"Dance with me," I told Cody, grabbing his hand.

He looked good tonight, wearing a button-up shirt untucked and loose. It had a neat printed pattern on it, one of those that only confident guys with real fashion sense could actually wear. With his agile dancing and golden blond looks, he made a good partner.

"What am I, your warm-up?" he asked me a few songs later.

I laughed. We were dancing awfully close, and I had been moving my body more provocatively than I normally would with a friend. Unconscious motion. My succubus hunger surfacing.

"Does it bother you?"

"Nope. Well, other than giving me that weird incest feeling Hugh was talking about. But I don't think you're going to get what you need off me."

"True," I said scanning the crowd. The place was packed with mortals, all warm and energetic and burning with life in a way my friends and I did not. Again, the itch of longing seized me. I wanted to touch them all and knew I'd have to break from Cody soon.

"What's got you all fired up anyway? We don't usually see you like this."

That was true. Mostly he and the others just heard me bitching and moaning about my infernal job and how I hated seducing nice guys. "Need to burn off some Seth lust. That, and I got majorly run down today," I explained, proceeding to tell him the rest.

Cody felt as sad as I did about Doug, whom he knew and liked. The young vampire agreed that Doug's erratic behavior sounded amphetamine based, and he threw out a few suggestions for me. I made a mental note to look them up later.

Cody and I finally split up, each to take care of our own business. I started working the room, much as I had the other night, only this time my motivation was legitimate. I had my pick of partners and no end of free drinks. Each time I got someone to buy me one, Hugh—still at the bar—would shake his head with wry amusement.

In about two hours, I had my mark. He was young and muscular, made extra gorgeous by sexy Mediterranean features. Italian descent, I suspected. He was also sweet and shy, clearly astonished that I kept dancing with him. His friends, watching from afar, apparently felt the same way.

We had moved to a crowded part of the dance floor, jam-packed with other sweating, frenzied bodies. I rubbed mine against his in a more intimate way than the crowd quite required, my hands sliding over his body as we swayed. When our lips brushed against each other's, he pulled back.

He told me then—awkwardly and reluctantly—that he had a girlfriend. That didn't come as a surprise to me. We stopped dancing, getting jostled by the crowd, and I feigned modest embarrassment for my boldness while pretending not to notice how he hadn't seemed to want to make the girlfriend admission.

"Er, wait," he said as I started to turn and leave. Hesitation hung heavy in his voice. The voice of someone trying to rationalize something he knew he shouldn't be doing…but wanted to anyway. True consternation churned on his face. "I mean, we can still…we can still…keep dancing. Can't we?"

Five dances later, I'd sweet-talked—and bribed—one of the waiters into letting us into a storage room in the club's basement. It was dark and small and filled with extra tables, but it sufficed for what we needed. I could still hear the music from above, though none of the song's specifics. The whole building vibrated with the beat. My guy still appeared nervous, but alcohol and opportunity were clearly winning out over his better judgment. I didn't tell him my name. I didn't ask for his.

I pulled him to me, and we kissed—the kind of hard, furious kissing that makes your lips feel swollen afterward. His hands started on my hips and then moved upward, peeling the lace shirt up as they went, exposing my breasts. His hands fondled them wonderingly, feeling their shape and size, making my nipples harden and stand out. He leaned down and put his lips to one, sucking hard. When I felt his teeth bite gently, I grunted in approval and shifted my hands down to loosen his belt.

He straightened back up, and this time I was the one who went down—literally. On my knees, I tugged on his boxers and released the erection that had been straining at the fabric.

I ran my tongue along its tip, tasting the few salty drops that had already seeped out. Then, without further hesitation, I took the whole thing into my mouth, letting my tongue roll over it as my lips moved back and forth along the length of the shaft. He groaned and laced his fingers across the back of my neck, trying to push more of him inside. The first tendrils of his energy began flowing into me, sweet and delicious. He was a good one, full of strength. I sucked harder, teasing him for a couple more minutes, then broke away and stood up. The look on his face when I stopped became almost comically desperate. Like he couldn't believe I had just done that to him. Like I had just gone and hit his shins with a baseball bat.

I licked my lips and smiled. "You want more? You're going to have to come and get it. "

This was the clincher. If I was going to go to the trouble of bagging a guy with a strong life force, I might as well hit my quota with Jerome and do some corrupting as well. A guy with a serious girlfriend might feel guilty about fooling around with another woman, but he'd feel guiltier still if he was the one who took serious steps toward initiating it. It was too easy to say she made me do it. My part was done; he had to take over now.

This guy might not have realized my ulterior motives here, but he seemed to sense the gravity of the situation. He stood on the edge now, the edge of a decision that could affect his eternal soul. Did he or didn't he? Did he give in to his lust and betray a woman he cared about? Did he take a chance with me he might never get again? Or did he reject me and walk away? Did he stay faithful?

My smile grew, slow and languid, as he debated. I paced around the room like I had all the time in the world, like I didn't care what he decided to do. The click of my heels sounded loudly on the hard floor. I turned away from him, trying to make out some old framed picture on the wall. It was mostly a dark blur in the dim lighting.

Then, I felt him behind me. His hands slid from my waist down to my hips, then lower to cradle my ass. He pushed up what little of the skirt there was and pulled down the strappy black thong I had underneath. Slowly, his hands traced every curve, feeling and exploring. One hand moved around the outside of my leg toward the front, between my thighs. The movement forced him to move closer to me, and I could feel him—still hard, still ready—press against my flesh.

The exploring hand pushed farther between my thighs, and his breath was hard and hot on my neck. His fingers brushed the small, neatly trimmed patch of hair between my legs, then moved lower, dancing at the edges of my lips, teasing them. A small, urgent moan left my mouth, and I ground against him, hoping to get a response.

He slid his fingers in a smooth rhythm, stoking my already raging desire. A minute later, those urgent fingers moved into me, probing and exploring. I was wet and slippery, but it still caught me by surprise, and I exclaimed loudly. He wrapped his other arm around my waist, pulling me even closer, and continued driving those fingers in and out. His life poured into me again. A purely physical burning welled inside of me too, growing stronger each time he moved in. But before that feeling could reach completion, he pulled his fingers out and left them out. My turn to feel unfulfilled. Gripping my shoulders, he turned me around, and I braced myself to be shoved on top of the table or up against the wall.

To my astonishment, he pushed me onto my knees instead, his breathing frantic now, his eyes burning with hunger and lust. "Your mouth," he gasped out. "I want your mouth again."