Gentlemen Prefer Succubi

Remy raised her coffee mug. “Cheers to that, then.”

I clinked my mug against hers, my smile forced. “So what are you going to do while I’m gone?”

A wicked smile curved her lips. “I think I’ll see if Stan’s awake.”

“We’ll take a quick break before proceeding to the next portion of our tour, the Amarna period and Akhenaten, the heretic king.” The tour guide’s voice was monotone with boredom.

I dog-eared the page on my guidebook and sat on a nearby bench. No one sat next to me. I expected as much; the museum was filled with American and Canadian tourists, all of whom gave me a wide berth at the sight of my burqa.

It was nice to fade back to invisibility, even if just for an afternoon.

While the tourists milled around me, I reached into my purse and pulled out my newly developed photos and began flipping through them.

The images from the tomb were backlit with blackness, courtesy of the cheap flash camera. I stared at the painted figures in each photo, wondering if I had missed a clue. There were several of what must have been Nitocris, her hands upraised to the heavens. Her face looked just like every other Egyptian queen, but I now recognized her black cloak as a stylized image of wings. The next photo was a larger shot of the queen’s wig- covered head, the Double Crown and Uraeus on her brow. Her thin mouth curved up in a half smile, which creeped me out a little. In the other pictures she was unsmiling and grim. The elongated hands were raised to the sun, and in the center of the sun there was a faded symbol that reminded me of the one on Noah’s wrist. The angelic alphabet-how curious.

“If everyone is ready, we can proceed to the next room,” the tour guide announced.

I slid the eerie smiling photo into my guidebook and quickly pocketed the rest of them, nearly tripping on my long burqa as I rushed to join the group.

The tour guide cleared her throat. “Akhenaten was the most hated pharaoh in all of Egypt. He took the happily polytheistic society and tried to convert everyone to the religion of the one god, the Aten, who was symbolized by the sun.”

The docent launched into a long, droned spiel about Akhenaten’s reign in the New Kingdom. It was amazing how one person could make an interesting subject so damn dull. Restless and bored with her presentation, I flipped through my guidebook, looking for objects of interest. I wanted to get away from the New Kingdom stuff and head to the second floor, where the Old Kingdom artifacts were kept.

I looped around the tour group to the back of the room, browsing through the artifacts. The sun was due to set soon, and I was anxious to get back to the hotel. Just the thought of Zane sleeping in my bed made my breath catch, and I fanned myself with the guidebook. Idly, I paused near a broken, wigless bust and glanced down at the plaquard. Nefertiti. I’d never been a big fan of hers; she looked cold and arrogant in all of the sculptures and paintings I’d seen, and this one was certainly no different. The beautifully sculpted lips were curved at the edges in a thin, almost bitter smile.

I paused. I’d seen that look somewhere before. Crouching low, I circled the glass case and peered at the bust from all angles. Where had I seen that regal, go-to-Hell look before?

“… built a temple to the one god, the Aten,” the docent droned.

Something clicked in my mind.

I whipped out the photo tucked into my guidebook and stared at the picture. On a hunch, I headed to the back of the exhibit, looking for tomb paintings from the Amarna period. Sure enough, there was one along the wall, and I held up the photo next to a picture of the Akhenaten’s queen.

Hands upraised, she appeared to be supplicating, a thick black cloak covering the shoulders of her followers.

Wings.

“Of course,” I muttered to myself, as I made my way out of the crowded museum. “The first church wasn’t a church to God at all, but Nitocris’s worming her way back into Egyptian history.”

This certainly threw a kink into things. I raced out of the building and headed for the nearest taxi, burqa flying.

I needed to talk to Zane.

“It’s Amarna!” I entered into my hotel room with a triumphant smile, a stack of travel brochures clutched in my free hand, burqa tucked under my arm. “I figured it out.”

Zane sat up in my bed and rubbed his face with his good hand, his hair tousled and falling over his forehead. His bad hand looked nearly healed, the skin merely reddened now. He gave me a sleepy look, a hint of red peeping out from heavy-lidded eyes. “Evening, Jackie. You’re in a good mood.”

His voice caused me to come to a screeching halt. My muscles seized up at the sight of him looking so sexy in my bed, and I had difficulty breathing. The air around me became heavy and uncomfortable, and I moved as if in a fog. “Zane,” I breathed, my voice taking on a seductive timbre that caused his eyes to flick bright red with interest.

“Itch bothering you much?” He kept his voice light, though his eyes blazed red, betraying his interest. I could see the gleam of fangs against his lips.

“Not at all,” I lied, slinking over to the bed and staring down at him. Blood pounded in my ears. “I’m not sleeping with you.” My hands trembled from the sheer force of my body’s response to his proximity. It was taking all my effort just to remain upright.

Zane stood and came to my side. He took the brochures from my clenched hand and tossed the burqa into a nearby chair. “You’re torturing yourself over nothing, Jackie. Don’t you realize that?” His hand went to my shoulders and he began to knead the tense flesh at the base of my neck.

Weak at his touch, I sat on the bed, my head rolling forward to allow him free access. “Sex is not ‘nothing’ to me. And I don’t like being forced into doing anything.”

“Don’t do it because you have to, then. Do it because you want to.” His fingers trailed over the sensitive flesh of my neck, and I nearly came unglued at the gentle touch. “I like you; you like me. What’s wrong with sating our mutual urges?”

“Everything. It’s all messed up.”

His hand slid away from my neck. “Do you want me to find you someone to take care of your needs? I guarantee any sane man would be willing.” His voice was solicitous, neutral.

I pulled my legs up and hugged them against my chest, feeling miserable at the desire that raged through my body. “I don’t want a stranger.”

“Noah, then?” His voice was decidedly cold.

I glanced over at Zane in surprise and saw anger in his eyes. He was jealous of Noah? The thought was baffling.

Zane abruptly turned. I watched the sweep of his wings as he walked away, graceful and beautiful, so at odds with my conceptions of vampires. He picked up his trench coat and shrugged it onto his back, covering his wings and heading for the door.

“Wait,” I said, getting up and following him. “What’s wrong with you?”

He opened the door, ignoring me.

I grabbed it and slammed it shut before he could leave. “What’s eating you? I’m the one with the compulsion.”

Zane’s red glare met my blue one. “Do you think I don’t care about your feelings?”

I hadn’t given it much thought, to be honest. He was one of the bad guys, right? “I didn’t …”

“Didn’t what?”

In agony at this point, I just grabbed him by the front of his shirt. “I’m tired of all this crap.” My mouth planted on top of his, and flashes of light sparked in my brain.

Oh yes. This was nice. His mouth moved under mine, tasting my lips, his tongue touching my own.