Page 56 of Inflamed By an Incubus

Although, her emotions always subtly shifted course whenever she mentioned a demon male, something Fenix’s incubus abilities allowed him to detect. If Fenix pressed her to talk more about him, she clammed up and changed the subject.

He looked back over his shoulder again, his senses stretching outwards as a need to feel Evelyn rolled through him.

He didn’t want to leave her, but that feeling that something was going down was growing stronger by the second now, and he needed answers.

Fenix teleported to the nearest portal that would take him to the mortal realm and used it to reach a side street in the heart of London, not far from the nightclub where he hoped he could find those answers. The Grey in the note had to be the brother of Talon, and hopefully Talon would know why he had been in Hell and what Archangel were doing.

There was a line a mile long outside the old redbrick warehouse that was now Underworld, and Fenix strolled past all the humans and immortals, heading straight for the main entrance. A few of the immortals cast him looks that silently told him to get to the back of the queue, but for once, Fenix wasn’t in the mood to be British about things. He made a beeline for the huge shaven-headed male who guarded the door beneath the neon sign, his dark gaze fixed on the clipboard he clutched.

A vampire judging by his scent.

The heavy beat of the rock music made the cooling night air vibrate as Fenix walked right up to the male, and he got a direct blast of it in his right ear when the other male on the door, this one a violet-haired human, opened it to allow two women to enter. Fenix curled a lip at the same time as the vampire. While his own hearing was delicate enough, the vampire’s was a good three times more acute and sensitive. He couldn’t imagine what had possessed the male to take a job guarding the entrance of a nightclub.

“Fenix. Here to speak with Talon and Kyter.” Fenix didn’t bother to look at the clipboard as the male checked it.

The vampire grunted, “You’re not on the list.”

“I know. Maybe just call it in? I need to speak with them about a delicate matter involving…” He leaned towards the vampire and cast a wary look at the humans, making sure none of them were listening. “Archangel.”

The vampire really curled his lip now, flashing a hint of fang as a faint crimson glow lit his irises.

He grabbed the walkie-talkie from his belt and brought it to his mouth, and growled, “Boss man? Got a Fenix here wanting to speak with you and Talon.”

Fenix waited, aware of the stream of humans and immortals all watching him, the tension he had felt back in Hell increasing one-hundred-fold as he waited to see whether the jaguar shifter would turn him away or invite him in. He didn’t want to wait at the back of the queue. The night was wearing on already, and chances were high that he wouldn’t reach the entrance before the club closed.

The radio crackled.

“Let him in.”

The vampire shrugged and jerked his chin towards the violet-haired human, who opened the door for him.

Fenix braced himself as the music hit him, the pounding beat of it reverberating through him, and strode through the door into a packed wide entrance hall. Some of the patrons were dropping off items at a desk to his left, while the rest were grouping up or waiting for friends to get in. He wove through them all, heading deeper into the heaving nightclub.

Hunger rolled through him as the scent of so many females swirled around him, hitting him hard. He clenched his jaw and ignored the desire to look at some of them, to charm them a little in order to steal a kiss here and there, feeding on the sexual energy it would stir in them.

When the urge became too great, he filled his mind with Evelyn.

His beautiful mate.

She was there in Hell, vulnerable and exposed, and he didn’t trust Archer to protect her well enough to keep her alive should the dragons, or worse, the demons of the Devil’s domain come across them. He needed to focus on his business here and get back to her as quickly as possible so he could watch over her and keep her safe.

He made it to the point where the corridor met the cavernous main room of the nightclub. The black wall to his right continued as it was, only extending upwards to three times its height, but to his left the entire room opened up. The dance floor there was packed, the energy the males and females gave off as they writhed and grinded enough to give Fenix a hit. It was part of the reason he had grown to love this club. He could come here and soak up some sexual energy without having to lift a finger, or betray his mate.

It wasn’t only the dance floor that supplied him with fuel to keep him going. Surrounding the expansive space were two tiers of booths, and a lot of the ones on the upper floor that were set back from a balcony had the heavy black curtains drawn across them to give the people occupying them some privacy.

All kinds of wicked things were happening up there, charging the air around him.

The music changed and flashing coloured lights chased the beat as a cheer went up and the dancers began bouncing and waving their arms.

Fenix squeezed his way through the crowd around the long bar that hugged the right wall of the club. The lights that illuminated this part of Underworld rotated lazily, gently shifting between colours. He wriggled his way to the front, and had to smile to disarm a female as she scowled at him and looked ready to scold him for jumping the queue. She instantly fluttered her black lashes and gave him a come-fuck-me smile instead.

He ignored her and scanned the people working behind the bar tonight. To his right, a female and male he didn’t recognise were putting together drinks, pressing glasses to the optics of the colourful array of illuminated bottles mounted on the mirrored wall. Beyond them, the big silver-haired male he knew to be Cavanaugh, a snow leopard shifter, poured two pints, his standard-issue white shirt stretching tight over his muscles as he worked the pumps.

Fenix leaned forwards and looked to his left.

Relief poured through him.

Talon, a big black-haired bastard who rivalled Fenix’s six-five height but had a good hundred pounds on him in muscle, leaned against the cabinets that lined the space below the bottles. He clutched a phone to his ear in his right hand and had the index finger of his left pressed into his other ear to block out the noise, the rolled-up sleeves of his white shirt revealing the tattoo that started at his left wrist.

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