I woke up with the world spinning sideways and someone breathing like a dying donkey next to me.
First red flag: I was in a bed. A real bed. With sheets. Not straw, not rocks, not moss.
Second red flag: my head was pounding like a temple drumline on fertility feast day. Magic hangover. The mother of all mana migraines. My chakras were not aligned. They were in open revolt.
Third and most terrifying red flag: the snoring.
I turned my head.
Regretted it instantly.
Oh no.
Oh no.
Oh sweet sweaty goatballs of Seebulba, no.
There he was. The hedge wizard. That hedge wizard. The deranged, half-mummified, fully unhinged spell-farter who brewed love potions with old pickles and once tried to summon a familiar using a sausage link and erotic poetry.
And he was snoring.
Naked.
Well—almost naked.
He had one of those wizard nightshirts on. Unbuttoned. Wide open like a shipwrecked sail. His pale bony legs sprawled out, one foot twitching like it was still casting a spell in its sleep. A rogue wand was poking out from under his thigh. I hoped to all unholy entities it was literal.
Panic.
Not mild panic.
Full body, temple bells ringing, dragon is gonna murder me, what-did-I-drink-level panic.
I slapped my forehead. Regretted that too. Pain ricocheted behind my eyes. My mouth tasted like ash and mint. And was that… clove? Oh gods. I remembered. The mead. The glowing one. “Elderflower and Arcane Whimsy,” he‘d said. Bastard forgot to mention it hits like a unicorn hoof to the spleen.
I lifted the blanket.
Immediately dropped it.
Why. Why was I not wearing pants. Or underwear. Why was I—
Oh no.
Oh no no no no no.
Had I? With him?
I scanned the room. Saw my sandal in the fireplace. One earring on the stuffed possum head mounted on the wall. My favorite anklet was around his wrist like a trophy.
Oh gods. I was going to throw up. On the bed. On myself. On Maud, whoever the hell Maud was—he kept screaming her name halfway through the night. At least I hoped it was Maud and not Mordor. I couldn‘t handle a cursed blood pact right now.
“Please,” I whispered to no one. “Please tell me we just… talked. And he passed out. And I had a heatstroke. And this is a dream. A horrible, cabbage-scented dream.”
The wizard snorted, rolled over, muttered something about “potion ingredients” and “thighs like prophecy.”
I screamed internally.
Externally, I bolted upright and screamed externally.
Then immediately collapsed again because the room did a full backflip and my head tried to escape through my ears.
“I hate my life,” I moaned. “I hate my past. I hate my decisions. I especially hate wizards.”
I needed clothes. I needed soap. I needed a reality purge.
And most importantly, I needed to get out of here before the Dragon found out and decided I needed exorcising via fire breath.
I rolled off the bed. Landed on a pile of dusty robes and something squishy.
A half-melted cheese wheel stared up at me.
“Never again,” I swore, crawling toward my tunic like it was holy ground.
From the bed, the wizard muttered, “Your aura‘s still glowing, peaches.”
I didn‘t look back.
I just crawled faster.
The moment I managed to crawl halfway into my tunic—head in one armhole, tits dangling free, hair full of hay and regret—the wizard woke up.
With a sound like a startled goose.
“YAAARRRGGH!”
I froze. He sat bolt upright, legs flailing, robe flapping open like an angry clamshell.
Then he saw me.
And screamed again. Higher this time. Less goose, more soprano banshee.
“NO. NO! YOU‘RE NOT REAL!”
He pointed a trembling finger at me, eyes bulging, face pale as parchment. “A hallucination. You‘re a hallucination. A very detailed one with glistening—NOPE. Not looking. Not again.”
I blinked at him from under my tunic hood. “You‘re the one naked and screaming, old man. Don‘t pin this on me.”
“You speak,” he whimpered. “Oh gods. You‘re real.”
His face contorted in horror.
“A real, naked, flesh-based, female human in my bed. Sweet Mother of Runes, what have I done?!”
He covered his face with both hands. Peered through his fingers like a man watching his own doom unfold in slow motion.
“This is it. This is the end. They‘ll know. The Guild will know. They always know.”
He stumbled off the bed, tripping over a chamber pot and crashing into a bookshelf that sneezed out a dozen cursed scrolls. One exploded into confetti. Another hissed and scuttled away.
He didn‘t notice.
“Two hundred years of celibacy,” he wailed. “Gone. Gone! Do you know how hard I worked to cultivate that? Self-denial! Abstinence! Constant focus on the arcane path through the sacred method of—of—alcoholism!”
I squinted. “You call that focus? You passed out face-first in your own soup.”
“That soup was a potion of stamina!” he snapped, pointing a shaking hand at the cauldron still bubbling ominously on the hearth. “And anyway—it‘s ruined now! Everything is ruined! My vows! My guild rating! My official hat privileges!”
He paused.
Eyes locked on me again. He blanched.
“Oh no. Oh no. You‘re a succubus, aren‘t you?”
I cocked my head. “Excuse you?”
“Yes. Yes. It makes sense now. The breasts. The sinful thighs. The scent of peaches and shame. The laughter. Oh gods, the laughter. You‘ve enthralled me.”
“Bitch, I am not a succubus,” I snapped. “I just have good skin and low standards.”
He sank to his knees. “They warned me this would happen again. First the goat. Now this. I was banished for less!”
I paused mid-button. “Hold up. Goat?”
He let out a high-pitched sob. “It wasn‘t like that! It was a familiar summoning. It wasn‘t even fully corporeal!”
I blinked slowly. “You tried to summon a goat and ended up naked in bed with me. That‘s either an upgrade or a lateral move, depending on the lighting.”
He wailed again.
I tied the sash of my tunic, stepped over a cursed book that tried to nibble my toe, and grabbed my sandals from the fireplace.
“Relax, old man. I‘m leaving.”
“The Guild will smite me!”
“Well maybe don‘t summon soup succubi and drink glowing mead next time, you old perv.”
“I thought you were a hallucination!”
“Yeah, well. I wish I was.”
I stepped outside into the morning light, squinting like a mole dragged from a brothel basement. Somewhere in the trees, a bird sang. Somewhere in the distance, the Dragon was probably already sniffing the shame on the wind.
Behind me, the wizard screamed again.
“MAUUUUUD! I HAVE SINNED!”
I stumbled down the crooked stairs of the wizard‘s crumbling tower like a newborn foal with rabies. Every board creaked in protest. My ankle was tangled in a robe. My tunic was backwards. My left tit was definitely out.
Hangover fog. Shame fog. Possibly real fog outside. Hard to tell.
I reached the warped wooden door, muttered a prayer to the gods of second chances and personal dignity, and yanked it open—
—and walked face-first into cleavage.
Not just any cleavage.
Succubus cleavage.
The kind that glows faintly. Smells like roasted figs and sin. The kind that once smothered me in a moonlit picnic under three kinds of silk.
“Oh, peaches,” she said, voice like honey being poured over a dagger. “What a surprise.”
I blinked up at her. “What. The fuck. Are you doing here?”
She cocked her head, all lashes and smirk. “Working. Unlike some of us who seem to have taken a wrong turn into my assigned territory.”
“Assigned—wait—this tower? This deranged, soup-smelling disaster of a wizard is your mark?”
She gave a dramatic sigh, stepped aside, and pulled a parchment from her corset. “Official Assignment Scroll. Signed by three imps and a mid-level contract demon. Seduction target: wizard. Goal: break vow of celibacy. Method: standard. Payment: commission per soul.”
I stared. “You‘re joking.”
“Peaches,” she purred, folding the scroll with a snap, “I do not joke about quotas. Do you know how hard it is to make sales in the hinterlands? There‘s only so many goat-herders and shrine-boys worth corrupting out here.”
I slapped my forehead. “Oh for fuck‘s sake. I didn‘t know he was your assignment! I thought he was just a weird old lush with soup breath and hallucinations.”
“He is!” she snapped. “But he‘s also mine. And now he‘s been defiled by you, which means he‘s technically no longer a ’pure vessel of restrained lust,‘ which voids the premium contract I was negotiating!”
I threw up my hands. “We didn‘t even—! I don‘t think we—? Gods, I hope we didn‘t!”
She narrowed her eyes. “Did he scream ’Maud‘ during climax?”
I flinched. “Yes.”
She cringed. “Then yes. You did.”
I turned and slammed my head gently against the doorframe. Once. Twice. Thrice.
“Do you know what it pays per soul out here?” she continued. “Four silver. Four. I was gonna make this quick and clean. One night of hallucinated debauchery, a cursed biscuit, and poof—signed and sealed. But nooo, little Miss Wandering Lust-Elemental just had to come barging in and steal my mark.”
I turned, eyes bloodshot. “Listen, tits-for-brains. I didn‘t plan this. I was drunk. I was cold. And I thought he was asleep when I climbed into bed.”
She scoffed. “And then you climbed him, apparently.”
“I hate you.”
“I worship your thighs but this is war.”
We glared.
Then we both groaned.
She rubbed her temples. “You have any idea how hard it is to meet quota when half your marks are hermits or eunuch monks?”
“You think I wanted to roll around with a necrotic old man who probably stores pickled salamanders under his bed?!”
“Some of us work on commission, peaches.”
I spat a leaf out of my mouth. “Fine. How about I send you the next drunk paladin I meet? They‘re usually brimming with sin and low on wisdom.”
“Throw in a bard and a virgin stableboy, and we have a deal.”
“Done.”
She smirked. “You still smell like regret and mead.”
I flipped her off and stumbled into the daylight.
Behind me, from the upper window, the wizard‘s voice echoed down.
“MAAAAUUUUD! THERE‘S TWO OF THEM!”