Page 12 of Inflamed By an Incubus

He caught his reflection in a full-length mirror and paused. He ran his hands down his lean torso, hardly recognising himself as he took in every inch of his body, warning bells ringing in his mind as he saw how much muscle he had lost. He couldn’t put off feeding. He was too close to starvation.

The line of fae markings that continued up from his forearms to snake over his biceps and curl around his shoulders churned gold and blue, constantly shifting colour. If he could feed, he would regain his strength in hours, together with his physique. The muscles that had wasted away during his captivity would return. He stroked the faint ridge over his hips, not liking how scrawny he looked right now.

He looked like Tiny.

Weak.

Fenix grabbed the top of the mirror and tipped it downwards, spinning it to face the wall. He wasn’t weak. He clenched his fists and strode to his dresser. He just needed to feed and then he would be strong again, back to his old self.

Capable of taking on anyone who stood between him and his mate.

Between him and his forever.

He opened a drawer on his mahogany dresser and plucked out a pair of black trunks and some socks, and tugged them on, and then crossed the wooden floor to his matching wardrobes and picked out a fresh pair of black jeans and a black dress shirt, and found his favourite Chelsea boots. Once dressed, he closed the window and thought about going to talk with Tiny, but took another pill instead.

And teleported.

Chapter 3

Fenix stared at the scrap of paper he clutched and then at the buildings surrounding him. They had seen better days and were far from the witches’ district in the more upmarket end of the fae town in Geneva. He hadn’t even realised it had an area like this. He had thought the whole of the sprawling town, one that occupied a cavern beneath a mountain, looked like the areas he had visited—elegant and refined, with beautiful pastel European townhouses sporting very Parisian lead roofs, or pretty terracotta-roofed cream cottages like the one Hella had lived in the last time he had visited her.

What had made her move to an area like this one? He tensed as he sensed eyes on him and glanced at the shadows between two of the run-down two-storey houses. Crimson eyes glared back at him. Vampire. If the warning bell clanging in his head was anything to go by, this vampire was hungry too. Fenix had no intention of becoming lunch for someone else, so he picked up the pace, heading at speed along the cobbled road.

He checked the address someone had given him again and looked at a building to his left, one that had flaking pale blue paint and a door that looked ready to fall off its hinges. Judging by the number scrawled on the stonework that looked an awful lot like it had been done in blood, he was close to his destination.

Fenix checked every door from that point onwards, and paused when he found the one he was looking for. He shoved the piece of paper into his jeans’ pocket and rapped his knuckles on the wooden door of the white house. When no one answered, he reached out with his senses, trying to see if anyone was home.

Maybe the witch he had spoken to had been playing a trick on him, had thought he meant Hella harm and had sent him on a wild goose chase.

He detected a faint signature on the other side of the door but it was hazy, as if something was blocking him. He drew down a deep breath, attempting to catch Hella’s scent. Only he smelled nothing but the rank odour of urine and old blood.

Fenix huffed and turned away, stopped himself from leaving and looked back at the door. He studied it with his eyes and his senses, trying to detect whether someone had placed a spell on the building, one designed to hide whoever was inside.

Was Hella in trouble?

The witch he had spoken to had looked worried when he had shown up at Hella’s place to find the little brunette hastily tidying up what had been one hell of a mess. She had been quick to shove the piece of paper at him and shoo him away. Maybe she hadn’t done it to protect Hella by sending him on a fruitless hunt for this building. Maybe she had done it because someone was after Hella and she hadn’t wanted him hanging around for that someone to spot and follow him.

Fenix faced the door and knocked again. “Hella, it’s me. It’s Fenix. Are you in there?”

The door cracked open an inch, not even enough for him to see who was on the other side in the dark. A slender hand shot out and gripped his wrist, and he grunted as it yanked him inside, bashing him into the door.

The little blue-haired witch shoved both hands to his chest, planting his spine against the wall near the door, and cast a fearful look into the street. “Were you followed?”

Fenix shook his head. “I don’t think so. What’s this all about, Hella? I came to see you and I’m told you’ve moved and—”

“I had to,” she interjected, released him and shut the door, sliding several locks into place, some of which his senses told him were magically reinforced. “I had a pest problem.”

She sounded as breezy as ever as she bustled away from him, but he knew her well enough to see her pest problem had shaken her.

“It’s not like you to be scared of anything. What’s this pest problem you have?” And how could he help her deal with it? He owed Hella a lot. His debts to her were endless, infinite, and he would do anything she asked, if it would go some way towards repaying her for all her kindness and help over the years.

She shrugged and hefted a carpet bag onto a thick bench table in the middle of the dimly-lit cramped room. “It’s nothing. Really. I’ve not seen you in months, and I really don’t want to talk about me. Let’s talk about you. What happened to you?”

She was deflecting, which meant she was in serious trouble. The only time he had seen Hella act like this, a group of witches from the local male coven had been after her because she had put a potion in their water supply that had made it impossible for them to get hard.

Repayment for them coming on too strong to one of the young witches she had taken under her wing.

“This and that. Got caught in the Fifth Realm and thrown in the cells. Lost Aderyn again.” He cleared his throat as it tightened, failing in his attempt to be as glib as Hella could be when he felt the pain of his mate being torn from him all over again, experiencing the stretch and snap of their connection as if it had happened only hours ago, not months.

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