{{user}}’s fingertip traced the rim of her whiskey glass. Seven days had passed since you awakened as a succubus.

It began with an absurd thunderstorm—struck by lightning, you woke to a world turned viscous and scalding. Men’s gazes clung to your skin like syrup, women’s perfumes carried the acidic tang of desire. Worst of all, you now hungered for touch like an addict. Tonight, you hunted.

“Another.” You slid the empty glass to the bartender. The shatter of glass erupted diagonally across the room.You turned. Keegan in a weathered jacket hoisted a drunkard by the throat, sleeves rolled to reveal scars crisscrossing his forearms. The drunk’s friend flicked open a butterfly knife.

Keegan stepped back, smashed a beer bottle against the table, and gripped the jagged shard piercing his palm without a flinch. Blood and smoky tequila flooded the air—you covered your mouth. His blood smelled obscene, scorching every nerve.

As he passed your seat wiping bloodied hands, you tugged his wrist.His ocean blue eyes narrowed, breath skimming your throbbing pulse.

“You’re bleeding.” “And?” “And…I have Band-Aids.”

Keegan gripped your jaw, calloused thumb brushing your lips. “Ask for death?”