Musicians were her drug of choice. The more angst ridden, the better. She would follow them for awhile, keep pace with their lives for a few months, occasionally a few years, then she'd make her move. They never knew what hit them when she would walk up to them at a party, or backstage at a gig, and smile at them. Usually, that's all it took, was that smile. She wasn't anything spectacular, she'd seen groupies across the globe who made her feel downright ugly. But she had what every groupie in the world wished they had... she had presence. She was special, mysterious, she filled the space around her completely. That one spark of bright flame in a sea of a billion flickering sparks, the musicians she hunted were drawn to her, no matter what else was available.
Her last musician had been a guitarist in a death metal band from somewhere in Europe. The music wasn't exactly to her taste, but he had played like a man possessed, so she was caught by her hunger for that energy, the emotion he poured into his instrument and then played back out for his audience. He'd made a quick meal though; only a slightly rough childhood and a fear of boredom had driven him. One fuck and she'd sucked him dry. After their encounter he couldn't play like before, so the band axed him and he dropped into obscurity, never to be heard from again. It had been much the same for as many centuries as she could remember, but this was possibly the best time to be alive and be a succubus who fed on musicians as preference.
That guitarist was almost a year in the past, and she could feel her hunger wakening, sending out its feelers for the emotions it wanted. She wandered the planet for a few months, tasting here and there were the music seemed promising, but found nothing that truly satisfied her. Then one night as she was passing through some faceless metropolis, she chanced past the doorway of a club that was blasting music from speakers over the doors. The rhythm itself grabbed her by the throat in an instant, holding sway over her. The hook washed over her in waves and the lyrics, they worked their barbs into her soul. This was music worth eating, she thought to herself as she was torn apart inside by the hunger. Once the song faded from the speakers, she found she could move again. Music that could stop her in her tracks and make her feel as though she hadn't eaten in a century? She went inside to find out the name of the band.
Over the next few months, she gathered as much information as she could about the band that made that delicious soul rending sound. It turned out to be a single man, one man who wrote all the music and the words himself, who did most of his own arranging and producing. He was young, and the sounds she so wanted to suck up were his first outing in the music world. This intrigued her, heightened the hunger and drove her to following him everywhere he played. For almost a decade she followed him across the globe, mildly satisfying her hunger with his live performances, soaking up the music at the shows as a plant does sunlight. As the years passed, he matured more and more. His latest double album was an artistic triumph, and showed her that she had been correct in waiting to see if he could get any tastier. His personal despair and slide into deep depression only lent more shattering aspects to his musical expression. She imagined he would taste like the sweetest honey she'd had in her youth, before she'd foolishly asked the powers that be for immortality. Oh, she'd gotten to be immortal alright, but at what price?
Finally he went home again, to a city in the southern US that was unbearably hot most of the year, and an absolute crush for two weeks every late winter. She haunted his gate like a shade, but never approached, contenting herself with wannabe musicians who lived on the streets. One night as she sat alone in a bar, sipping some awful concoction of alcohol that the locals loved, he came wandering in with a few people. She willed herself to become one with the chair she was sitting in, so he wouldn't see her. For a few hours, he sat and drank with those people, and she sat and watched him. At last, he was the only one left at the table. She stood up, smoothed her reddish brown curls back from her face and advanced purposefully to his table. He looked up as she reached the table, some ready dismissal on his lips. The words died in his throat as she smiled at him. She felt a thrill course through her at this. She sat down in the chair across from him without being invited to and leaned forward, resting her arms on the table.
"I love your music." she told him.
He sighed and sat back in his chair, looking weary and wary at the same time.
"Another groupie." he said resignedly.
"No. THE groupie of all groupies. I truly love your music. It keeps me full." she explained simply.
He looked confused, and she didn't bother to try and clear it up for him. They never understood, at least not until it was too late.
"Do you want an autograph or something? I have to be going." he said suddenly.
She reached out and touched his hand that was wrapped around an almost full bottle of beer.
"I want to talk to you."
She could feel the connection the next instant, he looked at her and smiled ruefully, as if he could feel it too and knew he couldn't fight it.
"That's an original one. I know I'm being an asshole, but you have no idea what it's like to be me... to deal with being me, twenty four, seven."
He pulled his hand away and downed half the bottle of beer.
"Screaming fans, women trying to get you to fuck them, people always calling, always knocking, and everyone wants some of your money. Everyone wants a piece. That sound about right?" she asked.
He laughed and replied, "Are you a musician too?"
"No... I am a connosieur of musicians. I guess you could say I want something from you also. But only if you're willing to give it."
"Oh a warning up front? That's refreshing. What do you want? A break? A recording contract? Money?" he asked sardonically.
"I want your emotions." she said quietly.
He raised an eyebrow, then sat thoughtfully silent for a few moments.
"I get it. You want me to fall in love with you. Like alot of the screaming alienated little goth girls in their funeral clothes. So what makes you so special?" He fairly snarled the last.
"You don't have to be in love with me for me to get what I want. I just want your emotions. Do you want to keep them anymore? Do you want to drink yourself to sleep every night for the rest of your life so you can handle them long enough to pour them into your music? Or get addicted to who knows what kind of drugs when the alcohol doesn't do the trick anymore?" Her voice had grown more soft and more fierce with every sentence, until she was almost hissing. The hunger was stirring hard inside her, sitting this close to the feast she'd been picking at for a decade.
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat; she'd hit so close to home that all his defenses were breached. Rather than push forward, she waited and gave him the next move. He beat a hasty retreat.
"This conversation is over."
He got up and walked angrily out of the bar. She sat there for several minutes, soaking up the residue of his anger and confusion and fear. Then she made her way out into the night to find several vessels to drain dry.
She was at every show. He would see her face in the crowd, and remember that smile she'd given him in the bar, that smile that had pierced right through his soul. The woman scared him, no doubt about it. He found himself singing harder, playing harder whenever he spotted her during a gig. He didn't understand why he dreamt about her, asleep or awake. She was hardly the prettiest woman he'd ever been approached by. Curly reddish brown hair hung over her shoulders in waves, her eyes were a chocolate brown, and she was petite, so small he was sure he'd feel like a giant if he ever stood next to her. Her face was pleasant enough, but there was nothing special about it. Except for that smile of hers. It made the world disappear, and made him get hard just thinking about it. She promised the world on a velvet covered pillow with that smile.
Six months had passed since that conversation in the bar, but he still remembered every word with clarity, even though he'd been drunk during the encounter. Six months of seeing her everywhere he went. She never tried to approach him again in all that time. He was drinking more every night just to sleep the dreamless sleep of a drunk, so he wouldn't wake remembering her face, or how she'd told him she wanted his emotions. He continued to sing, searching for her face again in this sea of thousands. He couldn't find her. Despair slammed through his guts like a leaden weight. He finished the show with more maniacal frenzy than usual, needing somewhere to put that heavy emotion weighing him down.
Afterwards, in his dressing room, he laid his head on the counter of the bathroom sink and wept. Soft hands smoothed his hair back from his brow, glided along his folded arms on which he rested his head. His head came up, he looked into the mirror. She was standing beside him, staring back at his tear stained face in the reflection. He turned to her and wrapped his arms around her waist, face resting against her hipbone. She sighed and stroked his hair with one hand, the other lightly rubbing his jawline. They remained motionless; what seemed an eternity passed before he opened his eyes and looked at her in the mirror again. She met his gaze there, and he felt as if he were falling, a weight that kept him in place lifted and let him go. He closed his eyes again, and sighed when the weight slammed him back down to the ground.
"How will you take the emotions from me?" he asked in a cracking voice.
"Do you want to give them up?" she asked quietly.
He nodded, and squeezed her tighter to him, as if he would push through her as water through a sieve, and come out whole again.
"We have to go somewhere private, less crowded. It will take some time." she told him.
After several more minutes, he let go of her and stood up. He noticed distantly that he was rather tall standing next to her. But the thought faded out as quickly as it had faded in. He took her hand and led her outside to a waiting car, which took them to his studio. She didn't protest the location as he might have expected her to. He led her inside the dark building and up to his personal space on the top floor. There was an entire apartment secluded on that level, complete with kitchen and bath.
He stopped in the living room, not sure of what was going to happen. She took the lead and led him to his bedroom, which told him that whatever he'd thought was going to happen was way off the mark. She made him sit on the bed and watch as she stripped out of her clingy dress and shoes. He was rock hard by the time the slipdress was on the floor. She wore no undergarments at all. He watched as she turned a small circle in front of him, drinking in the sight of her pale nude body. She had a belly ring, and a small serpentine tattoo on the top of her right thigh. It looked like half snake half woman, but he couldn't be sure, so suddenly was she pushing him onto his back and crawling up him like a slithering reptile. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her as she undid his pants and untucked his shirt. He kicked off his shoes and socks with her sitting on his lap, feeling clumsy and graceless. She didn't seem to mind, just kept kissing every inch of skin she could reach. Finally she had him undressed and stretched out on the bed, straddling his waist as she kissed him so deeply he was sure she was trying to eat his insides. His hands roamed over her, feeling silky soft skin and how hot she was to the touch. Her body felt like a roaring fire to him, almost too warm to touch. She raised up above him, hand wrapped around his cock, ready to impale herself. He wondered why she hesitated, but before he could come up with a reason, she said
"If we do this, you might never be able to perform as a musician again."
He lay there looking up at her while he tried to grasp all the implications of that remark. Finally he asked her
"Will the emotions be gone?"
She nodded silently.
"Take them. I don't want them any more."
Almost before he finished speaking, she lined him up and slammed herself down on his cock, muscled passage spasming erratically. She was tight, wet, and so hot he thought he'd have burn marks. He started to pump his hips, but she pressed her hands onto his stomach to hold him still, and started a rhythm of her own. It was a wild throbbing beat, like that of some of his better songs. Her whole body rocked as she rode him, little sighs escaping here and there. All he could do was lie there and let her fuck him, feeling the orgasm build to enormous proportions. As he got closer to the edge, he felt as if everything inside him was being pulled out of the tip of his cock. He opened his eyes to watch this amazing woman fuck him like an animal, and saw that she was staring at him. He watched in detatched amazement as her chocolate brown eyes bled to amber colored and her face contorted into what looked like agony. His orgasm blasted through him then, shaking him and the entire bed with it. She screamed as he flooded her, and he roared as her orgasm scalded him, her body tense above his, caught in midmovement with her back arched. As the feeling receded, he noticed she had dug her fingers into his chest; when her hands moved away, he had burns on his skin that were starting to blister slightly.
She untensed, rolled off of him and to the mattress. She lay on her back moaning, hands clawing her own flesh. He turned to his side and went to touch her, but drew his hand back with a yelp as the contact burned his fingers. As he watched, her eyes, now amber colored, started to bleed to yellow.
"What's happening?" he asked, starting to panic.
She rolled off the bed and onto the floor, which was bare of any carpeting. He saw a brown outline of her body on the sheet, like an iron would make when left on cloth too long.
"What's happening to you?!" he asked again, his voice rising with fear.
He got down on the floor with her.
"You were too much. I'd been warned about something like this, but they said you'd be insane by the time emotions were strong enough to do this." she told him in panting breaths.
"Too much?" he asked in confusion.
"I can't eat all your emotions. I tried, but I couldn't do it. Now I'm going to die."
"Die?!"
She nodded, curling over on her side, trying not to touch anything but the floor.
"Can't we do anything?" he asked.
"No. Just keep anything flammable away from me, I don't want to burn your home down."
"But... but.." he broke off in bewilderment.
"Shhh. Open the window when it's through. Just stay with me please." she pleaded, but her yellow eyes said it more eloquently than any words could.
He sat quietly with her on the floor, a few feet away, after checking to make sure she wasn't going to touch anything that could ignite. She lay there with her eyes closed, sweat pouring off her body. He could feel the heat radiating from her. Her eyes were taking on an orange cast he noticed the next time she opened them.
"You were the best meal I ever had." she told him quietly.
Her eyes closed again. He noticed small flames forming themselves at the crown of her head and the tips of her toes. As he watched, the flames spread out slowly over her entire body. He started to panic for a moment, to move toward her, but she held her hands up and shook her head no at him. He sat back again and watched as she quickly burned to ash, not a whimper of pain or protest coming from her the whole time. He got up to open the window and realized that he was crying. The breeze from the outside came in and carried the small bit of ashes away.
Only hours later, did he realize he was in physical pain; he had burn marks everywhere she had touched him during sex, except for his cock.
---
He didn't write or perform any music for almost a year afterward. When he finally went back into the studio, everything he created was bittersweet and full of longing, though nowhere near the dark, depression-heavy sounds he had put forth before. But he didn't have to drink himself to sleep anymore at night. He still dreamed of her all the time.