Sins of the Succubus

4. Neela

4

NEELA

T he air in the bar shifts, a palpable tension seeping into every corner. I can feel it in my bones, an electric current that sets my nerves on edge. Something's different tonight.

I'm wiping down a table, my movements mechanical and practiced, when I catch snippets of hushed conversation from a group of regulars huddled in the corner. Their voices are low, but in the din of the bar, they carry just far enough for me to hear.

"Did you see him come in?" A naga whispers, his forked tongue flicking nervously. I can't help but notice how his scales shimmer in the dim light, betraying his agitation.

"Who?" His orc companion grunts, taking a swig from his tankard. The smell of ale wafts over, mingling with the ever-present stench of sweat and desperation that permeates this place.

"The new guy. Looks like a dark elf, but there's something... off about him." The naga's eyes dart around, as if afraid of being overheard.

I try not to eavesdrop, but their words pique my interest. My gaze darts around the room, searching for this mysterious newcomer. The usual crowd of drunks and lowlifes fills the bar, but I don't spot anyone who stands out as particularly unusual.

"I heard he's actually a demon," another patron chimes in, his voice barely above a whisper. He leans in closer, his breath reeking of cheap spirits. "From the Abyss itself."

A chill runs down my spine, raising goosebumps on my arms. A demon? Here? I shake my head, trying to focus on my work. It's probably just drunken gossip, I tell myself. But I can't shake the feeling of unease that settles over me like a heavy cloak. In a place like this, even the wildest rumors sometimes turn out to be true.

But as I move between tables, I can't shake the feeling of being watched. It's different from the usual leers and hungry stares I'm accustomed to. This gaze feels... heavier. More intense.

I chance a glance towards the bar and freeze. There, among the crowd, sits a dark elf I've never seen before. His eyes, pitch black and bottomless, are fixed on me. A smirk plays at the corners of his mouth, and I swear I see a flash of something inhuman in his features.

My heart races. Could the rumors be true?

"Neela!" My husband's sharp voice cuts through my thoughts. "Stop gawking and get back to work!"

I jump, nearly dropping my tray. "Sorry, I was just?—"

"I don't care what you were 'just' doing," he snaps. "There are customers to serve. And don't forget about the private rooms later."

I nod meekly, my momentary fascination giving way to familiar dread. As I turn to head back into the crowd, I catch the dark elf—or demon?—still watching me. His gaze feels like a physical touch, sending shivers across my skin.

With all the different beings who desire me, it makes a twisted kind of sense that a demon from another plane would want me too. But there's something different about this one. Something that makes me both terrified and... curious.

I weave through the crowded bar, balancing a tray of drinks. The air is thick with smoke and the stench of cheap ale. My skin crawls as hands grab at me, but I've learned to dodge them without spilling a drop. It's a skill I wish I'd never had to learn.

As I set down the last mug, a familiar voice cuts through the din. "Neela, a word."

My stomach drops. It's my husband, and he doesn't sound pleased. I turn to face him, forcing a neutral expression. "Yes?"

He grabs my arm, his fingers digging into my flesh. "In the back. Now."

I follow him to the storeroom, my heart pounding. The door slams shut behind us, and he rounds on me.

"You've caught someone's eye," he says, his voice low and dangerous. "Someone important."

I swallow hard. "What do you mean?"

"Don't play dumb," he snaps. "The demon. He's been asking about you."

My blood runs cold. "Demon? I don't?—"

"Save it," he cuts me off. "Word of your... talents... must have spread further than we thought." A cruel smile twists his lips. "Congratulations, wife. You're moving up in the world."

I feel sick. "I don't want?—"

"What you want doesn't matter," he hisses, grabbing my chin. "You'll do whatever he asks, understand? Whatever it takes to keep him happy."

Memories flood my mind—countless nights of degradation, of being used and discarded. Things no loving husband would ever demand. I try to speak, but my voice fails me.

"This could be big for us," he continues, his eyes gleaming with greed. "A demon client? Think of the connections, the power."

"Us?" I finally manage to choke out. "There is no 'us'. There's you, and there's the property you married."

His hand cracks across my face, the sound echoing in the small room. "Watch your tongue," he growls. "Remember your place."

I taste blood, but I don't back down. "My place? You mean on my knees? Or bent over a table?"

Another slap, harder this time. "That mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble one day," he snarls. "Now get back out there and make sure our new friend is well taken care of. And Neela?" His grip on my arm tightens painfully. "Don't disappoint me."

He shoves me towards the door, and I stumble out, my cheek stinging and my heart heavy.

As the pain pulses through me, my mind drifts back to a time when life held promise. I remember sitting by the river near our village, weaving flower crowns and dreaming of the day I'd meet my true love. In my childish fantasies, he was always kind and gentle, with eyes that sparkled when he looked at me.

A bitter laugh nearly escapes my lips. How naive I was.

Reality crashes down on me as I hear the rowdy voices from the bar. My husband's words echo in my head: "Make sure our new friend is well taken care of."

I close my eyes, fighting back tears. What if one day, I end up pregnant? Whose child would it be? The thought makes me sick.

"Neela!" My husband's voice cuts through my thoughts. "Get out there now!"

I take a deep breath and step out. He grabs my arm, his fingers digging into my flesh as he steers me towards the bar.

"See that one?" He points to a dark-haired figure seated alone. Even from here, I can feel an aura of power radiating from him. "That's the demon. Go. Talk to him. Do whatever he wants."

I swallow hard. "But I?—"

"No buts," he hisses. "This could be huge for the bar. For us."

"You mean for you," I mutter.

He tightens his grip. "What was that?"

"Nothing," I say quickly.

"You'll do as I say, Neela. Remember your place,” he threatens, my mutterings clearly not flying under his nose unheard.

"My place?" I repeat in outrage, letting my anger get the best of me. "Is that what you call this hell you've trapped me in?"

Thaelar raises his hand, ready to hit me for a third time. I fight the instinct to flinch away, to make myself as small as possible the same way I have since I married this monster.

"Go ahead," I grit out instead. "Give these fine patrons a show. I'm sure they'd love to see how you treat your prized possession."

Thaelar’s eyes dart around the room and his hand quickly returns to his side. “This isn’t over,” he promises before stomping away.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what's to come. My husband's threat hangs over me like a storm cloud, his words echoing in my mind.

With leaden feet, I make my way towards the demon. He sits alone at the bar, an aura of power and danger radiating from him. As I draw closer, I notice how different he looks from the other patrons. His features are too perfect, too sharp. His eyes, when they meet mine, seem to hold the depths of the Abyss itself.