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“No.”
A pause.
Mandi’s voice followed. “Was that no because you’re naked, dying, or doing something weird?”
“All three.”
Kalon, lower and tense, said, “Are you hurt?”
“No.”
Sam tried the knob. Locked. “Liv, open the door.”
“I need pants.”
Mandi said, “We’ve seen worse.”
I grabbed a towel again and shuffled into the bedroom area, dripping everywhere. The tail kept moving behind me with horrifying independence, curling around my calf, my thigh, the edge of the towel, like it had a mind of its own.
I yanked on the biggest sweatshirt I owned, then tried three pairs of pants before realizing tails and leggings were enemies. Jeans were worse. I got one leg in, caught the tail, yelped, and almost fell into the coffee table. Eventually, I remembered that dresses existed too.
When I opened the door, Sam, Mandi, and Kalon stood in the hallway.
Sam took one look at my face and stepped forward. “What happened?”
“My body added a feature.”
Mandi blinked. “A feature.”
The tail slid out from behind my leg.
All three of them went silent.
Kalon’s eyes widened.
Mandi pointed. “Is that a tail?”
“No, Mandi, I inserted a party streamer into my ass for morale.”
Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “It has a little heart.”
“I know.”
“It’s cute.”
Kalon stayed near the door, careful, one hand nowhere near his holster this time. “That happens with some succubi when their power settles.”
Mandi slipped inside and shut the door behind them. “Okay, first, tail. Ten out of ten cute. Second, your couch is nicer than my apartment.”
“Do not compliment the guilt couch.”
“Guilt couch?”
“Lux replaced the blood couch.”
Sam’s gaze flicked to the velvet monstrosity. “That is . . . a lot of couch.”
“It feels expensive from here,” Mandi said.
