Chapter 17: To Know Thy Self
The corridor outside the dressing room was empty when Nora stepped through the door.
She stood there for a moment, her back pressed against the cold stone wall, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps. Her legs were still trembling. Her cunt was still wet, still aching with the ghost of fingers that had been her own and not her own at the same time.
She pressed her palm flat against her chest, feeling her heart hammer against her ribs.
"That was real," she whispered to the empty corridor. "That actually fucking happened."
The diamond freckles on her cheekbones pulsed with warmth, as if agreeing with her.
She pushed off the wall and started walking. She didn't know where she was going—just that she needed to move, needed to process, needed to figure out what the hell she was supposed to do with everything she'd just learned.
The palace corridors were endless. Obsidian walls. Crimson tapestries. Sconces that burned with black flames, casting shadows that seemed to move of their own accord. Nora passed doorways that led to rooms she didn't recognize, staircases that spiraled into darkness, windows that looked out onto impossible landscapes—deserts of glass, oceans of fire, skies the color of bruises.
She didn't stop.
Her mind was racing. The Succubus—herself, her future self, her higher self, whatever the fuck she was—had said they were connected. That they would always be connected. That they were versions of the same being, different choices, different paths, but still one.
Nora thought about the Vain Succubi. The ones who had discovered Self-Speech. She'd assumed the name was a joke—some ironic commentary on how demons were perceived. But now she understood.
Vanity.
Not selfishness. Not narcissism. Not the shallow, surface-level obsession with appearance that mortals mocked.
Connection.
The ability to reach across realities. To speak with yourself. To learn from every version of you that had ever existed, every choice you'd ever made, every path you'd ever walked.
Nora's footsteps slowed.
She thought about what that meant. For her. For Azazel. For the kingdom she was apparently destined to rule.
If she could speak with her future self—her Arch Succubus self, the Queen of Lust who had already claimed the throne—she could learn from her mistakes. She could avoid the pitfalls that had destroyed the previous queens. She could understand the politics, the alliances, the enemies that waited for her.
She could be a good queen.
She stopped in the middle of a corridor. The black flames flickered in their sconces, casting dancing shadows across her face.
"I could teach myself," she murmured. "Everything I need to know. Everything she's already learned."
The thought was dizzying. Terrifying. And also—she smiled, a small, private thing—kind of incredible.
She imagined it. Standing before a mirror in her chambers, speaking with her future self about matters of state. What treaties to sign. Which demon lords to trust. How to handle the Council when they tried to manipulate her.
And her husband.
Nora's smile widened.
Apparently, she did marry Azazel in the end. The Succubus had said so. He was her mate, her king, her love. The golden-eyed demon with onyx horns who had walked into her bookshop three days ago and turned her entire world upside down.
She wondered what their wedding had been like.
She wondered what their marriage was like now, in that other realm, in that other time.
She wondered if she would ever get to see it.
"One problem," she said to the empty corridor. "I can't keep calling her 'the Succubus' or 'my future self' or 'the Arch Queen of Lust.' She needs a name."
Nora resumed walking. The corridor curved, and she found herself in a part of the palace she hadn't seen before—a long gallery lined with paintings. Portraits of demons, all of them beautiful and terrifying in equal measure. Kings and queens and lords and ladies who had ruled this realm across millennia.
She studied them as she passed. Their eyes seemed to follow her. Their mouths were frozen in expressions that might have been smiles or might have been screams.
At the end of the gallery, she found a staircase that led down.
She took it.
The stairs spiraled into a lower level of the palace, one that smelled of dust and old magic. The walls were rougher here, less polished. Less cared for. It felt forgotten.
It felt right.
Nora found a door at the bottom of the stairs. It was smaller than the others she'd passed, made of a dark wood she didn't recognize, and it was slightly ajar.
She pushed it open.
The room beyond was small. Intimate. A study, maybe, or a private chamber. A desk. A chair. A fireplace that hadn't been lit in what looked like centuries. And on one wall, a mirror.
This one was intact.
No cracks. No fractures. The silver surface was clear and clean, reflecting Nora's face without distortion.
She walked toward it.
Her reflection stared back at her. Silver eyes. White-streaked hair. Diamond freckles that sparkled in the dim light. She looked different than she had before. Not physically—her face was the same, her body was the same—but there was something in her expression now. Something that hadn't been there before.
Purpose.
"Okay," she said to the mirror. "Let's try this again."
She pressed her palm against the glass.
The silver surface rippled beneath her touch, like water disturbed by a stone. But unlike before—when the connection had come with everything else, the world turning like a key in a lock—this was softer. Gentler. A door opening instead of a body being shoved through.
Nora took a breath, and stepped inside.
The bedchamber was exactly where she'd left it—the crimson silk sheets, the jasmine and musk in the air, the candles burning with flames the color of sunset. The Arch Succubus was sitting up in bed, her garnet skin glowing in the warm light, her galaxy eyes fixed on Nora with an expression of pure, radiant joy.
The moment Nora's feet hit the velvet floor, the Arch Succubus moved.
She crossed the room in a blur of garnet and shadow, not walking but flowing, her body moving with a grace that bordered on supernatural. Before Nora could draw another breath, the Arch Succubus's hands were cupping her face, and her mouth was on Nora's.
The kiss was deep. Hungry. The kind of kiss that had been waiting three hundred years.
Nora's back hit the mirror's frame. The Arch Succubus pressed against her, all that warm garnet skin and impossible beauty, her tongue sweeping into Nora's mouth like it had every right to be there. Her hands slid down, over Nora's shoulders, her waist, her hips. Fingers caught the hem of Nora's shirt and slipped underneath, finding bare skin, tracing the curve of her spine.
"Your back," the Arch Succubus whispered against her mouth. "You came back."
Nora tried to speak, tried to say something clever or cutting, something to reassert the boundaries that were rapidly dissolving. But the Arch Succubus chose that moment to bite her lower lip, and the words dissolved into a gasp.
"Addicted already, little one?" The Arch Succubus pulled back just far enough to smile. Her galaxy eyes were dark with want, swirling with stars. "I knew you would be. I was, the first time I crossed over."
"I'm not—" Nora's breath caught as the Arch Succubus's thumb brushed over her nipple through the thin fabric of her bra. "I'm not addicted. I just had questions."
"Mmm." The Arch Succubus didn't sound convinced. She dipped her head and pressed her lips to Nora's throat, right over her pulse. "Questions. Of course."
Nora's hands were gripping the Succubus's shoulders—whether to push her away or pull her closer, she wasn't sure anymore. Every touch sent sparks through her veins. Every kiss made it harder to think.
"Stop," she managed. "I need to—I need to ask you something."
The Arch Succubus paused. Her lips hovered over Nora's collarbone, warm and patient.
"Ask," she said.
Nora swallowed. It was hard to think with the Succubus's body pressed against hers, with those hands still on her skin, with the scent of jasmine and musk and raw desire clouding her mind.
"What do I call you?" she asked. "I can't keep saying 'the Succubus' or 'my future self.' You need a name."
The Arch Succubus pulled back. Her galaxy eyes searched Nora's face, and something softened in her expression—something that looked almost like tenderness.
"I've been waiting for you to ask that," she said.
"Well?"
She smiled. It was a different smile than before—smaller, more private, as if she was sharing a secret she'd been keeping for centuries.
"How about our original name?" She traced a finger along Nora's jaw. "The one we were born with. Before the mortal names, before the disguises, before all the running."
Nora's breath caught. "What name?"
"Nyx." The Arch Succubus—Nyx—said it like a prayer, like a promise. "It means night. The darkness that cradles the stars. The space between waking and dreaming."
Nora tested the name on her tongue. "Nyx." Nyx leaned in and kissed her again. Softer this time. Sweeter. "I've missed hearing that name. No one's spoken it in three hundred years. Not since I crossed over. Not since I became this."
"Three hundred years?"
"Yes." Nyx's lips trailed down Nora's neck, leaving a path of warmth in their wake. "I've been waiting three hundred years for you to catch up. Three hundred years of watching you through mirrors, through dreams, through every reflection you passed without looking. Three hundred years of loving you from a distance."
"That's—" Nora's hands came up to grip Nyx's waist. "That's a long time."
"It is." Nyx kissed her pulse point, then her collarbone, then the hollow of her throat. "And I'm not going to waste another minute of it."
Nora's back arched as Nyx's teeth grazed her skin.
"I still have questions," she managed.
"Later." Nyx's fingers returned to the hem of her shirt, tugging it upward. "Your questions can wait. I've waited long enough."
The shirt came off.
Then the bra.
Then Nyx's mouth was on her breast, hot and demanding, and Nora stopped thinking about questions entirely.
Nyx knew her body.
That was the first thing Nora noticed. Not just knew it—knew it the way a lover knows it after decades together, after a lifetime of exploration, after mapping every sensitive spot and every secret weakness.
Nyx's tongue circled Nora's nipple, flicking and teasing, while her fingers rolled the other between her thumb and forefinger. Her garnet skin was warm against Nora's, almost feverish, and her touch was everywhere—her breasts, her stomach, the curve of her hips.
"You're so responsive," Nyx murmured against her skin. "I'd forgotten how responsive this version of us was. The first time. The newness."
"Shut up," Nora gasped.
Nyx laughed. It was a beautiful sound, low and warm and utterly unashamed.
"Make me."
Nora grabbed a fistful of Nyx's dark hair and pulled her up for a kiss. It was sloppy and desperate, all teeth and tongue, but it did the job. Nyx moaned into her mouth, and her hands slid down to Nora's hips, fingers hooking into the waistband of her jeans.
"These," Nyx said, "need to go."
She didn't wait for permission. She undid the button, pulled down the zipper, and shoved the denim over Nora's hips in one fluid motion. Nora kicked them off, along with her underwear, and then she was naked, pressed against Nyx's equally naked body, skin to skin.
"There," Nyx breathed. "Much better."
She stepped back, just enough to look at Nora. Her galaxy eyes traced every inch of her—the white-streaked hair, the diamond freckles, the lean muscles, the dark thatch of hair between her thighs.
"You're beautiful," Nyx said. "Every version of you. But this one—this one is special. This is the one who doesn't know yet. Who's still discovering. Who's still learning how to want."
Nora's cheeks flushed. "I know how to want."
"Do you?" Nyx stepped forward, her hand reaching between them, fingers sliding through the damp heat of Nora's cunt. "You know how to take. How to use. How to guard yourself against anyone who gets too close. But do you know how to want? How to let yourself be wanted?"
Nora's hips jerked as Nyx's thumb found her clit.
"Because I do," Nyx continued, circling slowly. "I know how to want you with every breath I take. I know how to let you want me back. I've had centuries to practice."
"Fuck," Nora whimpered.
"Yes." Nyx's smile was sharp and knowing. "That's exactly what I intend to do."
She dropped to her knees.
Nora's breath caught in her throat.
"Tell me," Nyx said, looking up at her with those impossible galaxy eyes. "Tell me you want this."
Nora's hands were fisted in her hair. Her hips were tilted forward. Her cunt was aching and empty and desperate.
"I want this," she said.
"That's my girl."
Nyx leaned in and dragged her tongue through Nora's folds, agonizingly slow. She started at the bottom and worked her way up, tasting every inch, leaving nothing untouched. The flat of her tongue pressed against Nora's entrance, then traced up to her clit.
Nora moaned.
Nyx did it again. And again. And again. She licked and lapped and teased, bringing her to the edge and then pulling back, never letting her tip over.
"Please," Nora gasped. "Please, Nyx—"
"Please what?"
"Please let me come."
Nyx's laugh was muffled against Nora's cunt. "Since you asked so nicely."
She sealed her mouth over Nora's clit and sucked.
The orgasm hit Nora like a wave. It started in her toes and rolled upward, crashing through her body with a force that made her knees buckle. She would have fallen if Nyx hadn't caught her—if Nyx hadn't grabbed her thighs and held her in place, her tongue still working, drawing out every last tremor.
"Good," Nyx murmured against her skin. "Again?"
Nora couldn't speak. She could barely breathe. But she nodded, and Nyx went back to work.
The second orgasm was softer. The third made her sob. By the fourth, she was begging—for mercy, for more, she didn't know anymore. She was coming apart, piece by piece, and Nyx was there to catch every crumbling fragment.
"Do you know what I want?" Nyx whispered between gasps, as she finally, finally pulled back.
"What?"
"When I'm done with you—when you're sobbing and boneless and completely undone—I want to taste myself on your lips. I want to kiss you until you can't tell where you end and I begin. I want you so full of me that you forget any man ever touched you."
"That's—" Nora's voice cracked. "That's very possessive."
"I told you." Nyx crawled up her body, leaving a trail of kisses in her wake. "I'm an Arch Succubus. We're demanding lovers."
Nora laughed. She couldn't help it. It bubbled up from somewhere deep inside her, and she felt lighter for it.
"Then demand," she said, curling her fingers in Nyx's hair. "Take what you want."
Nyx's smile was feral. She flipped Nora onto her stomach, her hands firm on Nora's hips, and she knelt behind her.
"I want to feel you come on my fingers," Nyx said, kneeling behind her. "I want to hear you scream my name. And then I want to kiss you until you forget how to speak."
"Sounds like a plan."
Nyx's hand slid between Nora's thighs, fingers slick and ready. She pressed two inside, filling her, stretching her. The angle was different—deeper, more intense—and Nora groaned.
"Like that?" Nyx asked, curling her fingers.
"Fuck—yes—"
She set a rhythm. Slow at first, then faster. Her thumb pressed against Nora's clit with every thrust, and her other hand gripped Nora's hip, holding her steady.
"I've dreamed about this," Nyx murmured, her lips against Nora's shoulder. "For centuries. I've dreamed about burying myself inside you, about making you scream, about feeling you come undone around my fingers."
"Then do it," Nora gasped. "Make me come. Make me scream."
Nyx's fingers moved faster, harder. The sound of their bodies was obscene—wet and raw—and Nora loved it.
"That's it," Nyx crooned. "That's it, little one. Let go. Let me have it."
Nora let go.
She screamed Nyx's name as she came, her body clenching around those relentless fingers, her vision going white at the edges. It was too much, too good, too everything—and she never wanted it to stop.
Nyx worked her through it, gentler now, coaxing out every last shiver. When Nora finally collapsed, boneless and trembling, Nyx pulled her fingers free and brought them to her mouth.
She licked them clean.
"Delicious," she said.
Nora couldn't even muster the energy to roll her eyes.
Nyx crawled up beside her and gathered her close. The crimson sheets were tangled around them, soft and warm, and the candles burned low, and everything felt impossibly, terrifyingly right.
"I have more questions," Nora murmured against Nyx's shoulder.
"I know."
"When I go back—will Azazel know? Will he be able to tell?"
Nyx pressed a kiss to her hair. "He already knows you're changing. He saw the freckles. He saw the power in you. He's not stupid."
"But will he—" Nora hesitated. "Will he understand? About this? About us?"
"He loves you." Nyx's voice was gentle. "He loves every version of you. And he loves me too—the me that belongs to him, in my realm. There's no jealousy here, little one. There's just love. Infinite and impossible and all-consuming."
Nora closed her eyes. The warmth of Nyx's body was lulling her toward sleep, toward the kind of peace she hadn't felt in centuries.
"I should go back," she said, even as she pressed closer.
"In a minute." Nyx's arms tightened around her. "Your Azazel can wait. Your questions can wait. The whole bloody world can wait."
"What can't wait?"
Nyx smiled against her hair. "Nothing. Nothing in this moment. Just stay. Just for a little while."
And Nora did.
She stayed until the candles burned to embers. Until her heartbeat synced with Nyx's, two souls bound across realities. Until she felt, for the first time in three hundred years, that she belonged somewhere.
When she finally stepped back through the mirror, the diamond freckles on her cheeks were brighter than ever.
And her mind was full of plans.