Reborn as a Succubus: Time To Live My Best Life!

{Melistair}

Melistair wiped the sweat from his brow, his muscles aching from another long day of the usual construction work, hauling stone and lumber from one place to another.

"Oi, Melistair!" a human worker called out. "That true what they’re saying ’bout your girl? Heard she’s cozyin’ up to the court sorceress now!"

[What did Melisa call this feeling again, a few years back? Deja vu? Hehe... I think I get it now.]

Melistair felt a surge of pride, quickly followed by a twinge of worry.

[My little girl, rubbing elbows with the most powerful mages in the kingdom. Shit, when did she grow up so fast?]

"Aye, that’s what I hear," he replied, keeping his voice casual. "Though I try not to pry into her business, y’know?"

The human laughed, slapping Melistair on the back with enough force to make him stumble.

"Right, right. Well, you must be proud as hell, eh? Your daughter, savior of the king!"

He’d heard this same thing around... what, 1000 times these past couple of days?

[This has gotten exhausting so damn fast.]

Melistair managed a tight smile, nodding politely as he got back to work. He was proud, of course he was. But it was a little much.

[At least Margaret’s happy,] he thought, his mind drifting to his wife’s beaming face whenever Melisa’s accomplishments were mentioned. [Though I swear, if she bakes one more celebratory cake when Melisa’s name pops up in the papers, I’ll be rolling to work instead of walking.]

His musings were interrupted by a commotion near the scaffolding. Melistair looked up to see a crowd gathering around something - or someone.

"Shit, Tarn’s down!" someone shouted.

Melistair’s heart leaped into his throat as he recognized the name. Tarn was another nim working on the site, a good man with a quick wit and an even quicker smile.

Without hesitation, Melistair dropped his tools and rushed over, shoving his way through the crowd. There, lying on the ground and shaking like a leaf in a storm, was Tarn. His purple skin had taken on a sickly gray pallor, and his eyes were glassy and unfocused.

"Fuck me sideways," Melistair muttered, kneeling beside his friend. "Tarn, mate, can you hear me?"

Tarn’s only response was a weak groan, his body convulsing with another violent shiver.

"What happened?" Melistair demanded, looking up at the surrounding workers.

Rax, Melistair’s nim friend, walked up.

"Dunno, man," he said, his thick brows furrowed with concern. "One minute he was fine, the next he just... collapsed. Never seen anything like it."

Melistair’s mind raced. This wasn’t normal, not by a long shot. He’d seen his fair share of heatstroke and exhaustion on the job, but this... this was something else entirely.

"Whatever, we need to get him to a healer," Melistair declared, already moving to lift Tarn.

"Now hold on just a minute," a grating voice cut through the mutters of the crowd. Melistair looked up to see Foreman Bricks, a human with all the charm and compassion of a rabid rockbadger, pushing his way through.

"We’ve got a schedule to keep," Bricks sneered, eyeing Tarn’s prone form with distaste. "Can’t have you lot running off every time one of you gets the sniffles. Leave him there, I’ll call the healers and have ’em come to us."

Melistair felt a surge of anger, hot and fierce, rising in his chest.

"With all due respect, sir," he ground out, trying to keep his voice level, "this is more than just the ’sniffles.’ Tarn needs help, and he needs it now."

Bricks’ face twisted into an ugly scowl.

"You questioning my authority, nim? Maybe you’ve forgotten your place, what with all this fuss over your brat."

The construction site fell silent, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Melistair could feel every eye on him, waiting to see how he’d respond.

[Fuck it,] he thought, straightening to his full height. [My daughter didn’t save the king just so I could kowtow to this prick.]

"My place," Melistair said, his voice low and dangerous, "is helping my friend. You want to fire me for that? Go right ahead. I’m sure the papers would love to hear how the father of the king’s savior was sacked for showing basic decency."

Bricks’ face turned an impressive shade of puce, but Melistair didn’t wait for a response.

He turned to Rax, who was watching the exchange with wide eyes.

"Give me a hand, will you? We need to get Tarn to the healers’ quarter, fast."

Rax hesitated for only a moment before nodding, moving to help Melistair lift the still-shaking Tarn.

As they carried their stricken friend off the site, Melistair could hear the foreman spluttering ineffectually behind them. But he paid it no mind. Right now, all that mattered was getting Tarn the help he needed.

---

{Raven}

Raven’s feet hit the pavement in a steady rhythm, each impact sending a jolt through her body.

The academy grounds stretched before her, bathed in the harsh, evening light. Sweat trickled down her back, but she barely registered it. Her focus was on the burn in her muscles, the controlled rhythm of her breathing.

And Melisa.

[Damn it.] Raven clenched her jaw, pushing herself harder. [Why can’t I get her out of my head?]

She had become a constant presence in her thoughts, an irritating itch she couldn’t scratch. She hadn’t noticed just how much of a fixture in Raven’s day-to-day routine the girl had become.

It was... inconvenient. Distracting. Dangerous.

Again, another small, minor positive in terms of how the Shadow Mages had raised Raven: she was made to be fully independent. She didn’t need friends or pastimes. All she had were her orders.

Her mind drifted back to her early days of training, the endless hours spent honing her body and mind into a weapon.

"Attachment is weakness," her instructor had drilled into her, his voice cold and unyielding. "A Shadow Mage has no room for sentiment, no place for bonds. Your only loyalty is to the mission, to the cause."

Raven had taken those words to heart, had built walls around her soul so high and so thick that nothing could penetrate them.

Or so she’d thought.

Now, it felt like Melisa had firmly gotten in the way of that. Something she hadn’t noticed until Melisa began this extended break of hers.

Raven cataloged her surroundings as she ran, trying to focus on something else.

Two students chatting by the fountain. A professor hurrying towards the main building, arms full of scrolls. A bird taking flight from a nearby tree. She noted each detail automatically, a habit ingrained by years of training.

[That’s right. Focus on running. Just focus on running.]

But even as she tried to push the thoughts away, images of Melisa flickered through her mind. Her smile. The way her eyes lit up when she talked about magic. The warmth of her touch.

[Irrelevant. Ignore it.]

Raven rounded the final corner, legs burning as she sprinted towards her arbitrary finish line. She crossed it, chest heaving, and slowed to a walk. Her body trembled with exertion, pushed beyond its usual limits.

Good. Physical exhaustion was preferable to... whatever this was.

As she approached her dorm room, Raven spotted a figure waiting outside her door.

Armia.

Raven tilted her head.

"Melisa’s not back yet."

"I-I know," The darian shifted, looking rather uncertain. "I... need to ask you something."

Raven raised an eyebrow, waiting silently.

Armia took a deep breath.

"I want you to help me train. With spell parries. You’re the best, and I need to improve."

Raven blinked, momentarily caught off guard. Of all the possible scenarios she’d run through in her head, this hadn’t been one of them.

"Me?"

"Yeah."

"Why?" she asked, voice flat.

Armia’s tail twitched.

"I really want to do well in this presentation," she shrugged. "And, uh... Heh," she looked away, "I want to beat Isabella."

Raven pulled back.

"The presentation is not a competition."

Visit frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓ for the b𝘦st novel reading experience.

"No, it is," Armia quickly argued. "Or, at least Isabella is treating it like one. And, I’d like it if you could help me get an advantage." She shifted again a little. "So, what do you say?"

Raven studied the darian, noting the tension in her shoulders.

For a moment, she wondered if she was alone in her feelings. She wondered if Armia, what with her also slipping into Melisa’s pussy every now and then, had also gotten a bit more attached to the nim than she thought.

Raven suppressed a tiny smile at the thought. Maybe she wasn’t alone in this weird feeling.

"Fine," Raven said abruptly. "Training grounds. Ten minutes."

Armia’s eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed with resolve.

She nodded once, then turned and strode away.

Raven watched her go, mind already cycling through potential training regimens. This... partnership could be useful. A way to deal with her boredom. A way to hone her own skills while helping a... friend.

Friend.

There was that word again. Discover exclusive content at novelbuddy

[... Still not used to it.]