Costa grabbed him by the front of his shirt and yanked him up from the chair. Donovan cringed, all the wrinkles of his face suddenly visible and deeply etched, and sweat trailed down his neck to pool at Costa’s hand. Costa’s grip held firm, and what Donovan saw in Costa’s eyes made him shake.

“Stop your sniveling.” He tossed the man back down onto the chair.

“What did this man look like?” I asked.

Donovan shrugged. “Big guy. He wore sunglasses and a hat so I didn’t get that good of a look. He had tattoos on his arms—they were covered with them.”

I crossed my arms and gripped my elbows, trying to focus on the conversation. A sleeve of tattoos. Just like the psychometrist had seen in her vision of Wendy’s death.

There were so many questions I wanted to ask, but I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. I shook with the force of my feelings. I knew that all it would take was one slip, and I’d be across that table, trying to strangle the evil little man. I tried to breathe, closing my eyes against the feeling.

When I opened them, Costa stood in front of me, sunglasses back on. He was shoving his cell phone into his jacket pocket. But for the life of me I couldn’t remember him making a call, let alone what he’d said.

“Come on. I’ve got a couple of uniforms coming to take him in. We’ll get an artist on the drawing tonight. By tomorrow, we should have a good idea of what this guy looks like.” He lowered his voice and touched my upper arm. “Between that and the list from Natalie, we’ll find this guy. I promise.”

I nodded woodenly, wishing I could be so certain.

Chapter Ten

Costa took over the driving after the officers arrived to take Donovan to the station. He turned the radio on and we listened to golden oldies and hit the McDonald’s drive- thru. When asked, I told him I wanted chicken nuggets and iced tea.

I blinked dumbly for a few seconds when I looked up to see us parked in front of his hotel.

“I thought we were going back to the station.”

“I figured you could use a drink. It’s only six o’clock.

Some food and a few drinks and we can talk about the case.”

He was right. And what would I do at home anyway?

Sit there and feel sorry for myself, that’s what. Sleep didn’t seem to be a valid option for me anymore, and I would think better with someone to bounce ideas off of. “I don’t really drink.”

“Well, you can watch me, then.”

I followed Costa to his room, carrying the drinks while he carried the food. His room didn’t have a table, but it had a small desk. I sat there and ate my nuggets, while Costa ate his hamburger on the edge of the bed. True to his word, Costa had beer and some of the whiskey I’d seen him drink before. I hated whiskey and liked beer even less, but to each their own. I’d seen cops turn to much worse things than the occasional drink—couldn’t blame them with the things we saw on the job.

We ate mostly in silence, commenting occasionally about the news program on television. “So why do you think he’s doing this?” I asked Costa after we’d finished eating.

Costa didn’t ask who I meant. Instead he clicked off the television and faced me. “Greed, I guess. You’ve been a cop for a while. You know what people will do for money.”

I frowned. “I get that. I mean, as much as I can. But if it was only about the money, then why move on to different otherworlders—nonsuccubi?” If my theory actually held water, that was.

“Expanding his product line.” Costa sipped his beer and ignored the dirty look I shot him.

“People aren’t products,” I said, finally.

He rubbed his face with his free hand. “I’m not saying they are. But to some people they might as well be.”

“I just—” I took a haggard breath and let it out slowly.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m getting emotional today.

I feel like I’m going to blow up.”

“Have a beer.” He tossed me one and I groaned.

“Seriously? Beer is nasty.” I looked at the label and grimaced.

“That’s good beer. I won’t have you insulting it in my house.” He grinned at me and I chuckled at his stupid joke, some of the tension finally seeping out of my shoulders.

I took a sip and made a face at him. He smiled at me and my heart jumped. The man was a hottie—there was no way around it.

As if sensing my thoughts, Costa held my eyes with his own, humor suddenly gone from his expression. “My brother,” he said, voice rough.

“Pardon?”

“My brother was married to a succubus. She…” He took a quick drink of the whiskey and swallowed hard.

“Well, she fit the stereotype.”

“That’s why you were so suspicious of me? So weird about how I was acting? Just because you knew one slutty succubus?” I glared at him. “Give me a break.”

Costa shook his head. “I’m sorry, but she really did a number on him. Fed from him, thralled and messed around with his friends. She even—” He stopped, took a drink from his beer. “It doesn’t matter now. I shouldn’t have assumed that all succubi were like her.”

“She tried to seduce you, didn’t she?”

He stared at his beer and his face reddened as I watched.

“She got fucking close to succeeding, too.” He looked up and his eyes met mine. They’d darkened to salamander black, and it was as if I could feel heat radiating from him.

“My brother walked in with her wrapped around me half- naked. We haven’t spoken since.”

My chest constricted, and for a few agonizing moments I couldn’t speak. I took in his bleak expression as he turned his attention back to his whiskey, and I finally found my voice. “It wasn’t your fault. He shouldn’t blame you.”

“I almost fucked his wife; of course he should blame me!” The beer bottle cracked in his grip, and he tossed it into the small trashcan by his feet.

“When succubi have fed on someone, they get power.

She used her powers on you, and they would have been impossible for you to resist while you were in her presence.”

I kept my tone calm, but inside, my mind reeled at the idea. I’d known of succubi who would drink the essence of their partners for power and not stay with them. It was a risky practice that could lead to mental instability in the succubus. But for one to drink for a long period of time from one man and then still be willing and able to seduce and take from others?

The woman had to be a sociopath.

“You don’t know that for sure.” His voice cracked, as if he doubted the truth of my words himself.

“I do know. You’re a lot of things, Costa, but you’re not the type to seduce his brother’s wife.” I forced a small smile. “A bit of a wimp when it comes to being a passenger in a car driven by a perfectly good driver, but you’re a good man.”

Something like hope lit up his face, and his gaze turned from bleak to hungry. I slid my gaze down his strong arms, his muscled chest, and then back to his eyes. He blinked and his eyes changed again, but before I could take them in, he was pulling me to my feet and into his arms.

His lips touched mine as I wrapped my arms around his neck. Softly, his hands stroked my back, one settling on my lower back and the other moved down to graze my ass.

As he tugged me closer to him I gasped against his lips. He pulled back from my mouth and held me against him. His body was so hard, and I could feel how much he wanted me as he pressed against my stomach.

He stepped back and looked at me, anything but expressionless. Tense, his face was raw with desire. I knew I looked the same to him, and I didn’t care.

“I don’t want to take advantage,” he said slowly, as if choosing his words carefully. “This is an emotional time for you...”

“You’re not taking advantage.” I trailed my fingers down his chest, just grazing his shirt. “I am a succubus—”

“I know that doesn’t mean—”

“Hush,” I whispered. “Let me finish. The fact that you confided in me and trusted me enough to tell me what happened to you…” His expression darkened, so I pushed past the personal. “And that you followed my lead on the investigation, listened to my idea—it means a lot.

Not everyone takes me seriously. Not beyond my ability to get confessions from testosterone-driven young men, anyway.”

He frowned. “You’re a first-class investigator, Mari.”

He couldn’t have said anything sexier.

I tugged on his shirt and he lowered his face for another kiss. His lips were hot on mine as he pulled me against him, but his skin was slightly cool to the touch. It seemed to grow warmer with each passing moment.

I wondered for a brief moment if this was a stupid idea, but then dismissed the worry. Whatever else he might be, Valerio Costa was a good man, and a good cop.

I was a succubus, and nothing would clear my mind and make me feel better than a good roll in the hay. I wouldn’t feed from him. Taking energy from another person bound them to the succubus and vice versa. It was a sharing process that connected the woman and her lover through emotion and even memory. This would be something far more fleeting—a rush to get through the sorrow.

I tugged at Costa’s shirt, barely reaching the last two buttons before he yanked it off his shoulders. The white T-shirt he wore underneath soon followed, and I stopped for a moment to appreciate the view. The man was built.

His height—he had to be at least six foot three inches— hid the amount of muscle he carried, making him appear lean. But he wasn’t thin—far from it. I felt small standing next to him, no easy feat for a woman nearly six feet tall in her work-height heels.

Costa kissed me again before his mouth slid down my neck to kiss my collarbone and shoulder. His hands ran down my sides and back up, almost tickling in their softness. He pulled my blouse over my head, and then ever so slowly, grazed my bra-covered breast with the back of his fingers.