The silky red substance, like ribbons, danced around inside the vial, as it sat on the dashboard, calling out to Zayne like a siren. Fantasies made real. Should he take the drug, he might as well kiss the search for Denya goodbye. No way he’d come back from Shey. He’d want to drown in her for as long as he could, even if she wasn’t real, even though she’d be visible to those around him, constructed entirely out of his fantasy.

Would his memories be strong enough to flesh out the beauty who was once his mate?

She’d never be the same Shey. What he’d always loved most about her was not knowing what she’d say, or do. She’d been crazy. Unpredictable.

Absolutely perfect. In life.

Zayne couldn’t bring himself to fuck that up by throwing her back into a world that didn’t belong to her anymore. She’d never bear a son. And she’d disappear with the effects of the drug.

Which meant he’d be on a never-ending search for a high that’d never last long enough.

He swiped the vial off the dashboard, tossing it into the open glovebox, and trained his gaze back on the club entrance. Zayne had gotten word from one of his contacts, that the female who had a connection to the kidnapped succubi liked to hang out at some sleazy night club owned by the Fallen. Abyzz would’ve made the whole experience much more palatable, because he sure as fuck had gotten sick of frequenting the joints over the last couple of months. Something about the Fallen made even the toughest demon’s skin crawl, and Zayne was only skimming the surface. If he dug deeper, he’d be faced with the kind of horrifying shit that bubbled up from the underbelly on prime time news from time to time—kidnappings, rape, torture, mutilations—the world that existed beneath the cover of normalcy. Abyzz shielded him from all that shit. If not for the drug, those images would implant themselves deep enough to drive him mad.

He craved the fog. The thin veil that allowed him to walk up into a club like he didn’t give a shit what he’d see go down. Unfortunately, the only thing the bastard’d given him was the succubi grade, and he sure as hell couldn’t afford that level of distraction.

A tremble wracked his body like the deep rumble of an earthquake, and Zayne’s hands shook. Withdrawals from human drugs meant some shakes, some throwing up, pain and seizures. Withdrawals from the demon variety meant madness, a deep psychosis that’d have him seeing images from the darkest side of his mind. And pain. Pain so unbearable, it’d make human childbirth feel like a spa day.

A knock at his window yanked Zayne out of his trance, and he rolled it down, staring into golden eyes on a dark-haired kid, early twenties.

Standing with his hands in his pockets, he stretched his neck, looking beyond Zayne into the interior of the car. “Nice ride. Wanna sell it?”

Zayne might’ve been desperate for Abyzz, but he sure as hell wasn’t desperate enough to give up his beloved Mustang Shelby. “Just give me the shit. No questions, kid.”

Bodhi was decent, probably the most straightforward of Zayne’s suppliers. College kid, trying to get through a doctorate degree. Only half demon, so he dealt in human currency—lots of it.

“Twenty K. Unless you want to do an even trade for the car.” From his pocket, he pulled out a vial of the all too familiar black tarry substance and handed it off to Zayne, who examined it through the glass to make sure it didn’t have any of those silky red ribbons.

Another thing Zayne appreciated about the kid—always had the clean stuff. From the glovebox, Zayne nabbed a stack of bills and passed it through the window. “I don’t think so. Good luck with school.”

Flipping through the bills, Bodhi smirked. “You gave extra.”

“Didn’t feel like counting twenty grand. ‘Sides that, you’ll put it to good use, right?”

“Tuition. Housing. More product. Yeah, I got a place for it.”

“You make that shit yourself?” Zayne asked, watching the kid stuff the cash into his coat pocket.

“Yeah, gotta keep it clean. Lotta dirty shit on the streets right now. Some succubus mix going around. Fucking with peoples’ heads.”

“Heard about that.” Zayne could almost feel the vial of succubus blood burning a hole in his pocket.

“Stay away from that shit, man. There ain’t no coming back.”

“How so?”

“I know a guy. Overdosed on it, and now he’s locked in a trance. Like a walking zombie. Or a schizo. The comedown is supposed to be easy—no shakes, no pain. But then you don’t want to come down. The visuals are so vivid, you don’t want to come back to reality.” He glanced around and shook his head, directing his attention on Zayne again. “Those fantasies are great in the beginning, but you open that door, you open a whole lot of wounds. Wounds that have the power to drive you straight into madness.”

“Any idea who makes the shit?”

“Nah. Whoever it is, is asking for trouble. The world runs on supply and demand. With Abyzz, you get a nice steady stream of highs and lows. Majority of my business is regulars, like you, who like a nice, temporary buzz. That shit?” His brows winged, and he scratched at his jaw. “I know some bastards whose houses have been raided by crazy junkies looking for more.”

“Sounds like a dangerous way to live.”

“’Swhy I keep making my own shit. Some of these breeds who get hooked are crazy without the drug. I don’t need to wind up in a ditch because some asshole wants to fuck his dead ex.”

That comment punched Zayne right in the heart, but he kept his face stoic to keep from showing any emotion. Whoever was producing the drug obviously had a well-thought-out financial plan, if the demand was so high. But if they were using the succubi to produce it—and using succubi for anything was punishable by Orcosian law. Was it worth the risk of imprisonment?

Even if the females willingly donated their blood for it, nothing was worth having the Orcosian Lords summoning a bastard for crimes against the succubi.

“Got a name for it?” Zayne rolled the new vial around in his fingers, anxious to break into the seal at the top.

“It’s been called Rapture. On the streets, it’s known as Red Queen. But do yourself a favor and stay away from that shit.”

“Will do, man. Thanks. Take care of yourself.” Zayne gave a sharp nod, rolling up the window as the kid walked off. He tugged his sleeve up to his elbow, and the tracks of his addiction damn near glowed in the dark. Tiny silver scars, almost invisible, from the needles trailed up his forearm. Since most metal couldn’t penetrate a demon’s flesh, the syringes he used had to be laced with a small bit of Diablis steel. The unfortunate side effect of injecting it was that it burned like a bitch and left traces of the metal beneath his skin.

His black leather sheath sat inside the glove box, and with it’s retrieval, another round of tremors rushed through his body.

Fuck!

His bones stiffened, muscles twitching with the pulses of sheer agony that claimed his hand. He dropped both the vial and the sheath into the glovebox, waiting for the painful quakes to unlock his tight muscles. Like a horrible cramp, the agony twisted around his bones, holding him still, eyes squinted, until it slowly subsided.

He had to hurry. The intervals between the trembles and pain seemed to be getting shorter and shorter. Meaning he’d be in full-blown withdrawals soon.

Zayne scrambled for the needle, unzipping the leather satchel in time for a small nauseating shudder to threaten another round of cramping. He’d seen pictures of bastards who’d gone through withdrawals, looking like tetanus patients of centuries past, their bodies twisted and contorted into painful arches. Uncapping the vial, he tipped the syringe into the fluid, squinting his eyes so hard he saw stars behind his lids, while his stomach warned of eruption.

Zayne pumped his fist to pop his veins and opened his eyes, jabbing the needle into the largest in the branching map of vessels.

Cool waves of bliss stamped out the flames that threatened to pull him into another bout of pain. Instead, they fizzled into a warm, fuzzy sensation that left goosebumps across his skin. Relief was immediate. More immediate than he’d ever felt before. A smile stretched his lips as he sank back into the leather seat.

Two minutes, he’d give the drug to work its magic, before heading into the club to look for the female.

Two blissful minutes of euphoria.

Goddamn, he’d never been so relaxed before, so calm and sated. Bodhi had whipped up his best shit that time. Had Zayne known it would be that good, he’d have given the kid his car and his left nut. Last time Zayne had ever been so right was after a marathon night of sex with Shey. He could damn near smell her scent. Could taste her juices on his tongue. Zayne licked his lips as the memories of that night pulled him deeper. Deeper.

He reached down to grab hold of his straining dick and felt the tangle of silk wrap around his fingers.

His eyes shot open to long trusses bobbing up and down against his lap. A soft moan told him she enjoyed it. She always had enjoyed giving him head in the car. The riskier the better, as far as Shey was concerned, and if anyone happened to catch them, they’d be in for quite a show. The woman put everything into sex.

Wet warmth slid along his shaft, as her mouth continued its merciless assault, and Zayne curled his fingers into her hair, clenching his teeth. It’d never felt so damn real before. Maybe he’d waited too long in between. Maybe he needed to wait longer in between his highs. Hell, if the effects were that good, he’d suffer some shitty withdrawals for it.

“Fuck, baby, I can’t do this right now. I want to, but I have to take care of something.”

“Mmmm-mmmm,” she moaned around his cock.

“Shey, you know I’d stay if I could. But I have to go. I’ll take another hit before bed, and we’ll fool around like we usually do.” Zayne spent most nights putting himself to sleep with a shot of Abyzz and a bottle of Elysia. The fantasies of Shey were enough to send him off to some sweet fucking dreams.

Her bobbing hastened, and with one long suck, Zayne threw his head back, pleading to the gods never to let the sensation end. With one fist clamped to her hair, he clutched the steering wheel for support, as she stroked and sucked and licked and pulled him along for the goddamn ride. Lifting his ass off the seat, he screwed his eyes shut, while she slammed her mouth to the base of him and sucked so hard the pressure tugged at his skin.

“Fuck!” He bucked beneath her, thrusting his hips up into her throat, and when she grabbed hold of his balls, Zayne fucking lost it. Jets of hot cum pumped from his cock as he finished in her mouth.

He never finished in his fantasies.

His ass hit the seat, his whole body shuddering with the orgasm, trembling as the best high of his life washed through his muscles. He opened his eyes, expecting the fantasy to fade, as it always had, but when Shey sat back in the seat, licking the last of his cum from her lips, he frowned.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“I’m back, baby. You brought me back.”

Even through the effects of the drug, Zayne felt the ice-cold grip of his lungs that told him something was off. “How?”

She lifted the vial, in which the red ribbons danced like mesmerizing little mermaids, damn near laughing at him.

No. Fuck, no.

He’d taken the wrong drug.