CHAPTER ONE
BLISS
“You know,Bliss, I wasn’t so sure about hiring you,” Amber says, an amused grin on her face. She pointedly watches me walk out of the storage closet. I fix my skirt that, about two minutes ago, had been pushed up around my waist as a very tall, very handsome bartender made use of his very talented tongue. Something I wish I could take more enjoyment from. “A succubus working here—well, I was worried this venue would turn into a brothel honestly.”
“And now?” I wince at being caught. Not that my boss cares. Fae by nature aren’t the prudish type—I’m the exception. I know once the high of sex dissipates, shame will take its place. I reach behind my head, feeling for my hair ribbon and giving it a slight tug back in place.
Normally I would never hook up here. In fact, lately, I haven’t been hooking up at all. Two gym bros turned cowboys were about to use our bar’s chairs to fight each other, and I stepped in with my remaining power to persuade them to take it outside.
So I needed a top off.
“Best idea I’ve ever had.” She grins at me. “I don’t think we’ve had a single brawl since you started.”
“I’m pretty sure the idea was mine,” I say, matching her grin, despite myself. Or rather, because of the high I’m riding. “So you’re welcome.”
I follow her out of the back rooms and stand next to the bar, looking out at the open-floor space of The Wild Mare. A pop country band is finishing up their set, and patrons in cowboy boots are making use of the ample space to dance around a bit to the music.
“This band is great! Where did you find them?” Amber asks, speaking louder now that we’re out by the music.
“Social media!” I match her volume. She nods appreciatively.
Being an event coordinator for a country bar is so not where I thought I would end up. It very much isn’t my scene. But I’ve started to feel at home here anyways. I throw Amber one last smile as I go behind the bar. I pour myself a tequila shot and start helping the two bartenders—including Lowell, the one with the skilled tongue—with the last rush of the evening.
I fight down the blush that threatens to creep into my neck and cheeks. I’m a succubus, after all. I’d die without sex, and lately it’s like I’ve been walking around with a cold that just won’t go away. But the idea of hooking up with guys I have no feelings for? I can’t bring myself to do it unless I absolutely have to.
As the band finishes up their set, the dance floor thins, some patrons vacating it in favor of grabbing another round and clustering around tables. A few of the livelier groups stay to dance, enjoying Amber’s playlist of favorite country songs that’s come on over the PA system.
Things continue to slow down steadily over the next few hours until it’s just me, Lowell, and Devon—the other bartender—and a handful of regulars who normally stay right up until closing.
Amber’s gone home for the night, so I take over her usual tasks, including shutting down the PA system. But we still have about twenty minutes before we have to kick out the remaining patrons. I pick up the microphone stand, setting it up over the keyboard we usually keep up here for open mic nights.
With the buzz I have going from the couple shots I had and the pretty great orgasm in the storage closet, I sit down at the piano, playing a few notes. I ignore an encouraging whistle from Lowell as the notes flow steadily out of me, singing one of my all-time favorite songs.
When I reach the final verse, the last notes echoing around in the mostly empty bar, a slow clap sounds from the entrance of the venue.
I think it’s one of the regulars, but I look up and see a familiar face. My heart leaps up in my chest and falls into the pit of my stomach. My best friend steps out into the dim light. Dericia looks completely out of place here, the western-themed decor clashing with her black lipstick and head-to-toe black outfit that seems entirely too warm for the abnormally hot spring weather we’ve been having in Seattle.
“You know, I’ve always liked your version of that song better than the original,” she says by way of greeting. “Nothing against Voracious Maw, but ‘Darkest Impulses’ should definitely be sung by a woman.” She grins at me, which sets me more at ease.
It’s not that it isn’t nice to see her. I just can’t really remember the last time we talked. A text here, a phone call there. A coffee chat every other month.
I shrug in response, getting up from the piano and busying myself with turning off the equipment left on stage. “What brings you here?”
Dericia’s grin falls a bit. “Shouldn’t the fact that my best friend works here be enough of a reason?”
“We’re about to close.”
“The bar still looks open to me,” she responds, looking over at Devon. “Can I get a tequila shot?” He glances at me as if to ask for permission. I nod and he pours her a middle-shelf shot, not bothering to charge her.
Dericia goes to the bar, takes a seat, and shoots the tequila back with ease, not even grimacing.
“I’m surprised you know where this place is,” I say, as she sets the shot glass back on the bar.
“I’ll admit, it’s my first time inside, but it’s not too far from The Antler, so it was easy to find.”
The Antler is a venue fairly similar in size to The Wild Mare, except it caters to the metal music scene. It is also down Starlight Avenue, which is solidly in one of the fae districts of Seattle, while The Wild Mare—though still fae owned—set up shop fully in the human domain.
Some of my favorite bands are ones I’ve seen play at The Antler. I’ve spent countless nights there with my sister and Dericia and the rest of their band. But that was ages ago. I’m not that same Bliss anymore.
