Page 8 of A Taste for the Peculiar

Most of the dizziness has subsided. Pye leans forward to rest their elbows on their knees before they look at her. “You’re a succubus?”

Her lip trembles. Her eyes fade back to brown. “Please don’t speak of this to anyone. Please. I promise never to bother you again, but please don’t —”

His hand closes around hers, pressing the wet stain between their palms. “No one will hear anything from me.”

She makes a choked sound, fingers tightening around his.

He searches through the fog of his mind. “Is that the first time you’ve — fed?”

“Is that what that was?” Her voice is tight. “I’m sorry. This is all so new and strange.”

“Is that why you asked for these lessons?”

Her mouth turns down somberly. “I can’t do it. I can’t feed if that’s what it does.”

“There are ways to make it easier. Enjoyable.”

Avirin’s head whips toward him, a disbelieving scowl on her pretty face. “How do you know?”

“I have known succubi before. One or two, from the pleasure houses.”

A cloud of disappointment falls over Avirin’s face. “Only in the pleasure houses.”

She knows as well as he does that succubi women are not allowed to exist anywhere else. It is surely a frightening prospect, being thrust into this new world when there is nowhere she can turn for guidance. She will be left to her own devices, forced to flounder through these changes and pray she isn’t caught…unless Pye aids her.

“I will not speak to anyone about your secret,” he promises. “We will continue your lessons as planned, and most importantly, we will make sure you’re well-fed.”

Warily, she watches him. “Are you certain? That wasn’t —”

“I am, Lady Avirin. I assure you.”

Relief floods her face.

His tongue trails over his lips before he thinks better of it. He still remembers the sweet taste of her breath, and he curses himself, leaning down toward the basket. Pye needs to focus. They need to control themself. Avirin needs someone to help her, not to be hard up at the very thought of her. He offers her a handful of raspberries before he pops another into his mouth. While he savors the tart flavor, he pretends it does not remind him of her at all.

FOUR

Avirin

Food has lost its appeal.

Avirin stirs her white soup absently. It even looks unappetizing, beige and boring next to the memory of Lord Riften’s vibrancy. His skin. His smirk. His taste.

Avirin could never replicate it. She’s done her best by requesting certain treats from the market: dark cherries, molasses, red wine. When no one is looking, she drizzles the fruit with the sticky syrup and drops then into her full glass before she brings the entire concoction to her mouth.

It doesn’t come close to the real thing. Avirin gets only a hint of satisfaction when her fingers come away stained. Her hand hovers over her dress, tempted to ruin the pastel fabric like the raspberries ruined her gloves in the alcove. Just a little. Just enough to feel the same thrill of rebellion that follows Lord Riften wherever they go.

But Avirin always withdraws her hand. She will not sully her clothes. She will not send Lord Riften pleading letters. She will focus on her books while she still has a chance to read them. She will review their lesson on flirtation. She will worry over the fact that now, someone else knows her secret.

She chews the inside of her lip. Lord Riften could destroy her. Exposing her succubus secret would not doubt elevate his standing. Yet as the days pass, no one in the ton is any the wiser. No one stares at her on the promenade. No rumors swirl. Perhaps the faerie can keep a secret after all.

That makes her hunger grow, gnawing at her chest like the ache after a long day of swimming. Her succubus need is unsatisfied. Previously, her private touches could quell it, but now, they only calm her for a few hours. Her hunger has come alive at the taste of something greater on Lord Riften’s lips. It will not be satisfied by lonely fantasies any longer. It demands more, and that is terrifying.

Avirin holds her breath as the carriage bumps along. Her mother is in rare form again, smoothing her hands over her skirts as she lays out their machinations for the evening. “I spoke to quite a few eligible bachelors at the last event. You must make a good impression tonight.” Her mother adjusts her hair comb. “With a bit of convincing, any one of those men might take you.”

Avirin tries not to roll her eyes. What an enchanting prospect.

At the party, she partakes in the civil whiskers expected of her. She follows her mother around the room with polite smiles and nods. When a gentleman approaches, she shuffles aside to let him pass before she realizes he’s staring expectantly at her, like he wishes to converse.