I am a pureblood succubus. Every seven days, desire consumes me.

Stuart Newlin always complained that I clung to him too much, that I distracted him from his grand ambitions.

Then, at the peak of my heat, when I needed him most, he blew me off. He chose to go to his female friend's prenatal appointment instead.

The thing is, a succubus can't survive without being fed. Without that energy, that devotion… I wither.

Unfortunate as it was to fall into the hands of a neglectful master, I had no choice but to seek another.

My new keeper bore the bloodline of the Black Serpent. He had double the virility. Night and day, he poured himself into me.

He worked tirelessly; I was more than satisfied.

So when Stuart showed up with a massive bouquet of red roses, hoping to coax me back, what greeted him was the sight of me, flushed and glowing, curled up in another man's arms.

His eyes burned with rage as he went mad, smashing everything in the house, raging that I was unfaithful, that I dared take another man to my bed.

Smiling, I leaned into my new master's embrace and introduced them.

"Let me make the introductions. You two have more in common than you think. After all, I've slept with both of you."

Stuart Newlin hadn't come home for over a month.

I clenched my phone, hesitating, fingers trembling as I debated calling him. I wanted to beg him to come back. I wanted to beg him to look at me.

A familiar, searing ache tore through me. The heat had come again.

I am a pureblood succubus. Every seven days, I need love to sustain me, to get through these merciless ruts.

Stuart is my boyfriend, but he is not a good master.

He locked me in a room when I was in heat, leaving me to pound the door with cries while my nails clawed my skin raw. Still, he refused to open it.

"If you're so desperate, why don't you just look in the streets? Plenty of men there."

His voice from the other side of the door was icily contemptuous. I froze.

When we first met, he'd been awkward and shy, presenting a huge bouquet of red roses as he confessed. He called me his most precious treasure. I believed him.

Now he despised me. For more than a month, he hadn't set foot in our home. These past heat cycles I'd endured alone, gritting my teeth until my body threatened to snap. If I didn't receive love soon, I would truly die.

"Stuart, please come back, save me…" My voice was weak.

When the call finally connected, his reply was brusque and impatient. "Don't make trouble. I'm at the hospital with Naomi for her checkup."

I was too weak to form more than a pleading whisper, repeating the same desperate request for him to come home. He cut me off with a cold laugh.

"Stop pretending. Succubi don't die that easily."

Something else stirred on the line — a coquettish female voice. "Stuart, the baby just kicked. Come feel!"

Stuart's tone softened in an instant; he leaned his head against Naomi's belly and teased the baby inside as tenderly.

Naomi laughed gently. She asked who he had been speaking with. He waved it off. 'Just some nuisance caller,' he said.

He cupped the phone and stepped away.

"I'm busy. I don't have time for you. You wanna get laid so badly? The street's full of men. Go get yourself one!" he snapped before hanging up.

The line went dead as I was wiping my tear-streaked face. I had heard in the background the hospital's PA calling Naomi in for an ultrasound.

'Of course… a prenatal appointment. Stuart is going to be a father,' I thought miserably.

I slid to the floor, powerless. My chest felt as if it were torn wide open, and someone rubbed salt into the wound. Pain sprouted in a thousand places. Was it grief, or the torture of this heat? It was impossible to tell.

All I had needed was a hand to hold. Not a kiss, not an embrace — even a single loving word would have sufficed.

Once, Stuart used to hover at my side, eyes shining, begging me to say I loved him.

Once, because I had casually mentioned wanting to see fireworks, he had scoured the country to hire the finest pyrotechnicians and stage a dazzling display just for me — even burning his hands until they blistered to make it happen.

He had promised to love me forever, and I had believed him.

Now, he was telling me to go find another man. Since he didn't want me anymore, I would do exactly as he suggested.

The heat of a succubus was tormenting. With every second that passed, I felt like I was being scorched alive.

I dug my nails into my palm, fighting to stay conscious. My fingers trembled as I pulled up a familiar number and pressed call.

The line clicked after several long rings.

"Louisa, stop crying to me for advice. Stuart is your boyfriend. And I… what am I to you?"

Hearing that cold, low voice on the other end, a sudden ache welled in my chest. I choked back sobs, but my voice still trembled.

"But he's the only one I've ever been with… besides him, who else could I choose?"

Joe Dixon's voice sharpened, grinding with irritation, sleep instantly gone. "Louisa, it's three in the morning in Morland. Do you take me for a dead man, answering your call at this hour?"

I wiped my tears, aggrieved. "Joe… I think I might be dying. Stuart hasn't come home for several cycles. The pain is unbearable. I can't hold on."

A loud crash erupted on the other end, something shattering into pieces. Then came his furious roar, "What in the world! How the hell is Stuart taking care of you?"

I clutched the phone in silence as tears streamed down.

Joe went quiet for a moment, then finally spat, "Wait for me. I'm coming back."

I sat in my room, body wracked with the fire burning hotter, sharper, until I collapsed to my knees. I pressed my forehead to the ground, desperate for relief.

My mind blurred. In the haze, I seemed to see Stuart again—the once shy, lively boy. But he had changed, his love gone, swallowed forever by time.

Tears blurred my vision until my face was soaked.

I don't know how much time passed before a heavy pounding rattled the front door.

"Louisa! Open the door!"

That voice… was so familiar.

Summoning what little strength I had left, I crawled to the door and managed to pull it open. A tall, broad figure rushed in immediately, gathering me carefully into his arms, his voice coaxing and gentle.

"Louisa, wake up."

I felt warmth envelop me, his chin resting lightly atop my head, his cool breath calming the fire that had been consuming me. My body, exhausted and empty, seemed to regain a flicker of strength.

"Joe." My voice cracked, a tide of grievance spilling free.

"It's me. I'm back," he whispered, holding me tighter.

Sobbing, I poured out everything, all the indignities and loneliness I'd been enduring. My tears soaked through his clothes.

Stuart had changed. The moment he confirmed our relationship, his warmth vanished. In just days, he grew cold and distant. But I am a succubus—I need love to survive. His indifference terrified me.

I tried to mend the rift, pressing myself into his arms, pretending to be curious, asking about whatever he was looking at with a smile so bright it hurt.

But Stuart's face turned instantly cold. He snapped the phone shut, shoving me away with disgust.

His brows furrowed as he scolded me, telling me to behave, to be a proper wife instead of seducing him and distracting him from his "great ambitions."

"You're draining my focus!" he'd said.

I stumbled, sprawling onto the ground in humiliation.

His face flushed with anger as he loomed over me, shouting. The more I bowed my head, the louder his reprimands became, until he had berated me the entire afternoon.

"Everything about you from head to toe is just petty feminine trickery. I don't even want to look at you!"

With one last roar, Stuart had grabbed his phone, slammed the door, and left.

Only I remained, kneeling on the icy floor, my blood and spirit slowly consumed.

His love for me had vanished. And with it, the life of a succubus withered.

The ache in a succubus' heat is torture—every moment feels like being seared alive.

A fresh tremor wracked me as I recalled Stuart's lost love.

Joe wrapped me in his arms, holding the shivering heap I'd become.

"Don't cry."

He lifted my face; his calloused fingertip brushed away the tracks of my tears, a touch that sent a delicious, helpless tickle through me.

"Louisa, have you considered finding a new master?" he asked.

I stared at him, stunned. He arched an eyebrow and smiled softly, coaxing. "If a master doesn't suit you, shouldn't you replace them? How about me?"

Panic fluttered at the edges of my composure.

'Don't joke,' I thought. 'A succubus lives on love. Joe doesn't love me. How could he ever be my master?'

I tried to pull free, but he caught my wrist, drew me back, and embraced me. He murmured in my ear, "How about now?"

Warmth—so much warmth—flooded into me. It felt like a dam finally breaking, a long-starved affection crashing in, burning and sweet.

My head swam; I clung to his sleeve, barely believing it. How could this be? Joe had never seemed to give off the smallest trace of feeling before. Had it all been an act?

Before I could form the question, my vision blurred. I'd been neglected by Stuart for so long; without love my body had gone parched. Suddenly being fed so lavishly overwhelmed me—I couldn't quite hold it together.

I went limp and fell, and Joe caught me. Just before sleep took me, I thought I heard him sigh. "Foolish girl."

I woke hungry. A yawn escaped me; I found myself in bed, a thin blanket draped over my shoulders.

Joe had left, leaving only a note that said, "The porridge is warm in the pot. Eat it. If you need me, you know where I live."

His handwriting flowed across the paper. I stared at it, frowning, then balled the note up in a knot of indecision.

Steam rose from the white porridge in the pot. I ladled a bowl, then glanced into the mirror and stopped cold.

The woman reflecting back at me was radiant, flushed with life; not at all the ashen, wilted thing I'd been. So this is what I was like when I was loved. The difference was astonishing.

I was still dazed when a voice drifted from the door. "Louisa, I'm home."

It was Stuart. He'd finally returned.

Joy rushed through me and I hurried to meet him, ready to say something—anything. Then I saw who he had with him.

Naomi stood clad in white, shy and delicate, his arm around her waist, smiling.

My body froze. He'd brought another woman into our home. He had never been so brazen before.

The words on the tip of my tongue choked into bitterness.

"Naomi, you can stay here for a few days. Louisa will take care of you," Stuart said with practiced concern, his hand resting against her belly as if to soothe both mother and unborn child.

Naomi leaned into him, then looked into his eyes and said, "Stuart, Louisa will be jealous."

Stuart's expression turned cold, but he quickly smiled in reassurance as he saw me. "Naomi, don't worry. She'll do as I say. She won't make a peep."

Turning to me, he ordered in a clipped tone that I look after Naomi and the baby, and not to bully her.

Bitter humor tugged at my mouth. "So you've finally remembered how to come home, Stuart."

And with another woman—carrying his child—no less.

He scowled and snapped that I should stop acting like a jealous shrew; despite being a succubus, I was behaving like a spurned wife.

His gaze slid over my face, puzzled for a heartbeat, then sneered, "Filthy succubus. I only just got back, and you're already this excited?"

I touched my cheek. Joe's love last night had left me sated, even lingering. A realization pricked at me—Stuart had utterly misread the scene. I felt a headache of indecision at Joe's parting suggestion, a small, nagging sting of doubt.

Seeing me silent, Stuart appeared to relax. He released Naomi and spread his arms toward me with a patronizing smile. "So starved for affection? Fine. I'll be charitable. Go ahead and hug me."

I frowned and did not move.

He waited a beat, then his expression hardened into scorn. "Louisa, don't try playing hard to get with me. My patience has limits."