1. Xeraphine

1

Xeraphine

Ten Years Later

M undanes are insufferable, and I genuinely mean that in the most disrespectful way imaginable.

If it weren't for what I get out of them, I'd seek my fingers and toys indefinitely. Unfortunately for me, and fortunately for them, I would not survive without them.

It's why this one is three inches deep inside my barely aroused cunt. His hand is around my throat, and while I enjoy it when I can barely breathe as I climax, I'm nowhere near that moment. I doubt he will even understand that my need comes from my begging bundle of nerves that he hasn't touched since our few minutes of shitty foreplay.

"You like that, don't you?" He doesn't even have a husky voice, which is such a turn-off. If I had a cock, it would have gone soft.

"Oh, you know I do," I try to sound anything but annoyed, and I think it works. I'm pretty sure he even grew a little bit. Or that could have been me clenching in an attempt to hurry him along.

I throw my head back to look at anything other than his excited expression .

His hand draws down between my breasts, which also have been given zero attention. My nipples aren't even hard, and that alone is impressive, more than me being wet.

Honestly, I wish he would have just fuck me with his fingers. Two of them would be thicker than the appendage I am riding.

I need him to get moving, so I force myself to look back at him and veil my eyes. With the look of insatiable desire forced across my expression, I know it will be his undoing. He curses loudly while grabbing hold of my hips. It's really the only confirmation I need that he is about to burst.

Although I prefer to orgasm while I feast, I'm too tired to care.

As his body succumbs to his climax, my Amoro pulls him in. His defenses weaken, and I siphon the energy that is his lifeforce. I despise the way Mundanes smell at this juncture. Their aura becomes murky brown, reminiscent of excrement, and is equally as repulsive unless they maintain proper hygiene.

Yet, it still satiates the depletion of my vitality, making this one a necessity to me.

As he begins to breath heavily, I lean in closer to him. The glow of his energy envelops us both, though he can't perceive it; a sense of unease gnawing at him. He knows, deep down, that something is wrong.

Running my sharpened nails along his jawline, I etch white scratch marks into his skin. When he attempts to speak, I forcefully thrust three fingers into his mouth, eliciting a gag in response.

"I like silence," I deliver with a slow moan, feeling more satisfaction being filled by this worthless male's energy, than his shrinking cock inside me. My lips find his collarbone and I'm running my tongue along it to taste the life seeping through his pores.

Fucking disgusting.

There was no need for me to kill to be satisfied. As his eyes reel back and unconsciousness begins to claim him, I roll my own in frustration.

I let out a groan and withdraw my Amoro. A feeling of satisfaction washes over me. This energy will last for a few days, maybe a week. Removing my fingers from his mouth, I notice blood coating the tips of my nails. "Oops," I mutter nonchalantly.

Slipping off him, I settle at the edge of the bed to regain my composure. My eyes, consumed by onyx, need to be brought under control before I leave this man's apartment. In a world where the bizarre is commonplace, my kind still isn't usually embraced, even as a hybrid: part Succubus, part Mundane.

After a few moments, the feeling returns to my legs. I stand up and make my way across the room to the bathroom. There is no way I am leaving this place without showering first.

His cum is equally as repulsive smelling as his energy.

As expected, all he has is some disgusting Male Mandoes body wash, and no conditioner in sight. I am thoroughly surprised to find shampoo, albeit the off-brand scalp rejuvenation type, that seems to dry out more than moisturize.

I really should just kill him.

I decide to only soak myself in water, refusing to have dry hair and a fake manly aroma on top of everything else. Seriously, who doesn't even have a bar of soap? Fucking pathetic.

After drying off, I slip back into the clothes I arrived in, black leather pants and a red corset top. The straps hold everything in place nicely, accentuating my perky breasts. Those, along with my silvern eyes, are my favorite features.

I don't bother locking the door upon my exit, hoping that an intruder might stumble upon my meal—killing him and putting an end to his worthless existence. This neighborhood isn't the safest, with break-ins reported nearly every day.

Before finding the stairway, I backtrack and leave the door slightly ajar.

I'm an asshole, I know.

Buzz. Buzz.

I quickly retrieve my phone from my pocket and press it to my ear, greeting what is likely my only friend. "Hey, Syd. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

The squeal nearly shatters my eardrum. "Girly-pop, spill the damn tea!" I can't help but groan at Sydni's enthusiasm. I often wonder how we managed to be friends. They do say opposites attract, but damn, we might as well be on different stars. "I saw you walk out with that hunk of a man. Fucking Gods, did you touch his pecs? How was his dick? "

My sigh was a sufficient response, and Sydni mixes an apologetic giggle with her lament. "Sorry, Phiny-bear. Well, at least he was good-looking."

"He didn't even have facewash, Syd. He stunk, too. I had to shower twice when I got home." Leaning over my balcony, I gaze out at the darkened street below. I didn't hate this city, but Sidence never felt like home. Then again, if I were true to myself, no place ever did.

There was a heavy silence on the other end of the line and I wonder if I lost her. "You there?" I ask with minimal enthusiasm.

"Oopsie! Sorry—work, you know."

"Why did you call me if you are working?" I question, glancing around as a man walking his dog disappears into the shifting shadows cast by the street lamps.

"I can multitask. Anyway, how about dinner tomorrow? I've got reservations at the Ducc, just the two of us. We can gaze longingly into each other's eyes while we complain about men," she suggests with a playful incline.

"Let me check my calendar," I say, and a slight chuckle escapes at her groan, which practically rattles my phone.

My place is bare bones—just a black leather loveseat and a basic coffee table in the living room, with a TV hanging above a fake fireplace. The walls are painted a dull gray; I can't stand the starkness of white. My skin is pale enough already; there is no need to drown in it.

The kitchen is modest, though I rarely cook. I hate the chore of it especially the cleaning aspect. That's why I keep things minimalistic. I don't even have a dining room table; I eat on the couch instead. A part of me believes it's the thought of being confined by too much stuff, and it triggering my only fear. Years of therapy didn't do shit to fix my fucked-up anxiety over being closed in.

Standing in front of my calendar, lazily hanging by a magnet on my fridge, I quickly check to see if I'm free.

Friday, January 31, 3126

Livable expenses due

Return library book.

"When's the reservation?" I finally speak, realizing that Sydni has been trying to grab my attention for several minutes. As she responds, I peek at the following week's events.

Monday, February 3, 3126

Off Work

Livestock at the Morrison @ 23:00

Favorite color green.

CHB-Don't Forget

Tuesday, February 4, 3126

Work – Bartender 22:00 to 02:00

Wednesday, February 5, 3126

Work – Bartender 22:00 to 02:00

Restock cat food

Thursday, February 6, 3126

Work – Bar top dancer/waitress 22:00 to 02:00

Friday, February 7, 3126

Work – Bar top dancer/waitress 22:00 to 03:00

Saturday, February 8, 3126

Work – Bar top dancer 22:00 to 03:00

Sunday, February 9, 3126

Free

Don't forget to open the balcony door for Mister – he will piss on the couch

"Late, nine. I can even move it later if you so desire, lady of the night," Sydni remarks, toeing dangerously close to getting sucked dry and being incapacitated for months. She knows what I am and that I'd never feed on her, but that didn't mean I wouldn't threaten it.

Early in our friendship, I never confirmed or denied these "planned" engagements of hers. Instead, I'd just hang up, leaving Sydni to find out at the appointed time whether I'd show up or not. After the tenth time of not showing up and seeing photos of her eating alone, I felt slightly guilty.

"I'll be there."

She squeals, "Yay! I'll pay; I got you, girl."

I roll my eyes. "What color is your hair this time? That way I'll know what to look for."

Her mock gasp of surprise makes me smile. "I don't change it that much!" Yes she does. I saw her nearly three weeks ago, and it was orange. I bet it's different now. "Pink…"

Knew it.

"You'll love it. I know it's your favorite color."

I fucking hate pink.

"You are the bestest Phiny, see you latro!"

I hang the phone up and toss it onto the counter. I don't deserve Sydni. I am such a bitch, I'm amazed she's stuck around in my life for the last four years. She's confessed that it's hard for her to keep friends, and while I'd typically find that difficult to believe for someone as beautiful and kind as she is, she is pretty annoying.

Lifting my chin, I stare up at my ceiling. I'm exhausted, and I shouldn't be. That feast should last me days, and it's only been five hours. There is no reason fatigue should be weighing so heavily on me already.

Meow .

My gaze falls, landing on a black cat perched beside my phone. "Hello, Mister," I greet the feline.

I have no idea what this cat's actual name is, but it started coming to my balcony the first week I moved in, and that was about six months ago. I couldn't call him cat.

I think the only reason he likes me is because he enjoys playing with my hair and getting lost in its thickness.

"You staying the night?" I ask, knowing that this was the only male that had ever slept in my bed, and it would likely remain that way.

His throat thrums with a purr as I reach out and stroke him, running my hand from the nape of his neck all the way down to the tip of his tail. He refuses to let me pick him up, which is fine by me, though I can't help but wonder if it is just a testament to my nature. Animals just, in general, did not like me.

I round the counter and head into the singular room, Mister on my tail.

My bedroom is no more luxurious than the living room. A full-size bed with an oak headboard greets me, a non-psychotic tendency of mine. I refused to be that person who only has a mattress and box-spring.

Surprisingly, there is no closet, but I am grateful for a separate sleeping space at this price point. Against one wall another fake fireplace is placed, but this one, devoid of a television; and the walls are painted the same muted gray as the rest of the apartment.

Stripping down to my underwear, I slide under my black satin sheets. Mister joins me promptly, and I pull my onyx hair to one side, creating a makeshift nest for him to knead into. I can't deny the pleasure I feel as he makes biscuits into my hair.

As we both settle in, I hear my phone buzz from the counter. Like most things these days, I care little to check who it is. Instead, I allow myself to fall into darkness, embracing the numbness it brings with it.