Chapter 2: The Witch's Price
The Crimson Lotus sat at the edge of Succi like a jewel embedded in a wound.
Candice had passed it a thousand times. A thousand and one, maybe, on her patrols around the village perimeter, her eyes fixed on the treeline and the darkness beyond. She'd never gone inside. Never even paused. The brothel was a place for men with too much coin and women with too little shame, and she was neither. She was the village hero. The defender. The one who kept her desires locked in a box so deep she'd forgotten where she buried the key.
Three days.
Three days since she'd crawled out of that shrine with a brand on her belly and fire in her veins. Three days of lying in her bed with her hands clenched at her sides, her thighs pressed together, her jaw aching from how hard she'd been grinding her teeth. Three days of feeling the mark pulse against her skin like a second heartbeat, hungry and patient and utterly, infuriatingly patient.
She hadn't slept. Not really. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Lilith's face—that knowing smile, those red, red eyes. Every time she drifted off, she woke with her hands between her legs and a moan caught in her throat, her body trembling on the edge of something she refused to name.
She was going insane. That was the only explanation. The mark was driving her insane, and if she didn't find a way to remove it, she was going to do something she couldn't take back.
Which is how she ended up here, at midnight, wearing a hooded cloak and a scarf wrapped around her face, standing in the alley behind the Crimson Lotus like a criminal.
The brothel's back entrance was unassuming. A single door, painted black, with a brass knocker shaped like a lotus flower. Candice stood there for a long moment, her hand raised, her heart hammering against her ribs like a caged animal.
This is a mistake, she thought. This is a terrible, terrible mistake.
She knocked.
The door opened before her knuckles had finished their second tap.
Morgana Buxton stood in the doorway, silhouetted by candlelight, and Candice's breath caught in her throat despite herself. She'd forgotten how striking Morgana was—how the years had sharpened her beauty rather than dulled it. Long purple hair cascading over her shoulders in waves that caught the light like spilled wine. Eyes the same intoxicating shade, heavy-lidded and knowing. A body that defied the village's modest fashions, curves that had been magically enhanced until they were almost obscene, barely contained by the red silk robe that clung to every swell and valley.
"Candice Dixon," Morgana said, her voice a low, amused purr. "Well, well. I never thought I'd see the day."
"Can I come in?"
Morgana's smile widened. "That depends. Are you here to arrest me for something? Because I've been very good lately. Mostly."
"I need help."
The smile flickered. Something shifted in those purple eyes—surprise, maybe. Or wariness. They'd been friends once, before the village had turned on Morgana for her "unnatural appetites," before Candice had been forced to choose between her reputation and her friend.
She'd chosen her reputation. She'd regretted it every day since.
"Help," Morgana repeated. "From me. Candice, I'm flattered, but you made it very clear six years ago that you wanted nothing to do with me. Something about 'moral standards' and 'the dignity of the village.'"
"I know what I said. I was wrong."
"Was you?"
Candice pulled her cloak tighter, suddenly aware of how exposed she felt. The alley was dark, but Morgana's eyes were sharp, and the mark on her stomach was burning.
"Please," she said. "I wouldn't be here if I had anywhere else to go."
Morgana studied her for a long moment. Then she stepped aside, holding the door open.
"Come in before someone sees you. You look like a drowned rat in that cloak."
The interior of the Crimson Lotus was everything the exterior wasn't. Where the alley was cold and practical, the brothel was warm and decadent—velvet drapes in deep crimson, mirrors on every wall reflecting candlelight into infinity, the air thick with jasmine and something muskier beneath it. Candice felt her skin prickle as she stepped inside, the mark pulsing in response to something she couldn't name.
Morgana's parlor was at the end of a long hallway. A private room, furnished with a chaise lounge, a writing desk cluttered with papers and potion bottles, and a full-length mirror that showed Candice exactly how out of place she looked.
"Sit," Morgana said, gesturing at the chaise. "You look like you're about to collapse."
Candice sat. The cushion was softer than anything in her own house, and she had to fight the urge to sink into it and close her eyes.
"Now," Morgana said, settling into a chair across from her. The robe shifted as she moved, revealing a glimpse of pale thigh. "What's so urgent that the village hero has to sneak into a brothel in the middle of the night?"
Candice opened her mouth. Closed it. The words were there, but they felt impossible to say. She'd spent three days trying to find another solution—researching in the village archives, consulting with the elders, even praying to gods she didn't believe in. Nothing had worked. The mark was permanent. The mark was divine. And the only person in Succi who knew anything about succubus magic was sitting right in front of her, looking at her with those knowing purple eyes.
"You have a mark," Candice said finally. "A Succubus Mark."
Morgana went very still.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"I've seen the texts. I know what the marks look like—the ones you can make yourself, anyway. The artificial ones." Candice swallowed. "I know you've been practicing forbidden magic. I've known for years."
The silence stretched like a wire about to snap.
"And you never turned me in," Morgana said slowly. "Why?"
"Because you're not hurting anyone."
Morgana laughed—a sharp, bitter sound. "The village would disagree with you. They'd burn me at the stake if they knew. They almost did, remember? And you stood by and let them."
"I was nineteen. I was scared. I was—"
"Selfish. I know." Morgana leaned back in her chair, her expression unreadable. "So what changed? Why are you here now?"
Candice stood up. Her hands were shaking as she reached for the hem of her tunic, but she forced herself to move slowly, deliberately. She pulled the fabric up to her ribs, exposing her stomach.
The mark was beautiful.
That was the worst part. It should have been ugly—a brand, a scar, a reminder of her violation. But Lilith's mark was a work of art, intricate sigils spiraling outward from a central point like petals unfurling, the lines glowing faintly with whatever power now lived inside her. It pulsed as Morgana stared at it, responding to the witch's attention like a flower turning toward the sun.
Morgana rose from her chair.
She crossed the room in three quick strides, her eyes fixed on Candice's stomach. When she reached out—her fingers hovering just above the mark—Candice felt the heat of her skin like a physical touch.
"Where did you get this?" Morgana whispered.
"The shrine. In the goblin caves. There was a statue of a succubus—Lilith, the Monster God. I... I woke her up."
"You woke up a dead god?"
"I didn't mean to. I just... the barrier was failing. I was trying to help. I gave her fifty gold coins and in return that bitch branded me before she died."
Morgana's hand finally made contact. Candice gasped, her knees buckling, and Morgana caught her by the arm, steadying her.
"This is a divine mark," Morgana breathed. "A perfect mark. I've read about them—the texts say only the gods themselves can create them. They're stronger than anything a mortal can make. They can reach Level 100. They can—"
She stopped. Her eyes met Candice's, and for the first time, Candice saw something other than amusement or bitterness in Morgana's face.
"Fuck," Morgana said. "You're a succubus mage."
"I don't want to be."
"It doesn't matter what you want. The mark is placed. Your mana is already converting to Lust Mana—I can feel it."
"I need you to remove it."
Morgana laughed. "Remove it? Candice, I can't remove this. This is divine magic. I can barely understand the artificial marks I gave myself, and they're crude copies at best. This is like asking me to unmake the sun."
"Then what am I supposed to do?"
Morgana was quiet for a long moment. Her fingers were still on Candice's stomach, tracing the edges of the mark with a gentleness that made Candice's heart ache.
"You could embrace it," Morgana said softly. "Lust Mana is power. Real power. You could become stronger than you ever dreamed."
"I don't care about power. I care about—"
"Being good? Being pure? Being the perfect little hero the village expects you to be?" Morgana's voice sharpened. "You've spent your whole life suppressing yourself, Candice. I've watched you. You deny yourself everything—pleasure, desire, even friendship—because you're terrified of what people will think. And now you have a mark that can't be hidden, can't be ignored, and you're still trying to pretend it isn't there."
Candice pulled away. "I didn't come here to be lectured."
"Then why did you come here?"
"Because I don't know what else to do!"
The words echoed through the parlor. Candice stood there, her tunic still bunched around her ribs, her mark still exposed, and felt tears prickling at the corners of her eyes.
"I can't tell anyone," she said. "If the village finds out, they'll kill me. Or worse. I've spent my whole life protecting these people, and the moment I have something they don't understand, they'll turn on me like they turned on you."
Morgana's expression softened.
"I know," she said. "I know what that's like."
She stepped closer. Her hand found Candice's, their fingers interlacing.
"I can't remove the mark," Morgana said. "But I can help you understand it. I can study it, learn how it works, figure out if there's anything we can do. And I can..."
She paused. Her eyes dropped to Candice's stomach, then rose to meet her gaze.
"I can help you feed it."
"What?"
"Lust Mana needs to be replenished. If you don't, the mark will drive you insane, drain you dry, maybe kill you. I know—I've experienced it. The artificial marks are weaker, but the hunger is the same." Morgana's voice dropped. "You need to have sex, Candice. You need to embrace your desires and let the mana flow before your body gives out."
Candice shook her head. "I can't. I've never... I mean, I've—"
"You've what?"
"I've never had sex."
Morgana's eyebrows shot up. "You're twenty-six. You've been an adventurer for years. You—"
"I've been busy."
"Busy." Morgana's lips twitched. "Right. Busy suppressing every natural instinct you've ever had."
"I didn't say I was proud of it."
Morgana laughed—a genuine laugh this time, warm and surprised. "Gods, Candice. No wonder the mark chose you. You're the horniest virgin in the history of the world."
"I'm not a—"
"You're a virgin. It's fine. It's not a crime." Morgana's thumb stroked across Candice's knuckles. "But here's the thing. If you don't feed the mark, it will consume you. And if you're going to feed it anyway, wouldn't you rather do it with someone who understands? Someone who can help you control it?"
Candice's heart was racing. She knew where this was going. She should leave. She should run out of this brothel and never look back, find some other way—any other way—to deal with the mark.
But the mark was pulsing against her skin, warm and hungry, and Morgana was so close, and it had been so long since anyone had touched her.
"You said you needed help," Morgana said softly. "Let me help you."
This is a mistake, Candice thought.
She nodded.
Morgana didn't hesitate. She closed the distance between them and kissed her—soft at first, almost gentle, like she was testing the waters. But the mark flared, and Candice moaned against her lips, and the kiss deepened, became something messier and hungrier. Tongues sliding together, teeth catching on lips, hands fumbling with the clasp of Candice's cloak.
"Wait," Candice gasped. "Wait."
Morgana pulled back, her chest heaving. "What?"
"I don't... I don't know what to do."
Morgana smiled. It was gentle now, without the mockery that usually lived behind her eyes.
"Just follow your instincts," she said. "The mark knows what it wants. Let it guide you."
She unhooked Candice's cloak and let it fall to the floor. Then she reached for the hem of the tunic and pulled it over Candice's head, tossing it aside. Candice stood there in her simple linen undergarments, suddenly aware of how plain she was compared to the woman before her.
"You're beautiful," Morgana said, as if reading her mind. "You've always been beautiful. I've thought so since we were kids."
"You never said anything."
"I was too busy being angry at you."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. Not tonight." Morgana's hand found the mark again, pressing down. "Tonight, just feel."
The touch sent a jolt through Candice's body, pleasure spiking from her core outward. She gasped, her hips bucking involuntarily, her hands gripping Morgana's shoulders for balance.
"Do you feel that?" Morgana whispered. "That's your Lust Mana. It's been building up for three days. It's desperate to be released."
"I don't... I can't..."
"You can. You just have to let go."
Morgana guided her to the chaise lounge, pressing her down onto the velvet cushion. Candice's undergarments were removed with practiced efficiency—the breastband first, then the simple cotton smallclothes. She lay there naked and exposed, the mark on her stomach glowing faintly in the candlelight.
Morgana stood above her, then reached for the sash of her robe.
"Watch me," she said.
The robe fell.
Morgana's body was a monument to magical enhancement and unholy pacts. Her breasts were full and perfect, tipped with nipples the color of ripe plums. Her waist dipped in a way that defied nature, then flared into hips that were wide enough to grab and thighs that pressed together with barely an inch of space between them. Between her legs, the thatch of dark purple hair was neatly trimmed, and even from here, Candice could smell her—musk and jasmine and something deeper.
"Like what you see?" Morgana asked, teasing.
"I..."
"You can touch me if you want."
Candice reached out—hesitant, trembling—and placed her hand on Morgana's hip. The skin was impossibly soft, warm as a sunbeam. She traced upward, over the curve of Morgana's waist, the swell of her ribs, until her fingers found the underside of one heavy breast.
Morgana moaned softly. "That's it. Don't be shy."
"I've never done this before."
"I know. It's okay."
Morgana straddled her, one knee on either side of Candice's hips, and lowered herself until their bodies were pressed together. Skin against skin. The contact sent another jolt through Candice's mark, and she cried out, her back arching off the cushion.
"Good," Morgana murmured. "The mana is flowing. I can feel it."
"You... you can?"
"I can taste it. The residue in the air. It's sweet."
Morgana's hand slipped between them, finding Candice's sex. Her fingers were wet with something—magic, or oil, or just Morgana's own arousal—and they slid against Candice's folds with a slick, obscene sound that made both of them gasp.
"You're so wet already," Morgana said. "The mark is doing its job."
"I can't... please..."
"Please what?"
"I don't know. Just... more."
Morgana didn't need to be told twice. She pressed a finger inside—just the tip, testing—and Candice's hips bucked so hard she nearly threw Morgana off.
"Easy," Morgana laughed. "We have time."
"Please," Candice said again, and her voice was desperate now, broken. "Please, I need—"
"Shh. I've got you."
Morgana pushed deeper, then deeper still, until her finger was buried to the knuckle inside Candice's cunt. It was tight—impossibly tight, the muscles flexing and squeezing like they'd never been used before. Because they hadn't. Candice had never even touched herself properly, too afraid of what it would mean, what it would make her.
"Fuck," Morgana breathed. "You're really a virgin."
"I told you—"
"I didn't believe you."
Morgana pulled her finger out, then pushed back in with two. The stretch was sharp, painful in a way that made Candice's vision go white for a moment. Then the pain faded, replaced by something else—a fullness, a pressure, a pleasure that radiated outward from her center and wrapped around the mark like a loving hand.
"More," Candice panted. "More, I need—"
Morgana added a third finger. Then she started to move, slow at first, then faster, her thumb finding Candice's clit and rubbing tight circles that made her see stars.
"Is this okay?" Morgana asked.
"Yes. Yes, gods, yes—"
"The mark is glowing. You're feeding it."
"I don't care. Don't stop."
"I'm not stopping."
Morgana's fingers were relentless now, pumping in and out, curling upward with each thrust. The wet sounds filled the parlor, obscene and wonderful. Candice's hands gripped the edge of the chaise lounge, her knuckles white, her body arching and thrashing with a rhythm that wasn't purely physical.
Something was building. Something huge and terrifying, like a wave rising on the horizon. The mark pulsed in time with Morgana's fingers, sending jolts of heat through her body. Her breasts ached, her nipples so hard they felt like they might cut glass. Sweat slicked her skin, pooled in the hollow of her throat.
"I'm going to—" she started.
"Yes," Morgana encouraged. "Come for me. Feed the mark. Let it have what it wants."
"I can't—"
"You can. I'm right here. Let go."
Morgana's thumb pressed down on her clit, and her fingers curled, and Candice—
Candice screamed.
The orgasm ripped through her like a thunderstorm, violent and beautiful and absolutely devastating. Her body convulsed, her vision went white, and for a single moment, she understood what it meant to be a succubus. The pleasure was power. The pleasure was magic. The pleasure was the most exquisite thing she'd ever experienced, and she wanted more.
Morgana was laughing, crying, moaning above her. "Gods, Candice, you're pouring it out. The mana—it's incredible. I've never felt anything like this."
Candice couldn't respond. She was floating, drifting, falling through a sea of light and heat and need. The mark on her belly was a supernova, radiating pleasure through every nerve ending in her body.
And then it was over.
She collapsed onto the chaise, trembling, gasping for air. Morgana was draped across her, fingers still inside her, forehead pressed to Candice's shoulder.
"That," Morgana whispered, "was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
Candice's eyes fluttered open. The glow of the mark was fading, returning to its normal faint pulse.
"Morgana," she said.
"Hmm?"
"Get your fingers out of me."
Morgana laughed and obeyed. Candice felt a rush of something wet—her own fluids, or Morgana's, or both—trickle down her thigh.
"We need to talk about this," Morgana said, sitting up. "The mark, the Lust Mana, what happens next—"
"Tomorrow."
"Candice—"
"Tomorrow." Candice sat up, grabbed her tunic from the floor, and pulled it over her head. Her legs were shaking. Her mind was reeling. She had to get out of here. She had to think.
Morgana watched her dress, her expression unreadable.
"You're running away," she said.
"Yes."
"Promise me something."
"What?"
"Don't do anything stupid. And don't wait three days to come back. The hunger will get worse. You'll need to feed again soon."
Candice's hand froze on the doorknob.
And then she fled into the night, leaving Morgana alone in the parlor with the scent of pleasure still hanging in the air and a faint taste of something impossible on her tongue.