Succubus Diaries: 6. The Feast and the Hunger

The House was awake.

Not the way it stirred when one of the girls worked a client, nor the soft hum of laughter and muffled moans through velvet curtains. Tonight, it pulsed. Its walls breathed, the air thick with anticipation, like the entire brothel knew its mistress had finally stopped resisting.

She walked the halls barefoot, the carpet hot against her soles. The hunger stirred again—sharper now, greedy, demanding more than one man’s pulse. Her body still thrummed from Daniel’s surrender, but that taste had only whetted her appetite.

The House heard her need. And it answered.

Doors creaked open as she passed.

In the lounge, three men waited. They weren’t clients—at least, not ones who had paid. They stood in a loose circle, each in varying states of dishevelment, eyes glassy, as though summoned from the street and deposited here by unseen hands. One was broad-shouldered, black hair falling into his eyes; another lean and sharp-faced, tattoos snaking