To Seduce a Succubus Part 1

By Niki Pell

As a mediocre sorceress, Leah isn't concerned for her own safety when high-powered witches start disappearing in her city. She's got other things to think about, like her budding romance and how her asexuality might play into dating a succubus. But when she's forced to interact with the culture she belongs to, she finds surprises more pleasant and, at times, dangerous than she could have imagined.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Niki Pell
• Release date: Aug 6, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463825396

Niki Pell

Niki has been writing since they could string together more than one sentence at a time. Their work includes mostly queer characters, neurodiverse characters, magic, and being very dumb about feelings. They live in the Southeast US, with a cat, dog, roommates, and spends their time being outdoors, baking for their dayjob, and playing DnD when they're not creating books or art.

Book preview

To Seduce a Succubus

By Niki Pell

To Seduce a Succubus

By Niki Pell

Copyright 2018 Niki Pell

All rights reserved

Created, illustrated, and published by Niki Pell

Additional editing by Kristy Mathis

Distributed by Smashwords

This is a work of fiction. Characters, locations, and situations are fictional or are used fictitiously. Any similarities to actual people, living or not, actual locations or events are not intentional.

Contact the author at [e-mail]

This ebook is distributed through Smashwords for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be resold or given away to anyone else. Each sale helps the author create more stories. Giving away copies to others without purchasing prevents the author from being paid for her work. If you’re reading this without having paid for it, please go to the ebook distributor of your choice and purchase your own copy. This also ensures you have the latest version of the ebook, in the case that revisions or edits happen. Thank you and please enjoy this work of fiction.

Table of Contents

Foreword

Chapter 0ne

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Afterword

About the Author

Preview of Part Two

Foreword

In the interest of transparency, I need it to be known I am not asexual. I’m queer, but it would do this story a disservice to not put this fact first and foremost. This story started as a romance between the two main characters. When I was discussing fiction with a dear friend who is asexual, she bemoaned the lack of ace representation in media.

So this is dedicated to her. I wrote this always keeping in mind the experiences she’s shared with me, the testimonials of other aces I’ve researched online, and thinking back to when I was younger and experienced sexual repulsion. If I’ve gotten anything wrong, please feel free to email me at [e-mail]

Chapter One

In a bustling city, a small apartment building sits, built of heavy bricks and full of tenants going about their lives. The setting sun sends lances of golden light between the closed blinds of one wall of apartments. Inside one on the third floor, the lights are dimmed and a metal container sits on a table. Next to it is a glass vial full of an amber oil, a small metal tin, a box of matches, and a pair of scissors.

A short, heavy Korean woman picks up the scissors. With practiced ease, she combs some hair in front of her face with her fingers, and trims a few inches off. She drops the hair in the bottom of the container, and hands the scissors to the tall, muscular black man standing beside her. Carelessly, he grips his goatee and snips an inch or so off.

Your wife’s going to have a fit, the woman says with a chuckle, picking up the tin.

He shrugs. She always says I mangle it even if I try to make it look good, so she’ll fix it later. He lets his hair fall into the container, matte black curls falling on straight glossy black. The woman opens the tin, carefully picking up two large teeth-flat molars that clatter into the metal bucket. Then she opens the glass vial, pouring some of the thick, viscous oil onto the hair and teeth.

I hate this part, she gripes before pulling a match out of the box. Grimacing, she licks it.

The man takes the match, licking it too. You say that every year. He strikes it against his teeth, orange light making his dark brown skin glow.

And it’s true every year, she mutters. Eerie shadows fill the already dark apartment, far more than one little match should create. She breathes deep, the smell of rotten eggs invades her senses. Closing her eyes, she feels around mentally for the man’s energy. It’s like groping around in a pitch black room, with only her sense of touch to guide her. After a few seconds, she finds the nearly imperceptible tether between them, a channel that binds their energies together. It smells of salt water and sugar cookies.

She nods, and hears him drop the match into the bucket. She opens her eyes and a dense green flame shoots up, thick black smoke swirling around them. She murmurs the correct phrase, in a language that tastes like bile in the back of her throat. They put their hands into the fire at the same moment, clasping each others’ wrists. The flames don’t burn at all; they feel like an old hand-dryer blowing weakly. As quickly as it flares up, the fire dies, leaving only another black mark in the bottom of the bucket and a cloud of oily back smoke clinging to the ceiling. The ritual is done, and will need to be redone next year. But for now, it’s done.

Coughing, the woman reaches for the window. She pulls the blinds up and yanks the window open just as a screeching noise rips through her ears. The man’s laughter is barely audible behind her as she curses. Leah! You forgot the smoke detector again? he shouts over the smoke alarm.

Well, you wanna go turn it off Miles? she asks loudly, fanning the smoke out the window with a throw pillow.

Miles bows deeply. Yes, oh wise mistress. Leah makes a face and mocks him as he sweeps past her. Despite the acrid stench and the piercing noise, she smiles. She feels lighter, heightened. Like she just woke up from the precise amount of sleep needed to make her feel completely refreshed. She moves quicker, surer, and she can sense the magic of the city better. As if she’s closer to the heart of the city’s spells. Miles smiles easier, deftly pulling the batteries out of the alarm. You should have a stool here, what do you do when you cook?

She’s about to tell him she doesn’t burn things when she cooks, thank you very much, when he goes stock still. Alarm comes off him in waves, shooting through the tether of energy between them. Hey, he says gently. Don’t freak out. She nods, not questioning him. She usually can’t feel when he uses a spell unless it’s this soon after they mix their energies. It feels as if she’s the one casting the magic. She feels the energy coaxed into cooperation, the deft split in space