Page 55 of Succubus

It is 4:45. It is 4:47. It is amazing how long my body can sustain this level of hyperalertness and careening fear. My palms are slick with sweat, my elbows tremble, my bones buzz. I have to pee even though I peed right before I left.

4:48.

I hear him. I would know his voice anywhere. But of course I know it here.

“Thanks, Jenna,” he’s saying. “That’s great. I’d appreciate it if you could . . .” I don’t catch the last bit. Just the warmth, the gentle timbre of it, the caring.

“Fuck you,” I whisper. I sit up straighter.

The door opens and he comes in, displacing all the air in the room, curly head down, looking at the chart in his hand. “Ms. Jones!” he says cheerfully, looks up. His shoulders straighten by reflex, continuing a mechanical process that doesn’t interrupt the impression that he has fallen totally still. The door closes behind him.

I stand up, sliding off the table. The linoleum tiles are cold, reptilian under my bare feet. I reach behind myself and untie the gown, fingers shaking uncontrollably. I tug on it. It falls to the floor.

CHAPTER 18

I cross the space between us quickly, before he has time to react. He tries to back up, but there’s nowhere to go. He’s up against the door.

“Tempest, don’t touch me!” he says urgently. He drops the clipboard with my chart on it and it slaps the floor, the sound a gunshot. His hands are up.

I put my hands on his chest.

Air rushes into my lungs.

Ah. He feels so good. Even through the stiff fabric of the white coat.

I can feel his warmth, the weight of him, his substance.

The first time I’ve touched him.

It’s radiating through me.

I didn’t expect it to be quite this strong. I don’t know what I expected. How could I even expect anything?

They have some weird power over us, says Grub’s secret message in my mind. Unfair advantage. And Dick Face, telling me to act first and fast.

I can’t hesitate.

He’s pressing himself against the door, hands still up like I’ve got a gun on him. Or possibly an illegal hunting knife.

I grab his face.

Exactly as I have wanted to since I met him. Or maybe a little more aggressively.

I lunge up on my tiptoes and smash my mouth into his. It’s only a second: chaos, raw color, the specific realness of the skin of his lips. The shock of him against me. My brain short-circuits pathetically for a second, and I am only aware that I am kissing him, finally. Instead of why. His warm mouth—

He wrenches away, turning his head. “No, wait! Please!”

“Are you begging for your life?” My mouth is an inch from his. I like how my voice comes out in a cape and a mask, disguised and revealing nothing.

“I can’t— ” he gasps, “I can’t touch you. Don’t make me touch you!” He’s afraid. He’s very afraid. But it’s not for himself.

I lurch back. “That’s how you do it.” My mind flips back to Kelly, my favorite nurse, saying, It’s like he has the magic touch. She was right, as good nurses usually are.

He doesn’t move.

“That’s how you heal, too. It’s the . . . opposite. When you touch one of us.”

He nods ever so slightly.