"Even if you can control yourself…even if you can stay celibate, you know I won't be."
The words hurt coming out, but my mouth's control switch didn't always function so well. Besides, I didn't want anything standing between us.
"I don't care." But I felt his hold on me stiffen a little.
"Seth, you will—"
"Thetis, I don't care. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters except what happens between you and me."
The fierceness in his voice—a contrast to his normal placidity—thrilled me, but it was not that that made me give up the argument. It was the word "Thetis." Thetis. Thetis the shape-shifting goddess. The shape-shifter wooed and won by a steadfast mortal. Seth had coined the name for me when he learned I was a succubus, when he'd first insinuated that my infernal standing was not a deterrent.
I pulled him closer. Don't look down.
We went to bed shortly thereafter, Aubrey snuggling up at our feet. The feel of Seth's body curled by mine under the covers was tantalizing, a cruel whisper of the restrictions around us.
I sighed and tried to think of something other than how nice he felt or how great it would be if he slid his hand up my shirt. I grinned as a most unsexual sentiment came to mind.
"I want pancakes."
"What? Right now?"
"No. For breakfast."
"Oh." He yawned. "You'd better get up early then."
"Me? I'm not going to make them."
"Yeah?" His sleepy voice carried mock sympathy. "Who's going to make them for you then?"
"You are."
It was a well-known fact—at least to Seth and me—that he made the best pancakes known to mankind. They always came out perfect, light and fluffy. Through some kitchen magic, he even managed to put smiley faces on them when he made them for me. Once he'd even puta Gon one. I'd assumed it was for my name, but later, he'd sworn it stood for "goddess."
"Am I?" His lips brushed my earlobe; his breath was warm against my skin. "You think I'm going to make you pancakes? Is that how you think it's going to be?"
"You're so good at," I whined. "Besides, if you do, I'll sit on the counter in a short robe while you cook." Oops. Maybe pancakes could become sexual after all.
His soft laughter segued into another yawn. "Oh. Well then." He kissed my ear again. "Maybe I'll make you pancakes. "
His breathing grew slow and regular, the tension in his body easing. Soon he slept, not troubled or tempted in the least by having me in his arms.
I sighed again. He was right; he did have self-control. If he could do this, surely I could too. I closed my eyes and waited for exhaustion to take over. Fortunately, it didn't waste any time; staying up late will do that to you. Maybe that was the real key to sleeping chastely.
I woke up in his arms hours later, hearing the ever-so-faint sounds of bad seventies music drifting through the wall. One of my neighbors felt the need to do aerobics to the Bee Gees every day around lunchtime. Certifiable insanity.
Wait. Lunchtime?
I sat bolt upright, panic jolting me into full consciousness as I assessed the situation. My bed. Seth sprawled beside me. The full roar of traffic outside. Clear, winter sunlight pouring through the window—a lot of sunlight.
Fearing the worst, I looked at the nearest clock. It was 12:03.
Groaning silently, I groped on the floor for my cell phone, wondering why no one had yet called me in to work. Looking at the phone's display, I realized I'd turned the ringer off during the movie. Seven new voice mail messages, the phone read. So much for pancakes. Tossing the phone back down, I looked over at Seth, the cuteness of him in a T-shirt and flannel boxers momentarily allaying my frustration.
I shook him, wishing I could just crawl back under the covers with him. "Wake up. I've got to go."
He blinked up at me drowsily, further increasing his appeal. Aubrey wore a similar look. "Huh? Too…early."
"Not that early. I'm late for work."
He stared at me blankly for a few seconds and then sat up nearly as rapidly as I had. "Oh. Oh man."
"It's all right. Let's go."
He disappeared into the bathroom, and I shape-shifted my appearance once more, turning the pajamas into a red sweater and black skirt, my loose hair into a neat bun. I hated doing this so often, much preferring to rifle through my own closet. Shape-shifting also burned through my energy stash that much more quickly, requiring more frequent victims. Unfortunately, time-crunches call for certain sacrifices.
When Seth returned, he did a double take at my appearance and shook his head. "Still can't get used to that."
I expected him to go home and sleep, but he went with me to the bookstore. Its coffee shop was his favorite place to write. As we walked into Emerald City Books andCafe,I breathed a sigh of relief that neither my manager Paige nor Warren, the store owner, appeared to be around. Still, business had already opened for the day without me, and my chipper, morning-people coworkers made it impossible to sneak in without notice.
"Hey, Georgina! Hi Seth!"
"Georgina and Seth are here!"
"Good morning, Georgina! Good morning, Seth!"
Seth left to take up his writing station upstairs, and I made my way to the back offices. All of them were dark, which I found odd. No managers at all. Someone should have opened before me. I flipped on the light in my own office.
I was so fixated on figuring out what was going on that the demon took me completely by surprise.
Red-skinned and multihorned, he leapt out at me, waving his arms and making unintelligible grunting sounds. I yelped and dropped the things I'd been carrying, recoiling.
A moment later, my senses returned, and I walked over and smacked him on the side of the head as hard as I could.
CHAPTER 3
"You're such a dork, Doug!"
"Fuck, that hurt!"
Doug Sato, the other dysfunctional assistant manager here and one of the most entertaining mortals I knew, pulled off the rubber mask he'd been wearing, revealing the beautiful features he'd inherited from his Japanese ancestors. He rubbed his forehead, giving me a wounded scowl. Upon closer inspection, I saw that the mask was not that of a demon but rather Darth Maul from The Phantom Menace. I should have known. No self-respecting demon would have had that many horns.
"What are you doing?" I leaned down to pick up my scattered belongings. "Halloween was, like, a week ago."
"Yeah, I know. Everything's on sale. I got this for three dollars."
"You got ripped off."
"Boy, you're one to nag, Miss I-Show-Up-When-I-Feel-Like-It. You're lucky it's just me here."
"Why are you here?"
Doug and I held the same position. On days when we overlapped, we usually worked different shifts, not identical ones. It was for the best. We usually distracted each other enough to accomplish the work of one person. Sometimes less.
He grabbed the back of the rolling desk chair and impressively flipped his body into it, the impact of which caused the chair to roll half-way across the office. "Paige called me in. She's sick."
Paige, our manager, was about six months pregnant. "Is she okay?"
"Dunno. If she gets better, she'll come in later."
He spun around the room a few times, then rolled up to the desk and beat out a fast rhythm on it with his hands. I presumed the cadence was from one of his band's songs.
"Jesus, you're wound up today. You get lucky last night?"
"I get lucky every night, Kincaid."
"Whatever. Your demon mask was more believable than that."
"Okay, maybe I'm not getting lucky every night right now, but that's going to change. The group's getting fucking amazing."