And yet, she wasn’t afraid. Worried over her mother’s reaction should she ever find out Quin was even entertaining thoughts about a Succubus from Lust? Yes. Nervous over what it could mean for her, for Waryn, for the family? Of course. Anxious that she was playing too close to the fire, and she’d inevitably be burned? Most definitely.
But afraid? No. In fact, she’d never felt so unafraid before in her life.
So when she left her office, turned out the lights, and found Glyma waiting for her near the front door, her too-small cardigan stretched to ruin over Glyma’s full bust and tummy, Quin felt nothing but relief and hope. Like she was finally on the cusp of something that tasted like happiness.
She didn’t understand it, but for the first time, she was willing to trust her feelings over logic. For the first time, she wanted to be more than plastic, more than stone and metal. She wanted to be real; she wanted to be free. She wanted to be flesh and bone andalive.
“Ready?” Glyma asked, and it was so innocent, so simple.
To Quin, it signified something much deeper and much more terrifying when she said, “I’m ready.”
“Good,” Glyma said, and her smile was brilliant.
Quin offered to drive, and after a short back-and-forth, Glyma relented. Technically, Quin could have teleported them bothwherever they needed to go, but she did genuinely enjoy driving. Plus, teleporting—especially carrying someone with her—was exhausting at the best of times. At the end of a busy day, it could entirely drain her of energy, and she may not be able to teleport back.
More than any of those reasons, though, Quin simply wanted more time with her.
Glyma chatted most of the drive. There was a nervous edge to her rambling, but Quin liked listening to her talk and learning more about her. She’d grown up in Lust, an only child to a single mother—she’d never known her father—and attended a few years of culinary school, focused on baking, of course. She hadn’t finished her degree, though she pointedly skipped over the reason, hurrying to change the subject.
She liked puzzles and crafting. She dabbled in stationery and paper mâché. Anything involving glitter, which made Quin wince. She was still finding glitter in her office, even though she’d vacuumed at least thirty times. Pieces of confetti had hidden away in every nook and cranny of Quin’s briefcase and computer bag. She’d even found a streamer in her coat pocket, which was physically impossible since her coat had been on the opposite side of the room during the confetti explosion.
Glyma talked about a yoga class she’d attended with her friend Krul, and how she was meaning to go back, but she was just too busy. From context, Quin suspected Krul was more than just Glyma’sfriend. He was an Incubus, and she inferred that he did more for Glyma than simply offer his company.
Quin had never envied a man more, which made the feminist in her gag.
Of course, Glyma needed different types of sustenance. Casual sex was simply a part of everyday life for Incubi. On one hand, Quin was horribly jealous—of both Glyma herself for being able to partake so freely, and of her partners for having had theopportunity to touch and taste the woman Quin longed for. On the other hand, it sounded rather exhausting and annoying to have to get naked and vulnerable simply to feel satisfied.
Not that Quin wasn’t sexual. She was. In theory. She’d had sex with men, before she’d fully accepted that she was much too gay to enjoy it. And she’d dabbled in her more rebellious years. A kiss in the shadows. A dance in the center of the crowd where no one knew who she was. She’d even touched, just once. An Elas girl in a back hallway of a club.
She’d been nineteen and tipsy, and when the girl had guided Quin’s hand under her shirt to palm her breast, she had nearly combusted. She’d kissed her way down the girl’s neck, desperate to put her mouth where her fingers were, but then the girl had pushed her away.
“I don’t feel so good,” the Elas had said, then she’d thrown up on Quin’s hooves. It had effectively ruined the mood.
Beyond that, Quin’s only sexual experiences had been with men, and none of them had been anything to write home about. Her self-imposed celibacy over the last few years hadn’t been a hardship, per se, but she still grew lonely, still yearned for the touch of a gentle hand and plush mouth. Fantasy, always in fantasy.
Waryn had made it clear she could sleep with other people. In fact, he encouraged it. He had more qualms with her sexual repression than she did most of the time. As long as she was careful, kept it out of view, didn’t get caught—they both had an image to uphold, after all.
Since Quin had never met anyone who she wanted badly enough to risk everything for, she’d simply dedicated herself to her work, to her responsibilities. And only in the quiet of her bedroom, late at night, hidden in shadow, did she indulge in her imagination, fingers feather-light and wanting.
Shaking off the depressing thoughts, Quin focused back on Glyma’s chatter. The closer they got to the Lust district, the quieter Glyma grew until she fell silent completely. Quin attempted to keep the conversation flowing, but while Glyma responded politely, she had withdrawn.
When Glyma directed her to turn into the driveway of an assisted living facility, Quin realized why. The drive was winding, lined in scraggly trees. It wasn’t quite desert yet, but close.
Quin parked in the lot and killed the engine. Glyma stared down at her lap, fiddling with the handle of her purse.
“Probably should have warned you,” she eventually said, voice devoid of her usual animation. “I understand if you want to wait in the car. Or you can leave, of course. I can catch a tram home.”
“Do you want me to leave?” Quin asked.
Glyma shook her head.
“Do you want me to wait in the car?”
Another shake.
“Okay. Then I’ll come in with you.”
Relief loosened her taut shoulders, and Glyma nodded. Just once. Then she opened her car door and crawled out. Quin followed her, and side-by-side, they approached the entrance of the care facility.
