The Succubus Wife Discovered Her Perfect Husband Wasn’t Human Either Chapter 02

The Succubus Wife Discovered Her Perfect Husband Wasn’t Human Either Chapter 02

The week that followed was a full-scale campaign of desperate measures.

Plan one: The Shower Ambush.

I timed his return perfectly, slipped into the bathroom, and waited for him to pass by so I could emerge “accidentally” in nothing but a towel.

I camped out in there for thirty minutes.

Footsteps. He was home.

I heard him cross the hallway.

Deep breath. Pulled the door open—

Empty.

He was already in his home office. Door closed. Locked tight.

Did the man walk on air or something?

Plan two: The Horror Movie Trap.

Every article online said the same thing—horror movies create opportunities for physical contact.

Scared girl clings to the guy next to her. Classic.

I’m a succubus. I’m obviously not afraid of ghosts.

But I can act.

That night, I actually convinced him to sit on the couch with me.

TV on. Lights off.

I’d picked some Japanese horror flick—the kind where a ghost girl crawls out of a well.

I waited for the money shot.

Finally—

Screen flickered. Samara’s head emerged from the TV.

“AHHH—!”

I shrieked and threw myself at him.

And missed.

Completely.

The man had reacted with supernatural speed—sidestepping me in the dark like he’d trained for this exact scenario.

I face-planted into the couch cushions.

The ghost kept crawling on screen, relentless.

I lay there, hollow inside, half-wishing she’d drag me back with her.

“…You okay?”

His voice came from somewhere to my left.

“Mm.”

I didn’t lift my head.

“Horror isn’t your thing. Get some rest.”

Then he left.

And the home office door clicked shut again.

I was going to lose it.

Plan three: Drunk Seduction.

Last resort.

Friday night, I dragged my one and only human friend Dara out for drinks.

“What is wrong with your husband?” Dara demanded between mouthfuls of spicy buffalo wings. “Three months and he hasn’t touched you? Is he broken?”

“No idea.” I knocked back half my hard cider. “I’m starting to think he’s not into women at all.”

“Then why’d he marry you?”

“To keep his family off his back?”

“What a jerk!”

“Or… maybe I’m not hot enough?”

Dara gave me a long look and shook her head. “No way. With your face? Guys would line up from here to Chicago.”

“So the problem’s him.”

“Look.” She pointed her wing at me. “Get wasted tonight and go home. Guys get soft when their wife’s drunk. Trust me.”

I thought about it.

She had a point.

Drunk me could cling, could whine, could latch onto him with zero shame.

And if he rejected me? I could pretend I didn’t remember a thing in the morning. Salvage my dignity.

Perfect.

So that night, I knocked back six bottles.

I was absolutely trashed.

I called him.

“Lucian… come get me…”

Three seconds of silence on his end.

“Address.”

Twenty minutes later, a black Maybach pulled up outside The Rusty Spoke.

He stepped out in a black knit sweater—casual, nothing like his office armor—with dress pants underneath.

His hair wasn’t gelled back like usual. A few strands fell across his brow.

He’d clearly already showered and was ready for bed.

And I’d dragged him out here with one phone call.

He walked over, looking down at me.

I grinned up at him from my chair, riding the alcohol high.

“Hey… honey… you came…”

He didn’t answer.

Just bent down and scooped me up like I weighed nothing.

One arm around my waist, the other bracing my back, carrying me toward the car.

I took the opportunity to press my face into his chest.

Warmth.

That energy signature that made every cell in my body scream.

But it was faint.

Like smelling a five-course meal through ten panes of glass.

I could see it. Couldn’t taste it.

My fingers curled into the fabric of his sweater without my permission.

“Lucian…”

“Mm.”

“Do you… like me?”

He buckled me into the passenger seat.

Click.

I looked up at him, vision blurry, but I could still make out those fallen strands of hair, the shadow of his lashes under the dome light.

He paused for half a second.

“We’ll talk at home.”

The car moved.

I slumped in my seat, alcohol burning through my veins.

As a succubus, I metabolized booze a little faster than humans.

But only a little.

Six bottles in, my brain was definitely not firing on all cylinders.

The car stopped.

He lifted me out of the passenger seat. Princess carry.

I looped my arms around his neck and buried my face in the crook of his shoulder.

Close.

So close.

His scent was stronger here.

Not cologne. Not soap.

Something that made my succubus instincts go feral.

Like a—

No.

I was drunk. Thoughts came in fragments.

I just pressed myself closer on instinct.

He carried me through the front door.

Down the hall.

Past the living room.

Then—

Lowered me onto the primary bed.

I grabbed his collar and held on.

“Don’t go…”

“Tessa. You’re drunk.”

“That’s exactly why I—”

I yanked his collar down.

He leaned forward.

Close enough that I could see my own reflection in his pupils.

Something flickered in his gaze—

A break in that perfect calm.

Like he was holding something back. Barely.

His Adam’s apple bobbed.

Then.

Right when we were an inch apart—

My hand slipped.

Not on purpose.

Actually slipped.

The alcohol hit, and my hand slid from his collar down to his hip.

And found something.

Not fabric.

Not his belt.

Something—warm. Soft. Moving.

It coiled up from his waist, sliding out from the leg of his dress pants. A long, slender tail covered in fine scales, quick as a snake—

And wrapped around my ankle.

I.

Sobered.

Instantly.

One hundred percent awake.

I froze.

Looked down.

A deep purple tail, its tip shaped like a tiny heart, was coiled tight around my ankle.

Not my tail.

Mine was pink.

And mine was still tucked safely inside my body.

So whose was this?

I lifted my head slowly.

Looked at Lucian.

His face—

Cracked.

That cold, unreadable mask I’d seen for three straight months—gone. In its place, an expression I’d never seen on him before.

Panic.

Raw, unfiltered panic.

He jerked back. His tail retracted from my ankle at lightning speed, slinking back into his pant leg like a kid caught stealing cookies.

The air went dead for three solid seconds.

I stared at him.

He stared at me.

One thought kept looping in my head—

My husband.

Had a tail too?