Passion in the Pentagram (Passing Through Cafe)

Chapter 1

Chapter one

Love at First Sight

Quin

Quin Duboi never believed in love at first sight.

To be honest, she wasn’t sure if she believed in love at all.

Not that she doubted its actual existence, of course.

She understood the concept, and she was even willing to acknowledge that for some—though they were, admittedly, few and far between—it could be very real.

But for the most part, she separated the idea of love into two more logical columns: lustful obsession, or biological imperative due to programming.

Take a parent, for instance. They were biologically coded to care for their child.

If they didn’t, the child would be quickly abandoned the moment they became too difficult or annoying.

So species evolved, as all species did, to flood parents’ bodies with hormones and chemicals geared to create the feelings of bonding and love for their offspring.

Survival of the species was, after all, one hell of a motivator.

As for the other column, she recognized her viewpoint was far more pessimistic.

Obsession and lust were common enough occurrences, especially between people who had chemistry.

But they were feelings, usually temporary ones, and when the dust settled and the hormones calmed, those feelings tended to fade.

Life was hard, and contrary to popular opinion, love did not conquer all.

The whole notion of true love, soulmates, or deity-blessed unions was immature and, honestly, a little desperate.

So, no, Quin did not believe in love at first sight. That is, until Glyma Aryti crashed into her life like a hurricane, leaving nothing in her wake but yearning. And glitter. Lots of glitter.

It happened on a Tuesday afternoon. Which, all things considered, was a strange day for the course of one’s entire life to change. Nothing important should ever happen on a Tuesday. It was practically a law of nature.

But at 3:07 p.m. on a Tuesday—as Quin sat at her desk surrounded by paperwork and bombarded by event-planners and caterers pestering her with questions about her engagement party (as if she gave a damn.

Honestly, she had better things to do than worry about whether roses communicated traditional class or were a boring cliché)—her life changed forever.

“But if we go with roses, we still have to choose which color. Red is classic, of course, but we don’t want to be gauche,” Hensi, her event coordinator—and cousin—prattled on in her ear as Quin scanned through a report. “I was thinking a soft cream? Maybe even so far as a warm yellow.”

“Okay,” Quin agreed, not really listening.

“Okay? To the soft cream or the yellow?”

“Either is fine,” Quin said.

A beat of tense silence, then, “But it’s your engagement party.”

“We aren’t engaged yet,” Quin said so hastily it could almost be likened to defensiveness.

An even longer silence, then, “Right. But it’s still… you know?”

“Yes, it’s still—you know what? Just choose whichever color is more in right now. Better yet, let my mother decide. She’ll love that.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you didn’t care about this party at all,” Hensi whined, and Quin pinched the bridge of her nose.

“When in doubt, appeal to their ego,” her father had taught her a long time ago, so she utilized the advice now.

“I don’t have to care because I know you have everything under control.

In your… qualified and talented hands, this party will go off without a hitch.

” The light of Quin’s desk phone blinked, indicating her assistant was calling.

Into her cellphone, she said, “Listen, Hensi, I have another call. Just do what feels right. I trust you.”

“Aw, Quin, that means a lot. I am going to make your day so special, and Waryn is going to love it!”

At the mention of her soon-to-be-fiancé, Quin nearly winced. “I’m sure he will. We both will. I gotta go.”

“Okay, I’ll send you a picture of the finalized centerpieces. Don’t worry your horns about a thing. I’ve got this covered. Kisses!”

Quin hung up before Hensi had finished smacking her kissy noises through the speaker. Picking up her desk phone, she tucked it between her ear and shoulder as she slipped her cell into her blazer pocket.

“Yes?”

“Your three o’clock is here,” Marci said, and Quin shuffled aside several papers to make room on her desk.

She glanced at the clock. 3:07. Miss Aryti was late.

“Of course,” Quin said. “Send her in.”

Less than a minute later, voices sounded outside Quin’s office, and she stood from her chair, buttoning and smoothing down her blazer.

The doorknob turned as someone laughed, and Quin stiffened.

The laugh was loud and free, like it came from someone who had never learned—or felt the need—to quiet themself or take up less space.

It was melodic and smooth, like the blues music Quin loved so much.

Then the door opened, and that laugh turned into a sentence, spoken with a light Lust accent in a voice that was… Oh, it was just lovely. It dripped down Quin’s spine like hot massage oil, and the base of her horns tingled.

“Thanks so much, Marci. And don’t sell yourself short; if Romy can’t appreciate you for the incredible woman you are, he doesn’t deserve you.

” The woman speaking was hidden behind a tall—worryingly tilted—tower of objects, held together by purple hands and a prayer.

Quin nearly vaulted herself over her desk as the top object, what looked like a covered baking dish, slid haphazardly to one side, teetering on the edge.

“You’re right,” Marci was saying. “I deserve someone who remembers my birthday without me having to remind him.”

“Of course you do! It’s literally the bare minimum, and we are done rewarding men for their less than mediocre effort.” The woman, who Quin assumed was Miss Aryti, shifted her weight, causing the baking tray to slide the opposite way, and Quin braced for it to topple off the other side of the pile.

By some miracle, it didn’t.

“Oh my gods, you’re so right! I’m gonna call him and break up with him right now,” Marci said, and one of the purple hands holding the tower moved to rest on Marci’s shoulder, causing the tower to lean precariously in the other direction, sending the baking tray back again.

Quin inhaled sharply through her teeth as it teetered…teetered…

“Good for you,” Glyma said, giving Marci’s shoulder a squeeze.

Tearily, Marci nodded. “Thank you so much.”

“Of course. It’s tough out there. Us girls gotta stick together.” Miss Aryti patted Marci’s biceps comfortingly. “By the way, I love your shoes. You need to tell me where you got them.”

Marci simpered, pressing a hand to her chest. “Thanks. I got them at Salvo’s. They were having a sale—”

Quin cleared her throat, and Marci jumped, like she’d forgotten where they were. Her eyes widened at Quin before she ducked her head and mumbled, “Miss Duboi, this is—”

“Miss Aryti, I presume?” Quin said, stepping around her desk to extend her hand.

The leaning tower of trouble shifted again as the woman turned toward her, and whatever Quin was going to say next died in her throat. Without the tower obstructing her view, she could finally see the person to whom that voice and laugh belonged, and the entire world seemed to stop.

She was beautiful, but even that word felt inadequate. Lackluster. Nowhere near close to describing the woman before her. Stunning. Arresting. Bewitching. Divine, maybe? None of them were satisfactory, and it rankled. Because this ethereal creature deserved better words.

Hot pink eyes pinned Quin to the floor, x-raying through her shield of propriety and armored nonchalance.

She felt bare and naked, like this stranger could stare right into the heart of her and see all the things she tried to hide.

For a moment, those eyes softened immeasurably, and Quin swore she heard that voice say, “Oh, there you are.”

And Quin nodded because, yes, yes, yes. Here she was, and it was so nice to finally be found. Which was crazy. Absolutely bonkers insane. But it felt real, and it felt right.

Right, like the yellow sundress swishing around the woman’s thick thighs, her light purple skin and full, apron belly.

Right, like that serpentining tail ending in a fluffy, dark purple tuft that Quin wanted to feel drag over her bare skin.

Even the yellow flipflops adorning her feet were so utterly and perfectly right.

“Miss Aryti?” The woman laughed again, and Quin nearly shivered at the chiming sound.

“Oh my, I don’t think anyone’s ever called me that before.

” Thrusting a purple hand in Quin’s direction, she beamed at her, revealing the cutest little fangs, and the prickling at the base of Quin’s horns spread over her scalp and down her neck.

“Please, call me Glyma. It’s so nice to finally meet you, Quin. ”

On instinct, Quin took Glyma’s hand and shook it, still star-struck by her beauty.

She swore a bolt of electricity zipped her up arm, originating from where their hands met, but she ignored the ludicrous idea, blaming her temporary insanity on the fact that Glyma was clearly a Succubus and Quin was woefully unprepared for that.

“Yes, it is,” Quin said stupidly. “I mean, you as well. It’s nice to see your face—to put a face to the name, I mean. Because we’ve only spoken over email. Which you know. Obviously.”

Now, Quin had always prided herself on her eloquence. She could stand in front of an audience and give a presentation or a speech without batting an eye. So why she was babbling like an idiot as she continued to shake the poor Succubus’s hand, she couldn’t fathom.

Glyma’s smile curled mischievously as Quin attempted to speak, and one of those tiny fangs captured her full bottom lip, dimpling the skin. Humor danced in those hot pink eyes, and Quin’s face flooded with heat. Blushing. Deities below, she was blushing like a teenager!

“I’ll just…” Marci said slowly, gaze ping-ponging between Quin and Glyma, “leave you to it, then.”

“Thank you, Marci,” Quin bit out as she managed to force her fingers to release Glyma’s.

Turning to Marci, Glyma beamed at her. “Stay strong, and dump his ass.”

“I will. Thanks,” Marci said as her cheeks pinked, and Quin barely resisted the urge to stamp her hoof in warning.

As Marci shut the office door, Glyma spun back around to face Quin, and the baking dish atop the dangerous tower finally lost its purchase.

It slid to the edge, but before it could topple over, Quin lunged forward, balancing on the edge of her hooves as she held the dish in place with her fingertips.

Unfortunately, it brought her disconcertingly close to Glyma, and the Succubus froze. They stared at each other, a mere inch separating their faces. Glyma was taller, and her breath fanned over Quin’s forehead. Then her eyes drifted up to study the dish Quin had saved.

“Wow, you have quick reflexes.”

Careful not to drop it, Quin secured her grip on the dish and removed it from the top of the tower. “I suppose. Um, where do you want this?”

“Oh, keep it. It’s for you, actually.”

“For me?” Quin inspected the foil-covered dish.

Glyma plopped her tower of objects onto one of the chairs opposite Quin’s desk far less carefully than Quin would have. “Of course. How can I sell you on my business idea without offering you a sample of the merchandise?”

Before Quin could stop the words, she heard herself say, “You want me to sample your merchandise?”

With a wholly sinful smile, Glyma gave Quin a second, more thorough onceover. “Well, when you say it like that, you make it sound dirty. But, by all means, feel free to sample my merchandise.”

Dear gods, had Marci messed with the thermostat? Because it was suddenly much too hot in this room.

Flustered and blushing, Quin spluttered out something resembling an apology. “Forgive me. I wasn’t trying to suggest—”

Glyma’s flirtatious expression melted into one of regret.

“Oh, no, I’m sorry. I thought we were doing a bit.

” Quin cocked her head, and Glyma shrugged as her tail flicked anxiously behind her.

“You know, because I’m a Succubus, and that clearly took you off guard.

And I thought leaning into it could help break the unintentional and annoying sexual tension that constantly exists around me.

Clearly, that was a terrible idea, and I’m so sorry if I made you uncomfortable. ”

“No, it’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” Glyma asked, hands fidgeting. “I feel bad. I can leave if—”

“No, please.” Quin set down the dish and straightened her blazer before offering Glyma her hand again. “Shall we start over? Hi, I’m Quin Duboi.”

With an uncomfortable titter, Glyma stepped forward and took her hand, causing that same electric current to buzz up Quin’s arm. “Glyma Aryti. It’s nice to meet you, Quin.”

“You as well. Please, have a seat and make yourself comfortable. Can I get you anything? Coffee or tea?”

“No, thank you. I’m fine.”

Glyma smoothed her hands over the back of her thighs, flattening the fabric of her dress as she sat down in the second chair.

She crossed one leg over the other as Quin rounded her desk and sat down.

She pretended to straighten paperwork to keep from ogling Glyma’s exposed thigh, but she failed quite spectacularly.

Twining her fingers, she cleared her throat and offered the Succubus what she hoped was a serene smile. “So, Glyma, tell me about your business.”