Page 25 of Inflamed By an Incubus

Was afraid of them on some level.

And now the incubus was filling her head with rogue thoughts that backed up that feeling that she was different to the hunters she passed in the hallways as she made her way down to the pens.

Evelyn shook it off, focusing on the list of questions printed on the paper. One of the scientists had delivered them to her in a manilla envelope this morning and issued an order that came from Annette, the woman in charge of learning more about the incubus. Annette wanted her to go to see him again.

This was the third time Annette had sent her to the incubus, but the first time she had been issued a standard set of questions to ask him. The other two times, the scientist had told her to make conversation with him, and she hadn’t really known what to say. When she had overcome how awkward it was to stand there in the corridor being watched by not only him but by the fae in the cell opposite his, her attempts to strike up a conversation had always ended in failure.

The incubus had refused to look at her, let alone speak with her.

It had been two days since she had last been sent to him. She wasn’t sure why Annette had left a gap between her visits. She put it down to the scientist declaring her a failure and wanting to try a different tack. Whatever the reason, she was back to visiting him again, and she doubted the list of questions they had provided her with were going to get him to talk.

Evelyn ignored the harsh words and threats the occupants of the cells in block D hurled at her as she passed them, heading for one near the far end of the corridor. Nerves rose. She tamped them down and told herself she had no reason to be afraid of seeing him. He was beyond a wall of glass, unable to reach her.

That wasn’t true.

He could reach her.

He could say things like he had before, things that had shaken her and still rattled her now, had her unable to focus on anything other than unravelling what he had meant.

Maybe she could start by asking him about that.

She stopped in front of his cell, checked her list of questions and then lifted her head. Her eyes widened as they landed on him where he sat in the corner of the white cell, his green eyes glassy as he stared at the wall opposite him, his face gaunt and skin sallow. Was he sick?

The thought that he might be evoked a strong reaction in her, had her taking a step towards him and pressing her free hand to the glass before she had realised what she was doing. She froze as she glanced at her hand, as it struck her that she had wanted to touch him and not the cold barrier that separated them, had been driven to reach him.

Evelyn flicked a glance at the CCTV camera mounted on the wall above the cell behind her, pointed at her back and his cell. They were watching and she hoped to God they hadn’t noticed her reaction to him, because the last thing she needed was them questioning her about something she didn’t understand herself.

She cleared her throat and read the notes at the top of the page. Annette had been trying to coax him into feeding so they could study him. So far, he had resisted their attempts. She glanced at him, noting how pale he was and how worn down he looked. Would he die if he didn’t feed?

She eased down into a crouch, bringing her eyes level with his, but he still refused to look at her.

“What’s your name?” she murmured, just loud enough that he would hear her through the five inches of toughened glass.

He slid her a disinterested look and then fixed his green eyes back on the wall, but his markings shifted with colour, hues of deepest pink and gold with streaks of blue. She studied them, fascinated by every swirl, dot and slash that ran in a line up the underside of his forearms and snaked over his biceps and across the back of his shoulders. They were beautiful in a way. In all her years working for Archangel, she had never seen anything quite like him.

“You know my name already. I think it’s only fair you tell me yours.”

His dark eyebrows lowered and the corners of his lips turned downwards, and yes, it was mean of her to guilt him into telling her his name. She knew that. He didn’t need to show her how much he didn’t like what she was doing.

She sighed and looked at the sheet, scanning it for the next question.

“Fenix.”

His deep voice rolled over her like a powerful wave, but one that warmed her and eased the tension from her muscles, as if it calmed her. The power of an incubus? One that even the cell’s tech couldn’t strip from him? Or just an effect he had on her?

She didn’t want to peer too closely at how she reacted to him to discover the answer to those questions.

“Fenix.” She didn’t bother to jot it down on the paper. “And what’s your real name, Fenix?”

He scowled at her, worsening that feeling that churned her stomach to acid and making her regret asking. Some fae breeds had an unusual affliction, what most might consider a curse. Their true name was power and it gave anyone who knew it the ability to control them. Incubi and succubi were two such breeds.

“That isn’t something I’m willing to give you as you are now.” He looked away from her, turning his cheek to her and revealing his profile again. Even that was sinful perfection. Straight nose and angular jaw, lips that looked kissable even from the side.

She shook off the wave of heat that swept through her and focused on what he had said. She frowned as she realised he was at it again, playing with her.

“As I am now?” She wasn’t sure she should play along with his fun, but she couldn’t stop herself from asking that question, from being curious about what he had meant.

He slid her another sidelong look. “You used to be different.”

---