a second, wiping her eyes. “Okay. Serious hat on. Succubi can be dangerous, but they aren’t . . . evil,” she said. “It’s just what they are. You get hungry. You feed. If you don’t drain people dry, you’re fine. It’s like being a vampire without all the . . . sucking.” She paused. “You know what, I regret that phrasing.”

“Deeply,” I said.

She sat back, studying me. “Just curious, but . . . do you want a mate still?” she asked. “Really. After . . . this?”

I picked at a loose thread on the blanket. “I don’t know,” I said truthfully. “I thought that’s what I was waiting for. But if that never happens . . .”

“Now you have Mister Masked Menace offering you protection and orgasms,” she said.

“Please never say that sentence again,” I said.

She grinned. “I’m just saying, you’re allowed to want something that isn’t a perfect mate bond. Even if that something wears a creepy mask and carves rude wards into your door.”

“Speaking of,” I said. “He laid another ward on my door. Apparently, it’s specifically for unwanted lovers.”

Her eyes lit up. “Oh my gods, he jealousy-warded your apartment.”

“It literally says ‘fuck off’ in demon script,” I said. “He basically cockblocked Kalon with a spell.”

Sam slapped my arm. “I knew he liked you,” she said. “Kalon, I mean. But this is . . . a love triangle from Hell.”

“Don’t call it that,” I said.

I groaned and flopped back. “I cannot face Kalon knowing he was almost my first and got beaten out by a masked psycho with bullet holes.”

“Okay, okay.” She stood and held out a hand. “Shower. Clothes. We pretend you slept eight hours and did not rewire your whole existence while committing couch manslaughter.”

I took her hand and let her haul me up. My legs wobbled.

She caught my elbow. “See? Succubus swagger already.”

“Die.”

Her cackling followed me all the way to the bathroom.

By the time I was dressed for work, Sam had run out of questions. More like, she paused them and bookmarked every single one for later with glitter tabs and threats.

She walked me to the door, hand on the knob, then paused.

“You know I have your back, right?” she said. “Masked assassin, powers, whatever. You aren’t doing this alone.”

The knot behind my ribs loosened another notch.

“I know,” I said. “Thanks.”

She opened the door. The wards hummed around us, tasting her, recognizing her as mine, not a threat. She stuck her tongue out at the frame on principle.

“Touch her and die,” she told it.

The hallway smelled normal, which felt offensive.

Old carpet. Dust. Somebody’s burnt toast. Mrs. Delora’s floral air freshener fighting for its life under the stairwell. My apartment behind me smelled like blood, sex, and magic.