Good Intentions by Elliott Kay

to be the aggressor and the seducer once he became a little more self-confident. There was a great deal for Lorelei to play with here. But what was so ominously clear to her was that he would only be led so much. He would be happily teased and manipulated until he was genuinely bothered by something, and then it would end. Her plots would only move as long as they kept him entertained and respected his real boundaries. Alex, unlike any prey before him, could say no and mean it. Frowning, Lorelei glanced around his room. Seeing in the dark was no chal enge at al for a demon. She should have investigated the house yesterday, but fatigue from her abduction had overcome her and she’d put it off. Lorelei glanced over his bookshelf and other belongings, which indicated interests that tended toward larger-than-life adventure and matters far beyond his small world. He wouldn’t want to remain in his hometown forever. On his desk was a picture of his high school swim team, which included several girls forever burned into his desires. That was something she could use.
    His shelves held an eclectic collection of music, but his discs and scattered ticket stubs revealed a preference for live rock. His wall s were adorned with posters of bands and ordinary teen interests…but ordinary teens didn’t have so many philosophy books. She found his class schedule. It was still early enough in the year that he probably didn’t have it al memorized. Only a year into his college life, he still had mostly “intro” classes: Intro to Literature. Intro to Biology. Philosophy. Human Sexuality. No wonder he’s so screwed up, she thought wryly. Intro to Photography. Her heart jumped. So insignificant a thing. Just a class at a community college. How different her world would be if Alex hadn’t, probably on a whim, taken Introduction to Photography. There was so much more to know, and so much more that he would want to know about her. He wouldn’t like it. There was so very little for a good man to like. The thought gave her a small pang of despair. Lorelei considered slipping out, but saw no great need. What she wanted was right in front of her. Merely being with him felt good, and the succubae were nothing if not hedonistic. She slipped into the bed, curling up beside him in the hopes of banishing ominous thoughts and unpleasant memories. As she drifted off to sleep, she found she had little luck. * The pounding on the door and demands for Malik to rise had ended hours ago. Screams and crashes and the sounds of slaughter replaced it, but Lorelei had paid it no mind. Her work had been too close to completion to worry about such things.
    There came, as always, the final, overwhelming shudder of pleasure when her prey expired. As usual, it arrived while she rode him, slapping away his feeble, fatigued attempts to push her off before the end. Lorelei remained still for a good while, oblivious to shouts and the clanging of swords separated from her only by brick and mortar. She hated this man, indeed hated al her “lovers,” but there was always at least this. Whatever her feelings, this moment was always rewarding. Once Malik’s soul finally passed through her on its way to hell , Lorelei rose from the bed and took up a robe. Her proud wings stretched out, completely unhindered by the fabric. An onlooker might have thought either the wings or the robe were il usions, for how could one solid thing merely pass through another in such a way? Very few mortals could see such things, though. Only practitioners of magic could see, and Lorelei had not encountered any such practitioners in Antioch. She wanted to wash. That was always her first instinct when the deed was done and the pleasure had faded. Lorelei left the room without a second glance, clad only in the robe. She ignored the jewelry, the dresses, al of it. She needed none of it and wanted it even less. A Turk died at her feet as she opened the door, thrown down by a pair of Franks who