Chapter 4: Aftermath
The cold hit first. A deep, marrow-aching chill that had nothing to do with the dying embers in the fireplace. I was on the floor. Pressed against the rough planks, my cheek stinging where the wood grain had bitten into it. The air reeked – sour sweat, the fading tang of cheap tea, and beneath it all, that cloying, floral sweetness that was me. My own scent now made bile rise in my throat.
I pushed myself up, wincing. Every muscle screamed. My back felt scraped raw from the wall. My thighs ached, a deep, bruised throb echoing the brutal rhythm of the hiker’s hips. My thermal top was ripped at the neck, pulled halfway up, exposing one breast. Cold air puckered the nipple, still tender, still damp. The other side of my jeans gaped open, the zipper broken. I yanked them up with trembling hands, the rough denim scraping over abused skin. Empty. He was gone. Just shattered ceramic from the mug scattered like broken teeth on the floor. The silence was absolute. Oppressive.
I dragged myself to the sink, ran icy water, splashed it on my face. It didn’t help. The cold outside couldn’t touch the deeper freeze inside, the hollowed-out shame where self-reliance used to be. I’d fed a stranger poison. My poison. Unleashed a monster. And he’d… he’d…
My reflection in the dark window over the sink was a ghost. Pale face smudged with dirt and tears, bright red hair wild, eyes wide and dark with terror. What am I? The question wasn't new, but it had claws now. The scratching last night. The impossible pleasure. The unspeakable violence. It was all connected. To this. To the unwanted nectar leaking from my body, drawing predators. Hunting me.
A log settled in the fireplace with a soft whump, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. I flinched violently, whirling around, heart hammering against my ribs. The cabin was empty. Except it wasn’t.
The air thickened. Not with warmth, but with a sudden, deep cold that sank into my bones. The shadows in the corner near the woodpile seemed to deepen, to coalesce. The scent of pine and smoke was abruptly, utterly overwhelmed. Not by my floral musk. By something else. Cold stone. Ozone. The metallic tang of old blood. And something… indescribably ancient and hungry.
A figure stepped out of the coalescing darkness. Not stepped. Materialized. Smooth, impossibly graceful, like smoke given form. A woman. Taller than me, willowy, draped in flowing fabric the colour of midnight, shifting like liquid shadow. Skin like polished alabaster, glowing faintly in the dim light. Hair like spun moonlight, falling in a cascade over shoulders that seemed carved from marble. Beautiful. Unearthly beautiful. And utterly terrifying.
Her eyes locked onto mine. They weren’t human. Large, tilted, the irises a swirling, fathomless black that seemed to swallow the weak firelight. No pupil. Just endless, knowing darkness. She smiled. It didn’t touch those eyes. It was a predator’s smile, acknowledging prey that had finally been cornered.
"Hello, little bait," she said. Her voice was a low purr, smooth as silk, chilling as the grave. It resonated in my chest, vibrating against my bruised ribs.
I stumbled back, hitting the edge of the sink so hard it knocked the breath out of me. My hand groped blindly for the heavy cast iron skillet on the drying rack. "Get out," I rasped, the words barely audible.
She ignored me. Took a step closer. The scent of cold stone intensified. "Such a mess you made," she murmured, her gaze sweeping dismissively over the shattered mug, my torn clothes. Her nostrils flared delicately. "And such potent bait you carry. Ripe. Frightened. Delicious." That last word was a whisper that slithered over my skin.
"W-what are you?" The skillet felt slick in my sweaty palm.
"A hunter," she stated simply. She tilted her head, those black voids studying me. "Like you are meant to be. Though you’ve been… dawdling. Playing house." She gestured vaguely at the cabin with a long-fingered hand. The nails were sharp. Too sharp. Like obsidian shards.
"Meant to be?" I choked out. "Meant to be what? Some… some kind of… lure?" The image of the hiker, his blown pupils, his desperate, drugged hunger, flashed before me.
"Exactly." She took another step. Effortless. Soundless. The air crackled with unnatural cold around her. "A trap. Beautiful. Irresistible. Drawing them in." Her gaze dropped pointedly to my chest, where the damp patch on my torn thermal top was spreading. I instinctively crossed my arms. "The nectar… it calls them. The predators. The hungry things that walk the edges. Like me."
"Like you?" My voice was a thread.
"Succubus," she said, the word dropping like a stone into the silence. "We hunger. For life. For essence. For the sweetness trapped within vessels like yours." Her tongue, startlingly dark, flicked out to trace her upper lip. "But we are… discerning. We hunt those who hunt you. Those drawn by your unique bouquet."
My mind reeled. Birch’s warnings about things in the woods. The scratching. The feeling of being watched. It hadn’t just been animals. "The thing… last night… scratching…"
"A lesser hunter," she confirmed, a flicker of distaste in her void-like eyes. "Drawn by the first bloom of your potency. Crude. Impatient." She glanced towards the door. "Like your recent visitor. Weak prey, easily taken by the bait. We hunger for stronger sustenance. The ones who know what you are. The ones who come to feed." Her gaze snapped back to me, pinning me. "That is your purpose, little bait. Your nectar draws them. Your fear excites them. And then…" Her smile widened, showing a glimpse of sharp, white teeth. "We take them. Suck them dry. Leave only husks for the forest floor."
The brutality of it slammed into me. My experiment hadn’t just unleashed violence; it had confirmed I was part of some grotesque food chain. I was chum. "I don't want this!" The words burst out, raw.
The succubus laughed, a sound like shattering ice. "Want?" She drifted closer still, close enough that the unnatural cold radiating from her made my skin prickle. "What does want have to do with it? This is what you are. Engineered. Selected. Whether by chance or some cosmic joke, your vessel produces the perfect lure." She raised that unnaturally long hand. I flinched, expecting claws, but she merely pointed at my chest. "That nectar isn't poison, little bait. It's a beacon. It calls the predators out of the shadows. And when they come for you…"
Her finger didn't touch me, but I felt a sudden, intense pressure inside my right breast. A deep, hollow ache, pulling, yearning towards her. A whimper escaped my lips. It was the same terrifying pull, the same overwhelming compulsion I’d felt during my own lapse, but amplified a thousandfold, directed by her will. My knees buckled.
"...we feast," she finished, her voice dropping to a hungry whisper. The pressure released as suddenly as it came, leaving me gasping, trembling violently.
She stepped back, the shadows seeming to cling to her. "The lesser hunter last night was driven off by your… self-experimentation." A faint, chilling amusement touched her lips. "But others will come. Stronger ones. Drawn by the scent of your terror now, as much as your nectar." Those black eyes held mine. "You are the net, little bait. But you must learn to stand your ground. To hold them. To lure them close. We cannot take them if they snatch you and run."
Revulsion warred with a terrifying, dawning comprehension. My independence, my refuge… it was all an illusion. I was a piece on a board I hadn’t known existed. Trapped by my own biology.
"You expect me to just… wait? To be bait?" My voice shook with fury now, cutting through the fear.
"Not wait," the succubus corrected, her form already beginning to shimmer, dissolving at the edges back into shadow. "Hunt. Use your gift. Draw them out. Hold them." Her voice echoed as the darkness swallowed her. "We hunt tonight."
She was gone. The crushing cold lifted as abruptly as it came, leaving only the familiar chill of the cabin and the pounding of my own terrified heart. The scent of ozone faded, replaced by woodsmoke, pine, and the lingering sweetness that marked me. Bait.
I looked down at my hands. They were still trembling. But something else was building beneath the terror, the shame, the revulsion. A cold, hard knot of fury. Not just at the hiker. Not just at the scratching thing. At the succubus. At the impossible trap my body had become.
Stand my ground. Lure them. Hold them.
My fingers closed into fists. Hard. The knuckles white. The skillet was still heavy in my hand. I hefted it. Solid. Real.
We hunt tonight. Her words weren't an invitation. They were a command from a predator who saw me as a tool.
The cabin walls, my sanctuary, suddenly felt like a cage. Or a trap I’d built for myself. The woods outside were no longer just trees and solitude. They were full of teeth. Drawn to me.
I looked towards the door. The weak grey light of afternoon was fading towards dusk. Towards night.
My breath hitched. Then steadied. The fury crystallized, sharp and cold. If I was bait, I wouldn't be passive. I wouldn't be weak prey.
I moved towards the door. Not to run. To look out. To scan the treeline.
They wanted a hunt? Fine.
I’d give them one. On my terms. Or die trying. The skillet's weight was suddenly comforting.