Lust was her kind's bread and butter and the demonic Hunger sipped at it like fine wine. Devotion and care it accepted as means of control, but love, love was dangerous. Love was anathema, and the perfectly circular scar on the palm of Lara's left hand was a constant reminder of that fact. But for all its patience and kindness, true love had to be reciprocated to burn.

And Lara Raith was nothing if not self-seeking and one who delighted in lies.

So she toyed with Dean even as her breath quickened at his touch, accepting the care and trust he offered and reciprocating with little more than calculating amusement and the empty lies of the succubus Hunger. She moved with him, all warm skin and eager receptive flesh, and her hands clutched at Dean's shoulder and back as pleasure washed over her like a wave.

Just for effect, she even cried out his name.