Page 34 of Porcelain Grave

The succubus's smile doesn't reach her eyes; it's cold and sharp. "Something... unforgettable."

I bite my lip, thinking about the filth John Robert is and must be. I can't imagine what he's done, but if the succubus wants a piece of him, he's probably a special kind of serial woman abuser.

"I'll talk to Rhys," I whisper back.

"Thank you, darling," she purrs, leaning back and returning to her meal with a satisfied smirk.

Oana leans in, her gaze drifting from my eyes up to the black halo resting atop my head. A soft, appreciative hum vibrates in her throat.

"It is truly beautiful, dragă," she murmurs, her voice like velvet. "It suits you. A crown for a fallen angel."

I blink, almost forgetting the damn thing was even there. It feels weightless, yet I can feel it humming with a faint, rhythmic energy that seems to sync with my own heartbeat. I look at Oana, my curiosity piqued. "Do you know how it actually works? I mean, how does it work like that?"

Oana leans closer, her eyes narrowing as she inspects the intricate metalwork of the halo. She doesn't ask what I mean. A slow, knowing smile spreads across her lips—the kind of smile that tells you she knows exactly what Rhys gave me.

"No," she says simply. "I have no idea."

I narrow my eyes, leaning back in my chair. "Bullshit. You’re a lying witch, Oana. You absolutely know."

She lets out a soft, melodic laugh, her Romanian accent thickening. "You cannot prove that I know, dragă. A guess is not a proof."

I stare at her for a long moment, realizing I'm not going to get a straight answer out of this woman today. I give a sharp, singular nod. "Fine. Whatever. If no one’s going to tell me how this bloody thing works, I’ll just figure it out on my own. Probably by accidentally blowing something up."

Once we finish the hearty breakfast, the succubus and I excuse ourselves. We thank the sisters—who give us warm, knowing looks—and step back out into the cool morning air, walking side-by-side toward the castle.

The succubus glides beside me, her hips swaying with a predatory grace that makes everything around her seem dull. She glances at me, a smirk playing on her lips. "Darling, you're the only woman in England who lives with a billionaire and still doesn't own a bloody phone. How do you even function? Do you send carrier pigeons?"

I roll my eyes. "I don't need a phone when I have Rhys. He's basically my human GPS and alarm clock." I pause, remembering something. "By the way... do you remember Amara?"

The succubus stops for a fraction of a second, her brow furrowing as she searches her memory. Then, she shakes her head slowly. "Amara? No. I'm afraid I don't know who that is."

My mouth drops open. I stare at her in genuine disbelief. "Are you fucking kidding me? Amara! The girl who is absolutely obsessed with you? She's practically worshiping the ground you walk on!"

The succubus sighs, looking bored. "Darling, you have to be more specific. I encounter hundreds of souls who fancy me. It's a professional hazard."

"She's the girl who's come to the carnival more than once!" I insist, gesturing wildly. "She is so into you. Like, dangerously into you."

The succubus pauses again, a flicker of recognition finally crossing her face. "Oh... right. Her."

I nod slowly, a bit of pity bubbling up in my chest. "I was going to ask if you actually liked her, but you don't even remember her name. That's fucking brutal."

She lets out a low, confident chuckle, the sound vibrating with a seductive power. "Many people fall for me, Ophelia. Men, women... it matters little. It is nothing new, and frankly, it is expected. I am designed to be desired. People don't come looking for me because they hope I'll love them. They come because they hope I'll look at them.”

"So," I ask, leaning in, "would you ever actually consider being with her? Amara's a sweet girl."

The succubus throws her head back and laughs—a rich, mocking sound. "Be with her? Darling, I don't 'do' relationships. I feast on desire; I don't cultivate it. To be with someone is to be tethered, and I prefer to fly."

I can't help but feel bad for Amara. The poor girl is head-over-heels for a woman who views her as just another face in a crowd of admirers. It's cold, but then again, that's the nature of the beast.

"If Amara is who I think she is," the succubus adds, her voice softening just a fraction, "she is a beautiful girl. But I would only break that poor girl's heart. I am not built for tenderness."

"Right," I mutter. "So you're just a heart-breaker. Have you been with any men then? Do you actually date them?"

She gives me a look of pure amusement. "It is never a good idea for a man to fall in love with a woman who will lure him to his doom, Ophelia. Love is a luxury for mortals. For me, it's just... appetite."

"Fucking hell," I laugh. "If you won't date Amara or some random bloke, then who would you date? Is there anyone on this planet who actually meets your standards?"

She stops walking and looks at me, her eyes gleaming. "I don't date, darling. I play. Why settle for one meal when the whole world is a buffet?"