Incubus Succubus

Incubus/

Succubus

Awakening

A novel by

L.A. Nantz

Incubus/Succubus

A Black Bed Sheet/Diverse Media Book

March 2020

Copyright © 2020 by L.A. Nantz

All rights reserved.

Cover art by Elizabeth Mahoney,

Cover design by Nicholas Grabowsky

and copyright © 2020 by L.A. Nantz and Black Bed Sheet Books

The selections in this book are works of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author.

ISBN-10: 1-946874-24-8

ISBN-13: 978-1-946874-24-5

Incubus/

Succubus

A Black Bed Sheet/Diverse Media Book

Antelope, CA

Also by L.A. Nantz:

Mia’s Tempest

Dedication

This novel is dedicated to my grandmother. Although she did not live to see it published, she was my whole reason for working so hard to get it done. I miss you, Grandma…

I would like to thank the following people for all the work and help in making this novel a reality:

Corrine Weibine: My oldest friend—from the beginning, your input and support has been paramount in making this story come to life. And I still say SHE went willingly.

Cori Taylor: Beta-reader and bodyguard. Your feet kept many unwanted over-the-shoulder interruptions at bay, and your feedback was priceless.

Nicholas Grabowsky: Your review of my novel really helped me to better understand what I was doing and how to get there.

Chris Hogan, Bruce and Jessica Brandenburg, Bill Tebo, Rebecca Felzak, and Garret Holcomb: If not for your support and faith in me, this would have failed a long time ago. Thank you, thank you all very much.

-L. A. Nantz

Preface

Writing this novel has been a labor of love that few can understand. Much of what is to follow is fiction; some of it, however, is not. Some of the material contained within this text is based on my life—direct memories of things past, both good and bad. Some of those memories have been altered a little here and a little there. I do have artistic license, you know.

Any characters which appear in this novel are fictional and do not reflect real persons, living or dead. This is a work of fiction, after all. Right?

You decide.

Chapter One

Fevered Dreams

"This is the beginning of all I know,

Wherein, I shall tell nothing to you.

As in your mind you shall perceive

A light, as through my words, glow;

Knowledge held in hands you once knew."

I’ve stood here an hour, wondering if this cliff is high enough to kill a vampire. The wind blows hard at my back. The sun sets over the edge of the world, as I stand on the rocky precipice of some dizzying height. The wind has caught up dust from somewhere far away; it tears at my face, scouring it harsh and raw.

I stand on the brink of all I am, here on the edge of the cliff. Do I jump, or do I stop and try one last time? I had hoped the fever would do for me what I have failed to do for myself; it weakens me, leaving me a cliché in the sun. And yet, I have not been burned away. I’ve come so close to this point so many times already, but every time I have stepped back from the edge before I had the courage to follow through.

When I look back at all the good things and at all the bad things I have done…when I look at all of the things that have been done to me, and all the things I did to others…I marvel that I have not come here sooner. Three times now, my feet have taken me four steps, or five steps away from this edge; never before had I stood at the very brink. Here is the edge of all I am, and it was surprisingly long in coming.

My knees begin to slip dangerously--I’m forced to catch myself from falling forward. The fever is distorting my balance now, as well as my memory. I was wrong about the number; I remember now other times, and once when I came even closer to this mortal edge. I have often questioned whether or not I should remain alive—if I was even offered up the privilege. Of course, there are still many people who would love to see me pushed off this cliff, whether I find my resolve or not. I smile at that thought and wonder what they taste like. Dim light begins breaking the clouds into dark reds and oranges, cascading shades of yellow and purple across my face and in my eyes. There’s hair, vivid red hair, brushing across my face. I made a promise to her. I promised we would have a life together soon.

It is a shadow of things to come–or, perhaps, a shadow of things that have passed. The fever that has been building all week has given me little room to think or focus on anything, save reaching California for Rayne’s graduation. She and I have talked often of sharing wine once she becomes a Doctor of Medieval History. If I had known the drive through the desert was going to affect me so dramatically, I would’ve accepted the plane ticket she offered. But I was stubborn, as always; I refused. I had said I would be at that place, at that time; I’d promised that, for once, I would come to her, and not the other way around. That for once I could be near her...and not need to feed...

The rain has started pouring, cold and shocking on my too-warm face. It temporally defeats the fever besieging my brain, and my thoughts begin to make more sense. I can’t die. I’ve made a promise. I must leave this cliff behind.

***

It’s gone on long enough to leave a mirror-pool along the ground in its wake. I walk over it with no reflection and no shadow. The natural world reviles me too much to acknowledge my existence. The moisture that has collected on my face is a salty mixture of tears, rain, and fear.

I look back at the car parked behind me. Instead of my own reflection, I imagine I can see the face of the woman who has so completely given herself to me. I wonder how I can do this, how can I give to her this pain that has for so long been a part of my life. Where do I go if she should eventually decide to hate me for this decision? What if she someday looks into the empty mirror and sees her own damnation, as I have? But then, if I had the chance, would I calmly stand aside as she left with another? Would I still love her? I realize it is only my mind wandering again, and I try to shake it off...but the fever has reached a delirious peak now; it refuses to give me peace. I am forced to re-live the weeks I spent in her arms...

***

How long have you known about me—I mean, about my being a vampire? 

I asked the question as loud as I could without yelling. There were too many people standing about for me to be too open. This was a delicate balance to manage; the music was loud, but not too loud. People were talking all around us, so there was an added layer to the environment to overcome. I looked at her while waiting for her answer. Her black hair was streaked with vivid red, but it carried a silken texture that was unusual for someone who changed the color of their hair so frequently.  She wore Manic Panic white with a skill that said she was naturally white, never touched or molested by the sun. This was the trait that I loved in her the most—so many girls and women today worship at the altar of the sun with an abandon that leeches away the very vitality of their souls. Her lips glistened with the black lipstick and glitter she always used; it made them look like the night sky. She was a good foot shorter than me, yet she always felt as though we were eye to eye. She had all this confidence, all this drive and energy. Sometimes I forgot who I was and felt so small next to her. It wasn’t a bad thing; it was like being swallowed whole by a goddess. Then there were those eyes. They were a brilliant, almost luminescent blue, the kind that makes some people uncomfortable. It was into those eyes I looked as she turned to reply

I’ve watched you for years, and have wanted to be with you for just as many. It’s not easy to say when I became aware of you being a ‘real’ vampire, but everyone’s known about you being a vampire for some time. You’re kind of a legend down here. The kind that everyone talks about but no one really knows about, you know? She paused to light a clove cigarette; one for herself, and then one for me. After a long inhalation, she continued. So when I found out you were asking around if I was seeing anyone, I had to jump at the chance. I had to let you know that I want to be with you, to get out of this abysmal relationship I’m in.

She made a motion with one hand, toward a man further down the floor. A giant scarecrow of a man too thin to be real: every aspect of his body was stretched to a ridiculous proportion. And still every feature was in proportion for the madness of his body—it was a man I knew. We had been friends once, but that friendship had faded away with years of avoidance.

The touch of her fingers on my face pulled my attention back to her. She was smiling that wonderful smile, her eyes full of compassion and desire. I just knew in my heart that she loved me as much as I did her. The angel leaned in to kiss me gently on the lips. Her mouth traveled up to my ear. You’re my Lancelot, she murmured there. You’ll save me, I know you will.

I guess I stood there looking at her with a ridiculous smile on my face for far too long, because my friend Cat danced up next to us with a frown. She asked if she could talk to me for a moment. That wonderful angel said yes, and with a grace uncommon in any human, seemed to disappear into the crowd. Cat, watching to make sure we were alone, turned on me with an expression which seemed like irritation but was actually concern. Her words were soft but loud enough for me to hear. Her body was so close I could not help but feel the warmth of her. It excited me even though I knew she and I could never be more than friends. Her lips passed my vision and became a breath so sweet I remembered what had caught my attention with Cat in the first place.

Stephen, what are you doing? You know she’s dating someone; you can’t be falling for her like you fall for every girl that smiles in your direction. You just can’t. 

The desperation in her voice almost snaps me back to reality, almost. I let out a frustrated sigh, trying to catch sight of my Guinevere in the crowd. Cat, I know what I am doing. Besides, she said she’s leaving him. She said she’s been waiting for me to take notice of her—that she’s loved me for years and can’t wait to be with me anymore.

I’m not even sure that’s what was said; all I knew was that I was in love. How could this go wrong?

Cat moved to slap me; at the last moment, however, she seemed to change her mind. Instead, she let her palm come to rest gently on my face. I couldn’t tell if the look I was getting was the same as the one my angel had given me or if it was concern. Before I could decide, she smiled at me and said:

Stephen, whatever happens…I’ll be here for you. Okay?

The countdown to New Year’s began, sending the club into sudden silence. My angel slid up from behind Cat to take my hand and lead me away to the center of the room. Cat and her date followed us.  Everyone was counting down; the New Year was almost upon us. For a moment, I saw the man she was dating look over at us, but then he disappeared with some red-headed woman I had never before seen. She stared at me with a surprisingly blunt intensity in her face as they walked away—all the way until they turned the corner, out of sight.

Her fingers pulled my face back to her eyes again. The smile on her face was so full of emotion and love—it had to be love, that was what I was feeling, as I just could feel nothing else! How could a face or pair of eyes look on me so, with such softness and brilliance, and it not be love? The numbers—3, 2, 1—I heard them, but it was the kiss that followed that sealed my belief in her love, that I was not just falling foolishly for another girl who wanted something from me I could never give her.

The next hour was an utter blur. I can’t tell you if anyone tried to talk to me or if the music even played. All I know is that we spun in circles, kissing, holding each other, dancing as close as two people can in public without being obscene. My next solid memory is when her date came up out of nowhere, and said that it was time to go. The red-headed woman was with him, and her look was one of cold hate—a kind of hate that seemed timeless and without end. I went to intervene, but the red-head stepped between us. She said that I had done enough, and it was time for them to leave. That I had no right to assume anything could come out of tonight’s little dalliance. She smiled and laughed openly at me, implying it was all a game when she said, You have been played for a fool.

I watched as they left, my angel’s eyes begging me to save her. That’s when I realized that Cat, her date, and about three other people were holding me back. I could hear Cat saying it was okay, that I’d be able to see her later. But the only voice I could hear was my angel’s, begging me to save her.  Pulling loose, I ran up the stairs and out the door into the darkness’s embrace. The cold was a shock that went through me like a knife. 

I looked left and right, trying to see them, but they were gone. Only when I realized that I had walked all the way to the parking lot did I stop. I leaned against the old building, and pulled out a cigarette; I still had her smokes.  I lit one on instinct, an effortless motion, and took a deep drag from it. In my head I heard a voice start up; one I hate and want nothing to do with—his voice, the voice of my shattered soul, my tormentor.

"You’re so pathetic. If you could have just let me deal with it, she would be in your arms right now. Ah well—your loss."

Then it was the sounds of the city again, and nothing else. I can never tell if it’s really him or just me hating myself when I hear him. That night, I didn’t care. I pushed myself off the wall, and started heading back to the club with the intent of drinking away my loneliness. I almost ran Cat over on the stairs as she was coming up to make sure I was okay.

Her eyes said everything. I knew she was worried about me, but I smiled at her as only I can.  For a moment in time, her tension and fear melted away, and she smiled.

That’s the wonderful thing about our zodiac sign, Leos always bounce back. We always find a way to survive no matter what—don’t we, brother? It was a statement, not a question. It’s one we have made to each other over and over. She and I, though not related, were closer than any pair of twins alive. Like two sides of the same coin, our lives always seemed to be in harmony.

I hugged Catherine, feeling the comfort and stability she gave to my life. I told her I was blessed to have her. She took my hand and led me down into the shadows. Cat’s toy was waiting there, but sitting next to him was another girl.

She’s for you, Cat told me. You need to feed. I don’t want you getting weak again; we almost lost you last time. All I could do was smile at her. I told the young girl she could go, that I would be okay. I headed into the bar instead.

The three of them watched me the rest of the night as I drank myself stupid, and they kept me safe until I was sober enough to drive again. The drive home was cold and difficult. So much snow had fallen—at least a foot, if not two feet. I rallied against my ignorance, damning myself as a fool the whole way. Had I set myself up for another fall? Had I done exactly what Cat feared I would do—fall in love with a pretty face simply because she had smiled at me? I spent so much time wondering about the condition of my vampiric nature and how it so completely controlled my emotions and how I felt and saw the world around me. I screamed out loud with the window of my car down as I drove home, begging the universe or God or gods, to free me from the overwhelming empathy that seemed to always ruin my life.

When I pulled into my driveway and found her sitting on my porch, waiting in the cold for me, I wept.

I could not help but run up and embrace her, then quickly help her inside out of the cold. Once in my apartment I did my best to warm her and I asked her why she had sat there waiting for so long. How did she know I would be home in time to save her? Her answer was simple:

You love me, and I didn’t give you my name.

The rest of the night was a blur. We began to drink, and she danced and sang for me. Her flexuous body wrote a spell in the air around her, and her voice became the current that gave that spell power. And the more power was fed to that spell, the less I remembered of the night. There came a time in which I have no memory other than her voice and the silken touch of her body.

When morning came, I was alone in my bed and my body ached all over. It took me hours to even rise and begin my day. When I checked my phone, I found over 30 messages on it. Each of my friends had tried to call several times, and each had left a message that was short and urgent: Please call me as soon as you can. What else could I do?

As I was dialing my oldest and dearest friend, suddenly the raven-haired girl came out of the bathroom (had I not just been in there… alone?), still wet from the shower...I must have not noticed her due to my exhaustion. She danced up to me, took hold of me tightly, and kissed me as deeply as she could.

After a few moments we both needed air. I felt like I was drowning and broken. She looked into my eyes and smiled, and before I could say anything about needing to call my friends back, she said, Let’s stay in and turn off our phones. I want to consume you, inside and out, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you right here and never leave!

She then ran into the kitchen and prepared breakfast for us, her body bare as she danced, a private song which gave her flesh direction. She suggested I take a shower and freshen up before we ate, so I headed off to comply.

I stood in the flow of the hot water for almost an hour before it began to run cold. As the water turned off I could hear my phone ringing again. I thought to ask my lithe little fey to answer it but I realized I still didn’t know her name. I stepped out of the bathroom and found that she was not there. My phone had stopped ringing. I moved into the kitchen and breakfast was waiting for me, hot and fresh, each item set out neatly in its own place. It even had the eggs and the last of the bacon that I had saved for a morning just like this. Coffee...orange juice...had she gone out and purchased these things while I was in the shower?

After I finished cleaning up and putting my kitchen back in order, my phone rang. I was determined not to miss it, but as I entered the living room, she was there turning it off. She smiled at me saying, It’s time for us to finally be alone. She tossed my phone aside with as little regard as one would give to a spent tissue.

We began as we had the night before, with her dancing and singing her spell. This time I joined her and did my best to keep up with her body’s motion, humming along with her song. I can’t remember what the words were, but they were lovely. I remembered she seemed to still be wet from the shower, almost cold like she had been when I first brought her in the night before…

*Knock, knock, knock*

I looked up and realized I was alone and someone was at my door. I looked around and called for her, but realized I still had not gotten her name…

Damn it Stephen! Open the door! It’s me, Cat!

I am not sure why but my body was once again sore and tired; it was a struggle to make it to the door. As I opened it Cat looked in at me, turned white, and almost screamed. I fell back and wondered why I was so cold.

Cat recovered and entered the room, grabbed a blanket, and draped it over me. She slowly helped me to the couch. It must have been several hours before I could understand what she was trying to say. Every now and then I would see my little fey in the door to my bedroom begging me to make her leave. Then just as mysteriously, my raven-haired girl would not be there...just a wisp of smoke seemed to remain. Every time she would fade away, I would begin to cry again; the pain of not having her near was unbearable.

Cat finally noticed what was going on and slapped me hard in the face, saying something about a hospital, and me having a fever…I passed out.

***

When I awoke, Cat was still with me, but now I was in a hospital bed and the doctors were saying there was nothing wrong with me. There was just no reason for me to be in the shape I was in. I lay quietly there until they had gone and I was once again alone with Cat.

What’s going on, I asked her, why am I here?

We had been trying to reach you for days, and finally I came over to your place, and you were sick, really sick. You had a fever of one-oh-five when I got there!

I guess I owe you some thanks, then.

Damned straight you do! Cat said, But I have some bad news for you, and I really don’t know how else to say it…

Where is the girl I was dancing with? I interrupted. I never got her name...she was still with me when you showed up, is she here now?

My question stopped Cat mid-sentence, cutting her off and scaring her at the same time. What do you mean still with you? she asked.

When I got home from the club that night, I began to explain, she was sitting on my porch waiting for me. I took her in and we ended up humping for the rest of the night. Then she made me…wait, did you say? You guys were attempting to reach me for days?

Cat just sat there looking at me, paler than she normally was, even with her manic-panic makeup. A tear streaked its way to her chin. When she began to talk her voice was shaking and broken; I could tell she was fighting with herself not to break down and start crying her heart out.

Stephen…she died in a car crash on New Year’s Eve, she drowned…

As her words settled in I could hear my raven-haired fey singing to me again, and I could feel the cold wet silk of her body next to mine…her words clear this time.

My name is Laura, I love you, please don’t let me die. I know you’re a vampire, please take me home with you...make me one of you.

I remembered telling her at the club that I couldn’t do it, at least not without knowing her better. I tried to convince her to come home with me, but she said she could not and that she was still with someone. And she cried saying she could not live without me, that if I didn’t do this I would never see her again and that I would regret it.

My heart ached painfully knowing that I did indeed love her. I couldn’t say why, just that I did, and knew I would for the rest of my life…

***

As I resurface from my memories, I know I have lost precious time. I cannot stay here. This is the last day of my lonely life, a life spent searching for a reason to go on, searching for some way to fill the void that is the torment of my existence. Were I mortal, this sort of messianic devotion to a life that never should have been allowed would have destroyed me long ago. So this is the first day of my end. Here, I am born again. Here, I begin my story…

***

…I knew even when I was a child, growing up in rural Mississippi, that I was very different from those around me. I had a gift for making others uncomfortable just by sitting quietly in the same room with them. I used to watch as they breathed, feeling every breath as if it were my own. I counted the beats of their hearts. I did this just loud enough for them to hear me...I knew they could feel the pressure of my eyes upon them...in them.

I remember staring at my teacher in class one day. She was my second-grade teacher. I can’t remember if it was the dove-white skin of her hands, or the round classic features of her face, or her eyes. I smile and sigh as I remember her details. Her eyes looked very much like those of some angel out of any painting by any of the masters of the Renaissance.

Was it her hair, a very dark auburn, in and of itself not very remarkable...just simple and proper? Was it the way it framed her face that caused the shine of hair to be special? Was it the fullness of her breasts, firmly held in place with a neatly-snapped bra beneath her loose angora sweater?

Whatever it was I began to stare, and she began to slowly shake. She watched me watching her, seeing my lips move as I began counting her heartbeats. That’s when she realized that it was her beating heart I was counting. She almost screamed. (It still makes me laugh to this day.)

She tried hard not to let it show, but I was done with what I needed to do. I think she had assigned us a drawing. Some sort of picture of a fond memory or place that made us happy. I sat there staring at her breathing each breath, watching how her breasts rose and fell. Noticing that her hair didn’t move, that her clothes clung to her, showing off every inch of her frame as though she were cut from stone by Michelangelo himself. Looking at how her neck was smooth and white, never touched by the sun. Finally she practically screamed my name. Everyone but me jumped. I merely inclined my head a little to the left, the better to see her, and replied, Yes, Mrs. Moore.

Did you finish your drawing? she asked. Do you need anything more to do?

The words came out of her with a quiver, almost squeaking out past her lips. I remember focusing on her lips. The red color painted on them for the man she was having an affair with was wet like sticky, fresh life. She knew I was looking at them and quickly pursed her lips to dull the color. Mrs. Moore stood and stepped to the board, and began erasing the words from the earlier lesson.

Yes Mrs. Moore, I finally replied. I am done.

I stood up as well. I took my project in one hand and moved towards her. She saw me approaching and did her best to remain in control to keep from having an anxiety attack. I offered my drawing to her. She stepped around her desk, wiping her hands on her skirt–a skirt that was brown in color leaving chalk prints on her hips in the form of her hands.

I held out the picture to her. She took it after a moment’s hesitation. Noticing what it was, she gasped and dropped it. She stepped back from me, from the paper, with the look of someone in slow motion moving at high speed. Why did you…draw that? came her voice. "Where