Succubus Blessed - Heather Long

Chapter 1

“I am not afraid of an army of lions led by a sheep; I am afraid of an army of sheep led by a lion.” - Alexander the Great

What the hell made him so great, anyway? Dude died when he was like thirty-something and not even in battle. Nope, he died from a disease. Or maybe someone poisoned him. Be kind of sad if he died by poison…well, for him anyway. Points to the poisoner, because you couldn’t beat the asshole in a battle. Sneaky fuck for the win.

As it was, I stood outside the gates to Nightmare Penitentiary. Of all the gin joints in all the world… “Here I fucking am,” I called. “Open sesame.”

Nothing happened. Because of course it didn’t. The locations to access the penitentiary moved. Or so said all of Alfred’s sources. Rogue and he had discussed this at length. Fin had tracked it before. Fin had cracked it like an egg. Fin had been the one to send him the coordinates when he asked for his help.

Unsurprisingly, the entrance was not where it had been when they ‘rescued’ me. Not that I recalled much of the actual location. Rogue had been too busy racing me out of there for me to see much more than a puke-worthy blur.

Foot tapping, I eyed the alleyway. Of all the places for the prison entrance to be, a little used footpath in the center of a London park was not where I would have put it. First of all, it was a pain in the ass to even get in the country—okay, it wasn’t that bad. But according to ‘sources’—and I used that term loosely because no one was talking so much as Alfred and Rogue had to tear it out of them—they had sped up how often the entrance moved.

There was no guarantee it would be here…

I kicked an empty can, and it flew down the damp, dark alley, then bounced off something and came flying back at me.

First, I forgot how much force there was in my kicks. Second, fucking yes because there was something there. I dodged the aluminum projectile and danced forward, hands extended. It was one thing to hit the field with a can, it was another to crush my face into it.

When my palms encountered it, there was a buzzing sensation that radiated all the way down to my bones and up into my teeth. Fucking bizarre feeling. But it didn’t hurt. Magic was so bizarre. Okay, I’d called in a few favors—ha, they thought they were the only ones with friends—but the witches I consulted told me three things.

One, no one could find the penitentiary and I was fucking nuts to even consider it. Well, no shit, but I was looking anyway.

Two, the prison was designed to keep creatures in, not out. Side note, did you know I qualified as a “creature” now? Check that out. So, it was designed to keep me in, not out. Since I needed to get “in,” that worked for me. Besides, I was supposed to be in there, right? Inmate?

Ex-inmate.

Escaped prisoner?

Whatever.

Three, and the final little thing worth mentioning, people who voluntarily go in have more options for getting out. It was part of the magic of the place. I hadn’t been there as a volunteer before, but I was all about it now.

Because on the other side of that field was my dragon and my druid. I wanted them back, dammit. I didn’t tell anyone they could take them.

I applied some pressure to the field, and it seemed to stiffen under my touch. Huh. I knocked, and the air hardened to wood. Retreating a step, I studied it. There was nothing discernibly different. I mean, other than me doing a damn mime impression. I was still standing in this filthy, smelly little alley with the distinct odors of rotting food perfuming the trash and the damp, moldy kind of mildew that stone got.

What? It stunk back here.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I sucked in a deep, smelly breath and then gagged.

Fuck that.

New plan.

I held my breath.

Better.

The more force I applied, the more resistance I met.

“You will not go after them,” Alfred ordered me. “Do I make myself clear?”

“The words ‘fuck’ and ‘you’ come to mind,” I responded. “I can’t leave them there.”

“Little sváss, I know you’re worried. But they will be fine. If I know them, and I do, they will free themselves.”

Rogue’s words helped.

For three days.

Then the dreams grew darker and bloodier.

By day five,