Page 20 of Inflamed By an Incubus

Her eyes widened as pain bloomed above her hip and she looked there, saw the silver blade protruding from her side and blood rolling down her thigh.

Everything whirled again, a blur of orange and black, and then Archer was there, looming over her with a worried edge to his rich brown eyes. She clung to his shoulders, desperate for him to stay with her.

Or desperate to stay with him?

“That was a close call.” His voice warbled as if the heat was affecting it as the air shimmered around him and the temperature rose again. “You really need to be more careful.”

Evelyn glanced around her. She didn’t remember being moved, but the castle was gone and a basic room surrounded her, the only furniture in it a rickety-looking wooden bed with a sunken mattress.

“What happened?” she breathed, swallowed to wet her dry mouth and flinched as the air grew hotter still.

Tiny sparks of gold and red chased in the air beyond Archer, dancing and mesmerising her.

Archer looked away from her, casting his grave gaze at the wooden floorboards.

Dread pooled in her stomach. “The others didn’t make it.”

He shook his head and paced away from her, moving to the window. “We’ll move soon. Once it’s safe.”

Those embers grew brighter, little flames leaping from some of them that caught on the bed and the walls and began to spread hungry fire around her.

“Archer?” she whispered, afraid of the flames for some reason.

He looked back at her.

She gasped.

Seven shimmering colourful bands of symbols appeared on his bare forearms, from his wrists to his elbows, each thicker than the last.

And the whole of his eyes turned inky black.

And then the fire engulfed her.

Chapter 6

Fenix sat in the corner of his white cell, his forearms resting on his bent knees as he glared at the glass. Captive again. This hadn’t been the plan. He chastised himself for what felt like the millionth time, anger at himself curling through him to keep his mood dark. He had been an idiot, should have been stronger and not reacted the way he had.

But he hadn’t been able to stop himself.

He still seethed with a need to find the hunter called Archer and put him in his place.

“Not going to happen,” he muttered and the black-haired male in the cell across from him cast him a wary look.

Fenix clenched his fingers to resist the urge to flip him off. He wasn’t a threat to the male, but he kept looking at Fenix as if he was.

Or maybe he thought him mad.

He couldn’t really blame him if he did.

He had spent most of the night talking to himself after all.

Ironic that he was now the one acting crazy while another male looked at him as if he was mad. Maybe it was punishment for the way he had reacted to the elf prince during their captivity in Hell. He sighed as he thought about Vail and Rosalind again, his heart filling with hope that the little witch was doing okay. Hella was right. Rosalind was strong and the elf was probably in more danger than she was. Besides, he had seen the way Vail had reacted to her, how he had distanced himself whenever he had grown dangerous and dark. He doubted the elf could lift a finger to hurt her. The male would probably sooner die.

He huffed as he took in his surroundings. He had swapped one prison for another, and he wasn’t sure how he was going to get out of this one.

His topic of one-sided conversation that had gotten him through the night had revolved around planning that escape. Sure, it was dangerous to talk aloud about his plans, but it was better than sitting in silence, watching the hunters and the white-coats coming and going along the corridor, aware it was only a matter of time before they stopped in front of his cell and it was his turn to be studied.

They used that word as if it were harmless, fooled far too many immortals with it too. Even the fae across the way had relaxed when he had been told they only wanted to study him. He hadn’t looked so relaxed when they had brought the poor bastard back with a nice fresh set of stitches across his bare stomach.

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