Succubi Chapter 100. Imps
The scrubbing one gave me a side-eye. Or at least, I think it did. Hard to tell with a featureless shadow face. Then it squeaked again, sharper this time, before bending down to really scrub into the velvet cushion like it was punishing the stain personally.
I blinked. Looked at Sera, still snoozing peacefully, drool glistening at the edge of her lips. Then back at the little demons.
What the actual f*ck.
I rubbed a hand over my face, groaning softly. "Lilith is going to kill me…"
The shadow paused, then turned its little smoky head toward me again, before resuming its furious scrubbing.
Sera shifted against me, humming sleepily, one of her tentacles tightening around my waist even in her dreams. I froze, watching her, then exhaled slowly.
I carefully pried her tentacle off my side, inch by inch, until she just flopped back into the pillow with a soft sigh. My heart did a weird flip at the sight, but I shoved it down. Right now I had a bigger problem. A velvet sofa with demon virgin bloodstains and toddler-shadow housekeepers glaring at me like I'd pissed on their rug.
No way was I waiting for Lilith to find out. I preferred to face my problems like a gentleman, not a coward caught red-handed.
I got up, dressed in the clean shirt and pants the little demons had left for me. Seriously, they'd folded them better than I ever could. And I headed for the door. The clock on the hall wall blinked 6 AM. Still early. Perfect.
If Lilith was anywhere, she'd be in the kitchen. She liked her breakfasts decadent, feasts, not meals. Fabulously ridiculous spreads of fruit, bread, meats, wine. I'd always assumed she cooked them. Maybe with help. But after seeing the shadow army in my room, I wasn't so sure anymore.
I padded down the hall, barefoot still, the marble tiles cold under my feet. My mind ran in circles. What if she already knew? What if the shadows were little snitches? What if I woke up to find her smiling at me over morning tea, saying, So, you finally took Sera, hm? Left me a gift on the sofa too.
I shivered. Yeah, better to confess now.
The kitchen door was cracked open. Warm light spilled out, along with the smell of fresh bread and sizzling butter. My stomach growled, traitorous. I pushed the door wider…
And froze again.
The kitchen was alive.
Not with Lilith. Not with the girls.
With more of them.
Shadows. Dozens of them. Toddler-sized silhouettes bustling about with tiny squeaks and grunts. One stirring a pot twice its size with surprising coordination. Another climbing onto the counter, dragging a basket of apples over with ridiculous determination. Three of them worked together to knead dough, their stubby arms moving in sync like a professional bakery crew.
I blinked, stunned.
So Lilith wasn't cooking. She'd never been cooking. These little creatures were.
And now all of them had stopped what they were doing.
Every single one turned their round, smoky heads toward me.
Dozens of toddler-glare eyes.
I raised both hands slowly, awkward. "Uh. Hello. I don't mean to interrupt you guys. I just… uh—I'm looking for Lilith."
Silence.
One of the shadows squeaked something at me, sharp and fast. The others nodded like it had just given a presidential speech.
"Yeah, cool, that clears it up," I muttered, taking a cautious step back. "Carry on with your… bread war, I guess."
Before I could retreat, a familiar voice cut through the room.
"Oh, Evan. You're here."
I turned.
Lilith strolled in from the side hall, wearing her usual silk robe, a glass of wine already in hand despite the hour. Her hair shimmered under the kitchen light, and she looked as effortlessly flawless as ever.
I froze, every ounce of fake courage draining out of me.
"Lilith," I said quickly. "Before you hear it from anyone else—"
She arched a brow, amused. "From anyone else?"
"Yeah, from—uh—" I gestured vaguely to the shadows, who immediately stopped stirring, kneading, and chopping to glare at me again. "Them. Your… little guys. Minions. Whatever."
She followed my hand, then looked back at me with a smirk. "Oh, you mean my imps."
"Imps," I repeated. "Right."
She took a sip of wine. "What about them?"
I cleared my throat, my pride shriveling as the words tumbled out. "About last night. With Sera. There's… a stain."
Her smirk widened. "A stain."
"Yeah," I said, rubbing the back of my neck. "On the sofa. Velvet. Not easy to clean. And, uh, apparently your… imps are already on it, but I just wanted to… y'know—tell you like a normal person instead of letting you find out and assume I'm some kind of couch-destroying degenerate."
Lilith laughed. A slow, syrupy laugh that made my skin prickle. "Evan, darling. It's fine. I'm not mad."
I blinked. "You're not."
"Of course not. Imps handle these things all the time." She gestured lazily with her glass. "Besides, you're hardly the first demon to christen that sofa. I'd be more shocked if you didn't."
I stared. "That… doesn't make me feel better."
She tilted her head, smile sly. "It wasn't meant to."
I groaned, dragging a hand over my face. "Demon Gods help me."
Lilith sipped again, then glanced at the nearest shadow, who was still kneading dough while glaring at me. "You apologized to them, I assume?"
"I—what? They don't even speak—"
Her smile sharpened. "Oh, they understand."
I glanced at the little demon-babies. They all stared back, judgment radiating off their tiny frames. One even crossed its stubby arms.
"…Yeah," I muttered. "I said sorry."
"Good boy," Lilith purred, patting my cheek as she passed me, heading toward the counter. "Breakfast will be ready soon. And next time, maybe try to keep it in the bed."
I groaned again, slumping against the wall as the imps squeaked and went back to their chores.
Somehow, I wasn't sure if facing the King's assassins or Lilith's smug smile was worse.
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