She paused. “What?”

The other succubi exchanged glances. One whispered, “A Null?”

He sat up too fast. Around him, four figures lounged on oversized cushions. They were beautiful in the way a trap is beautiful: perfect symmetry, too-long limbs, eyes that held galaxies of mischief. Succubi. He knew the lore. He’d tested eighteen different games about them last year alone.

Curiosity.

“He’s awake,” a voice cooed. Velvet and smoke.