She is pretty fucking fierce, I thought, laughing at myself for my little burst of sheer narcissism.

The gnome ignored my random giggling but did acknowledge my thanks with a nod. Then she took her leave, waddling toward the forest surrounding our training pasture. Trill gave me a horrible pony grin—her eerie gray skin stretched taut over her bony skull—before

she turned tail to follow Nell into the woods.

I stretched, long and leisurely, before wandering off toward the cabin that butted up to the pasture we used for training. The door was locked, so my bag was lying on the stairs of the cabin's wide, wraparound porch.

I eyed the little house, wishing I could get in there. I had to pee, first of all, but I also loved snooping around Nell's cabin. It was full of amazing art, and it had this awesome kitchen I would kill to cook in. It also smelled deliciously of lemon wax and cardamom, a combination of scents I'd come to crave. But it was closed up, and the gnome had gone off to do whatever it is gnomes do, so I dragged my battered old messenger bag off the stairs and started down the path that led to my house.

Feeling my oats, I gave my bag a jaunty swing. It twirled, obligingly, around my arm and I laughed. So I gave it another swing, harder this time. Which resulted in me dumping its contents onto the rough path beneath my feet.

Sighing, I knelt down to pick it all up, wondering, for about the fifth time that month, whether Nell had a spell to make me less of a spaz.

“I saw it and knew it was for you. Happy early Valentine's Day!”

I held the T-shirt up to admire it as Iris's honeydew voice washed over me. That said, I had to tear my eyes from her, resplendent in an aquamarine wool sheath dress that accentuated her golden skin and hair, to appreciate my gift. The shirt was white, with huge dark gray and silvery angelic wings etched on the back and a small heart with wings and a halo emblazoned on the front. It was adorable and I loved it.

“Thank you sooo much, Iris,” I said before passing the gift I'd gotten her over the table.

We were at the Trough, our local diner. Many of Rockabill's businesses had pig-related names in honor of our whirlpool, the Old Sow, which was a tourist attraction as well as my favorite place to swim. Not intending to seduce the good people of Rockabill, Iris was dampening down her natural mojo, but I could still feel it brushing against my carefully constructed shields. And despite her efforts, the succubus's effect on the other diners was very evident. Everyone in the Trough was turned toward Iris, their own postures reflecting each of her movements, just a little, like flowers tracking the path of the sun through the sky.

She pawed aside the gift bag's decorative tissue to find the first three books of my new favorite paranormal romance series. They featured the antics of extraordinarily boinkable demon men, and since Iris was a succubus, after all, I thought they were an entirely appropriate Valentine's Day gift.

“Ooo, covers,” Iris cooed, stroking a French manicured nail over the lusciously muscular tattooed back of the first novel's cover model. I nodded my agreement. I normally didn't like the whole “brooding man” choice of cover, but these totally rose my biscuits. They focused on the body and the tats—rather than the usually disappointing pretty-boy face that most covers sported—and I was happy to follow their lead.

“I know.” I grinned, partially happy that Iris liked my gift but also happy that I could even have a conversation like this with her. A few months ago I had no chance of keeping my shit together around an aroused incubus or succubus. And they were always aroused. But now, while I felt the waves of Iris's sexual juju against my protected mind, I was totally capable of keeping on my underpants.

“Sexy?” she asked, arching an eyebrow at me.

“Incredibly,” I answered. “Slightly bizarre caveman-style monosyllabic dialogue in some of the sex scenes, but other than that, they are hot.”

“Mmmm. Sex scenes,” Iris purred, her eyes glowing gently in that trademark succubus manner. I laughed as Amy, our local nahual waitress, came to take our orders.

“What can I get you fine ladies this evening?” she asked.

“The usual,” I said, which meant a lemonade and a tuna melt.

“Can I have this?” Iris asked in her honeydew voice, holding up one of the novels I'd bought her so that Amy could see the cover.

“Sorry, hot man is all out at the moment. We have some corpulent taxi driver and a slice of crazy cat-lady left, but we ran out of hot man hours ago.”

Iris tsked, her luscious lips pouting adorably. “Then I'll have a Diet Coke and the chef's salad. Dressing on the side.”

“You got it,” Amy said as she ambled off.

“Now, Jane,” Iris said, her brilliant blue eyes fixing on mine like spotlights. “Tell me what you and Ryu have planned for Valentine's Day. Maybe a ménage à trois?”

“Why?” I asked suspiciously. “Has Ryu said something to you?”

“No,” Iris laughed. “I was trying to make a joke.”

“Never joke about Ryu and sexual experimentation. Ever. My heart can't take it.”

Iris grinned a particularly feral little smirk. “If he weren't a waste of my time, I'd take him for a spin. Share trade secrets and whatnot.” Iris wasn't calling Ryu a waste of time because she didn't like him but because, for whatever reason, only humans and some halflings created the right type of magical essence that succubae, incubi, and baobhan sith needed to feed.

I shook my head at Iris. “The thought of you two together terrifies me. You'd burn through the floor. You'd probably smash your way to China. The friction would start a cold-fusion reaction.”

Iris laughed. “Unfortunately, he's like celery to me. I'd burn more energy eating him than I would get from digesting.” I cocked my head at her metaphor, trying to decide if it was sexy or just bizarre as she continued. “And besides, except for feeding, he's got eyes only for you, Jane.”

At her words, my whole body froze. The thing is, the situation between Ryu and me was really complicated. I liked him, a lot. But he lived in Boston, where he was based. He was kind of like a supernatural detective, and it was a big deal to be in charge of a city so large and important. Meanwhile, my life was here, in backwater Rockabill. My dad would never move, as he was convinced my mother would someday reappear. He also had a bad heart, so I had to be around to help take care of him. I wasn't about to abandon my father, and Ryu wasn't about to abandon his career. So, even though we'd been dating since we met, we were still in this delicious honeymoon stage. We had our heady weekend flings, and we never had to deal with real life.

But I still knew damned well that “real life” meant Ryu's being with other women. He was a baobhan sith, the beings that had inspired our vampire mythologies. He drank blood, but not much. He only needed essence, not food. Nevertheless, Ryu couldn't do his job without expending a lot of energy. Therefore, he couldn't do his job without consuming a lot of essence from human veins. As my veins were in absentia, in this scenario, two plus two equaled him getting a little nookie on theside. He couldn't just find any old neck and sink in his fangs, or rob a blood bank, or drink synthetic blood like vampires did in the movies. After all, it wasn't the actual blood Ryu fed on, but the emotions. So he had either to scare the shit out of someone or arouse them. He had either to become a creature of nightmares, the kind of creature I wouldn't want to date, or stick with arousal and do what, in human terms, would be considered cheating.

But just because I could do the math didn't mean I wanted to. Ever. As Iris kept pouring lemon juice in my wounds, my face went all blank and weird, and I knew my friend could sense how uncomfortable she'd made me by bringing up Ryu's sanguinary infidelities.

“Oh, gods, Jane, I'm so sorry. That was so stupid of me to say. I'm really sorry. I know Ryu cares for you… I shouldn't have mentioned the feeding… I'm sure he'd just feed off you if he could. And I can tell you from experience that the sex really doesn't mean anything…”

I tried to take deep breaths as Iris plied her shovel, digging herself deeper.

“I mean, he probably doesn't have to feed that often anyway, and you do see each other quite a bit, so it's probably only a few times a week that he needs to go off on his own…”

Before Iris could apologize any more, I forced my throat to work. “No, Iris, it's stupid of me to get upset. It's just all so fucking complicated.” My stressed, already overly loud voice rose on those last two words, causing old Mrs. Patterson of the randy Yorkies to glare at me from over her bowl of clam chowder before she went back to staring in rapture at Iris. “Let's just change the subject,” I begged. “Tell me about your plans for Valentine's Day.”

The good thing about succubae was that they were

wonderfully easy to distract. Wiping away her sad expression, Iris started telling me about the marathon of debauchery she had planned for the weekend. I let my mind start to wander when she got to the part about her intended visit to Eastport's fire station.