Ara inhaled deeply into her cigarette and then blew out the rings of smoke. It was a bad habit she couldn’t get rid of when she was human but now it didn’t matter.

The surge of nicotine in her blood made her close her eyes and sigh in pleasure. In all honesty, the drug had little effect on her but she supposed it was the habit that was comforting.

“This was the one thing that still felt good,” she thought.

“And who do I have the pleasure of meeting?” a deep baritone voice rung in her ears.

Ara opened her eyes in annoyance at the disturbance. She had not gone out looking for attention but as always, it found her.

Her intentions for the night were just a smoke and a drink. She didn’t have many things to do. In fact, Ara had forgotten what it was she had been drinking, but that was exactly what she wanted to do, to forget.

Year after year of seducing men to keep herself alive as a succubus had taken a toll on her. She no longer wanted to live by the night and be constrained by her need to feed. Yet, that was her curse as a succubus.

Tonight would be like any other night, where she would find some young stud and take her pleasure from him in a bathroom stall.

Eleanor, her maker, had called it a punishment. Ara understood now, what she hadn’t when she had been turned.

At first, she had enjoyed the men flocking to her, like any other young girl would. Man after man, high after high, it was never ending and she wondered how it could possibly ever be a punishment.

Ara had seen it all. She had tried every single kink out there. At one point, she wanted to fulfill their deepest fantasies and remain their seductress but even that got boring.

All mortal men were the same. What wouldn’t they do for a good fuck? Men would go to war for it. Helen of Troy had paid the consequences for her carelessness.

How many hearts had she broken? One kiss and she was far more addictive than any drug out there. Chemically and biologically she was a powerful concoction. No man would or could truly love her, but they would crave her more than they needed air to breathe. It would be their death sentence.

Her dark eyes focused on the source of the voice, to find it was a tall debonair man. His eyes were a dark grey and had a certain coolness that reminded her of something from a very long time ago. A time where she could walk through fields of gold and vineyards.

“Well this will get interesting,” she thought to herself, letting her eyes measure him from head to toe.

Every single detail from the shined shoes, the metallic wrist watch, the engraved wrist cuffs, crisp collar and the confident smirk on his smile became archived in her mind.

He was the first incubus she had met in centuries. His scent clogged her senses and filled her nostrils. They weren’t difficult to find, it was just that she didn’t usually like having overlapping territories.

Smashing the butt of her burnt out cigarette, Ara pulled another one out and ignited a flame with a match. She pulled the cigarette to her lips, drawing out the silence and gave one last good puff before answering.

“Ara, and you are?” her throaty voice answered. There was a seductive tone to it, one she could not control no matter how hard she tried.

“Dean,” he smirked, stepping one foot closer to her.

It wasn’t custom to shake hands among their kind.

There was silence between them as they stared each other down. He was over six feet and she was barely five foot three but like two wolves trying to establish dominance, neither of their gazes faltered.

One.

She didn’t want to back down. He smirked, liking that about her.

Two.

His eyes were completely dark, endless pits that terrified and lured her on to a dangerous path. They beckoned her towards him and her eyes beckoned him.

Three.

He thought of how he should look away but couldn’t. Her eyes were magnetic and were pulling him right in.

Four.

She knew he was bad and tempting. Complete sin. It was forbidden for incubi and succubi to lay together. Then why did she tingle all over?

Five.

Last chance. Their gazes remained hard as steel.

Six.

Too late.

On the sixth second, Ara blew out smoke from her cigarette. Her subconscious slightly echoed, telling her that eye contact for six seconds or more meant either murder or sex. How silly to think this was murder… no, she knew better than that.

Ara knew that his one and sole purpose was to seduce her and lure her to his bed until she was screaming out his name. She would then be his and forever marked.

No other love making would ever be the same. The ecstasy was promised to be beyond measure. After all, that was the core of their nature. Like a predator with finely tuned skills, they could pick up the slightest hitch in breath, tiniest gasp, and the smallest shiver of pleasure and increase it.

As a succubus, it was a risk that many would not take. Considering, they feasted on sampling the sexual energy of the human population. The only thing was that Ara had long ago stopped enjoying such things. She had been low for such a long time and had tried every single thing out there, attempting to make her feel again.

Meth, heroine, crack, acid, LSD, every single type of hit out there and none of it worked.

That’s what Eleanor had said; had warned her about.

“The only thing that keeps you going is the need for the next hit.”

Eleanor ended her life two weeks later with a single note left behind in her typical messy scrawl.

“I just want to go home. Forgive me Ara. -- Elle”

Those lines echoed repeatedly in Ara’s head for days.

Elle.

Ara was the only one that ever called her that. Pushing away the messy thoughts, Ara grieved and tried to ignore the growing pang inside her chest.

She stared at Dean and pulled herself away from the melancholy.

But why would Dean approach and find her?

Ara’s analytical mind calculated the details quickly and connected the dots. She had been a profiler for the FBI, back in the 70’s when she attempted to be human. She went through the coursework, got the job, worked a few cases and disappeared but the skills were still there. Truth was, she could read him like an open book.

He wanted a good chase. He could have any other woman in town, on her knees, but he wanted a good solid challenge. There was something else lingering in his gaze. What were his hidden motives?

Ara’s red, ruby lips drew up like a Cheshire cat. If he wanted to play, then who was she to deny him?

She was bored, after all.

Ara found him intriguing and her curiosity got the best of her. Why not have some fun?

“So Dean, what brings a fellow like you into my neck of the woods?” Ara asked, sitting down on the edge of the table.

Her chocolate eyes looked at him pensively. However, underneath the calm disposition, she felt edgy with another predator invading her territory. Blood rushed in her veins and she subtly looked for an exit.

“I had to see whether the hearsay was true,” Dean spoke.

Each syllable was enunciated with a clear Irish accent but his diction was American. Ara noted it and realized he must have been in the States for at least a couple decades.

“No need to turn on the charm, Dean. I’m not in the mood for pleasantries,” Ara sighed, inhaling another ring of smoke.

“I heard of a very bored succubus and thought I should pay her a visit,” he continued, bringing her drink to his lips.

His grey eyes found hers and remained there, in an attempt to lure her closer. The look alone could have made a weaker woman tremble at the knees but Ara remained unfazed.

Leaning forward, Ara dropped the butt of her second cigarette in the blue liquid of her drink. Not for a second did their eye contact stop. Dean’s lips twitched and curled into a smile at her subtle act of defiance.

“If you wanted to expand your territory, you should have just asked,” Ara exhaled.

Her smoky breath fanned across Dean’s chiseled features. He twitched his nose at the smell but otherwise remained unperturbed.

It was not uncommon for the sharing of territory in rural areas such as these. In the city, a different club every night and there was no worry for overlap or competition. But out in the countryside where there was one bar for every little town, a succubus and an incubus could share territory without any disturbance. After all, both were mostly looking for the opposite gender.

“I want that and a bit of something else.” He countered, barely breathing as Ara’s fingertips glided down his chest. Her touch was sending sparks of pleasure straight to his center and down below.

Dean had not been expecting that. He had been warned that she was far more wicked, but had never realized by how much. He had met other succubi before, but this was nothing like it. The tiniest contact made his skin burn and cool at the same time, as if she was the source of his pain and relief.

“Depends on what you are asking for?” Ara asked.

Her question brought him back to reality. He had been looking for an extension of territory and an agreement of sorts. It was not in their nature to kill, but it was something that did happen occasionally. When entering someone else’s territory, there were details that needed to be discussed. Police reports, coroner connections, safe houses, hunter updates, supernatural embassies, werewolf populations, etc.

Interlacing his fingers with hers, Dean kissed her fingertips lightly. The tip of his tongue darted out and tasted the sweet and spicy flavor of her skin, as he trailed his kisses continually up to her wrist. He looked up at Ara to find her with her lips parted and her eyes closed. When he stopped, she opened her eyes slowly and gave him a delicious half lidded smile. The look of pleasure on her face made him want to fidget in his chair to get comfortable.

The feeling of his lips against her skin had given Ara a pleasant sensation that she had not experienced before. The feeling was similar to heated pin prickles that seemed to travel straight down her spine and through her body. It wasn’t a hit. There was no crash or rush of sorrow after his lips failed to meet her flesh but rather a soft glow. There was longing though. She wanted more.

“Information about the area, dear. Nothing more,” Dean spoke, his voice breaking Ara away from the trance. He smirked, knowing his charms against her weren’t entirely useless.

Dear.

The single word stood out to Ara. In her entire lifetime, she had not once, ever been called “dear”. Not by Eleanor or by any one of her victims or friends. The word “dear” echoed in her mind, repeatedly. Every syllable and enunciation of each sound played carefully inside her head as her mind struggled with the idea of being called “dear”.

“That’s somewhat disappointing,” Ara countered, never breaking apart their joined hands.

Trailing senseless patterns up and down Dean’s forearm with the fingertips of her free hand, she leaned in closer and watched how Dean bit his lip at her touch. Both of their hands were becoming interlaced and she was sure that he could also feel those same pin prickles. The act itself of having their arms intertwined in such a way was sensual and bewildering.

No wonder succubi and incubi tended to stay away from each other. At one point, Ara thought she would indulge in a more dangerous conquest for the night but now that Dean was here, things seemed to have changed.

She watched the way her meal for the night stumbled and laughed with his pack of friends at another table. The blonde’s features were smooth and delicate, almost like a woman’s. In today’s trends for male beauty he was perfection. In her own age, she preferred men not boys.

The human’s smell reeked of energy drinks, chips, and the horrible smell of protein shakes. Ara wondered how on Earth she had at one point considered him possibly delicious.

The human’s clothes were tailored, but they hung off his body in a way that could not mask the imperfections he had.

She could not disguise her disgust at the beginning signs of hair loss and impending baldness for the young 27 year old male. Her trained eyes picked up how his face was a bit too rosy and that his hands were far too thick for a man who did not do any work outside; signs that showed his cholesterol and sodium levels were probably too high.

Women flirted with him and he flirted back, already used to the attention. Her prey was a player and absolutely seasoned with experience; that had gotten her interest, but now Ara saw him with pity. Her nose wrinkled when she caught a whiff of her proposed target and she suppressed a surge of nausea.

In essence, Dean looked like dessert and the human looked like a piece of horse shit.

Dean’s rough fingers gently grazed the side of her cheek, making Ara look at him.

“There’s nothing disappointing at all, my dear,” he murmured, tracing the outside of her lips. The touch was feather light and delicate, as if she was a flower and he could crush her at any moment.

When Ara closed her eyes at the gesture, Dean noticed her naturally thick lashes and found her enticing. He wanted her, although the more logical part of his soul denied it. It simply was and should not be. Their arms were intertwined like long lost lovers.

“Are you hungry?” Ara asked him. Her eyes were dark and he knew what she was asking.

Hunger. It was not defined for the need for flesh against flesh, pulse against pulse, a full belly or ambition. Desires were things that were not needed for survival. Hunger was far more complicated and far more essential. Hunger was the soul begging for sustenance of life.

Ara was starving, although she hid it well. She did not want. She needed more. The haunted look in her eyes that was only visible for a fleeting moment revealed how hungry she really was.

He could not deny that he knew that look because he saw it in himself each and every damn morning when he woke up. Especially when a woman would beg him to stay and he would have to send her away, or when he would leave the body behind, for hotel staff to find. It was hollowing, to do such things over and over again. It no longer became pleasurable to let the inner beast enjoy his fill.

Yes.

The hunger was absolute and lingering. The answer was simple, but the consequences wouldn’t be.

Ara didn’t wait for the answer. She saw it flash across his face. The shock, the realization , the wonder, the pain, and then the doubt, but mostly she saw fear.

She didn’t care for her life. Ara had lost the love for herself so long ago, she wondered if she even loved herself from the start. After all, wasn’t it known? Any woman who used her body to seduce by means of survival, made her a whore. No matter how elegantly dressed or manicured, a whore was a whore.

“What’s on the menu?” Dean asked, his warm breath tickled her.

Ara sighed in pleasure and let her fingers run through his hair.

At the notion, she watched how his dark grey eyes dilated and lost focus. It was just as pleasurable for her as it was for him. It was like a bucket of cold water. The darker, more sinister part of her sensed the danger. It was fight or flight.

She couldn’t fight it.

Ara chose flight.

Dean huffed out in frustration when he saw thin air. Humans believed they could teleport when in reality, they could simply move incredibly quick. Not even a blur, it was almost as if she disappeared. He inhaled and caught the hint of her aroma. At the smell alone, his eyes rolled back in pleasure.

In truth he had been holding his breath as a precaution. Otherwise, he was sure he would have picked up Ara and taken her far away. But he knew it would be a foolish thing to do. She would fight tooth and nail and there would be quite a bit of a bloody mess.

Pulling out a cigarette, he lit it and watched the scene around him.

The answer was yes. He was hungry and very much so. He eyed some college girls stumbling around in heels and felt disgusted. He knew what he wanted, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer.