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I know that, and yet I can’t banish the anger that roils inside me, sickening and so strong that it’s no wonder the people who care most about me noticed. I grip the edge of my desk and barely resist the urge to sink my claws into the wood. “They harmed her. Her parents. Her community, if you can call it that. Even—maybe especially—the sister she sacrificed everything for.”
“Yes.”
I love him all the more for not arguing with me. “We can’t kill them.”
His voice is even and calm, a direct counterpoint to mine. “We don’t have access to humans in the physical realm. We literally cannot kill them, morality arguments aside.”
Which isn’t to say we shouldn’t. I study Danik, taking in the barely banked fury in his crimson eyes. “You’re angry.”
“Of course I am.” He nods sharply. “Even though she’s only been here a short time, we can tell she’s a good girl, sweet and kind. In the midst of your magic, even with Zhenya boosting it with everything ze has, none of us missed the soul wound Belladonna carries. She didn’t acquire that on her own.”
No, she didn’t. There are names behind that wound, names of people still walking around, benefiting from her sacrifice.
My claws prick the surface of the desk, and I make an effort to raise my hands and place them on my thighs. “Danik.”
“I’m listening.”
“Find them.” I should feel guilt for this order. Succubi and incubi may have a shitty reputation, but for generations we have tried to feed ethically. There are plenty of willing dreamers, happy to entangle themselves in our spells of lust—more than enough for our entire population to gorge nightly, even with the toll it takes us to reach across the distance between realms.
“Find them,” I repeat. It’s on the tip of my tongue to expand on that, to tell him that they aren’t to get another peaceful night’s sleep. We can do that. We may prefer to feed on lust and desire, but we can feed on fear all the same. It’s not as satisfying for anyone, but it is possible.
Frustration flares and I close my eyes, allowing the emotion to slice through me. “Just... find them.”
“Rusalka.”
Reluctantly, I open my eyes. "What?”
Danik watches me closely. “I’m angry, too, but even knowing Belladonna as short a time as we have, you must know that she’d never agree to you hurting her parents—even in their dreams. And doing so might violate her agreement with Azazel, which would potentially send her back to that realm early.”
I don’t want to hear what he’s saying. I hate that he’s right. “Then what would you have me do?”
He’s silent for long enough that my patience wears thing. Finally, Danik says, “Care for her. Allow her feel at home here. Give her the space to heal.” A longer hesitation. “Maybe even allow her the opportunity to discover that true love comes without strings attached.” He turns and walks away, calling softly over his shoulder. “In a year, if you still want me to find her parents, I will. But not before then.”
13
BELLADONNA
After a dreamless sleep, I wake in the morning and lie in my bed for several long moments, staring at the ceiling. After what happened with Inna and the others, I’d expected the pleasure to extend past my waking moments. I’d... wanted to see Rusalka within the safety of dreams, to gather the courage to do the thing I couldn’t quite manage in the daylight. To touch her.
Instinctive tension tries to fight its way into my muscles in response to that desire. I know what my mother would say—a whole host of ugly terms that I refuse to let my brain formulate on purpose—and I know what Pastor John and my father would say—sin is tempting for a reason, so as to guide people off the straight and narrow. I even know what Ruth would say, tears in her eyes—how she would beg me to pray with her as if this is a rotten part of me to be pruned away by faith.
But... even the weight of others’ condemnation can’t quite touch the golden dome around the memory. The pleasure, yes, but also the tenderness and care. I barely know Zhenya, Inna, and Danik, but I’d felt cherished all the same. Which is not even getting into how protected and safe I feel with Rusalka, even when desire for her makes me dizzy.
This doesn’t feel dirty. It doesn’t feel wrong.
As I dress, I mull over what Rusalka told me about the god of the incubi and succubi, a great, unknowable being they worship through adhering to their nature because how could something intrinsic to your nature be a sin?
It’s enough to make my head spin.
I pull on another dress, this one much more modest than last night’s, and open the door to peek out. The hallway is empty, and I can’t decide if I’m relieved or disappointed. In the end, it doesn’t matter. I’m too hungry to hide in my bedroom until someone comes to fetch me.
From the little I’ve seen of the house, I can tell it’s big but laid out in easy-to-navigate lines. After a little trial and error, I find a kitchen on the same side of the building as my bedroom but down on the first floor.
There’s a person there who doesn’t look like any incubus or succubus I’ve seen so far. Their skin is a deep-crimson color, and they have horns similar to Azazel’s, though they’re nowhere near his size. And they have a second set of horns growing out of where their eye sockets would be.
They turn to face me as I step through the door. “Belladonna, it’s lovely to make your acquaintance. I’m here on behalf of Azazel, and I’ll be doing periodic check-ins to ensure you’re cared for and unharmed during your time in this territory.”
The words have the flow of a rehearsed speech, are almost stilted. I edge farther into the kitchen and slide into a chair that allows me to see the whole of the room. “Rusalka has been above reproach as a host.” My words are just as stilted as theirs, but I can’t help that. I don’t like the idea of check-ins. Azazel obviously doesn’t trust me to know my own mind, and even if he’s not trying to force me to act in a certain way, like my parents did, the very concept chafes.
