Page 29 of Inflamed By an Incubus

Annette looked intrigued now and Evelyn didn’t like the way she eyed the screen, staring at the incubus. “We’ve not seen those colours before. And you say it was when you were speaking to him?”

She nodded.

“I need to know what they mean. This is new information and I would like to see it for myself.” Annette gave her an expectant look.

Part of Evelyn wanted to refuse the silent order to help her and the rest nodded in agreement. Archangel had been good to her. This was her home. Her people. The incubus had filled her head with doubts, probably in an attempt to turn her against Archangel. She had no reason to trust him or protect him.

She stood and followed Annette from the room.

The nerves she had felt upon Annette discovering her watching the footage only grew as they made their way through the cellblock, as she looked in on several of the detainees and began to feel differently towards them. A few of them cast her bleak looks, their brows furrowing as they held her gaze until she was out of sight. She steeled herself, tried to tell herself that she had only been doing her job by bringing in the incubus, and that her fellow hunters had only been doing their jobs when they had brought in every miserable non-human she passed.

Only it was hard to make herself believe it as she thought about the incubus. He had attacked Archer, but he had hardly been a threat to regular humans, and he had told her that her partner had provoked him. How had Archer provoked him?

She looked into a cell at a female. What had she done to warrant being caged? Or the male who occupied the cell opposite her? What had any of these non-humans done to deserve being captured?

To deserve being strapped to a metal board and forced to endure an attempt at seduction?

She stopped in front of Fenix’s cell and every inch of her froze as she stared at him.

At the raw, red marks on his wrists together with mottled bruises that tracked up his arm and gave her the impression someone had restrained him with enough force to leave those marks.

“What did you do to him?” She turned to Annette, sure she was to blame for how pale Fenix looked and how he remained with his head bent, muttering things in the fae tongue as he rubbed his chafed wrists.

“I’m sorry,” Annette said.

And for a heartbeat, Evelyn was sure the woman hadn’t heard her and was asking her to repeat herself.

But then the brunette grabbed Evelyn by her hair and dragged her head back hard enough to make her cry out.

Fenix launched to his feet on an inhuman snarl, his eyes transformed to pure swirling gold and blue, and his markings writhing with the colours of rage. He smashed his fists against the glass that separated them, his eyes narrowing on Annette as he fought to break through the barrier.

“Get your fucking hands off her.” His voice was a vicious black growl as he glared at Annette.

“I had suspected as much,” she whispered and tightened her grip on Evelyn’s hair, pulled it so hard that Evelyn’s hands flew to seize her wrists, fear screaming at her that the bitch meant to pull her hair out. “But I’ve never seen an incubus display such possessive—no, protective—behaviour.”

Evelyn had been about to introduce Annette’s ankle to her boot, but she froze as those words hit her and several pieces of the puzzle fell into place.

Archer had provoked him.

Her eyes slowly widened.

It made sense now in a terrible, unsettling way.

The incubus had been talking about her. He had witnessed her partner touching her and being friendly and concerned towards her, and it had provoked him into attacking Archer.

To keep him away from her.

Fenix tore himself away from the glass and began to pace, his steps clipped and his gaze fierce as he kept it locked on Annette, glittering with malevolence and darkness. With a hunger for violence.

And for some reason, he felt more familiar than ever.

As she watched him restlessly moving back and forth in his cramped cell, visibly itching with a need to attack, she felt sure that she knew him, but that feeling was intangible in a way—like a hazy dream.

Or the shadow of a memory.

“Unhand the female,” he growled and pivoted, his eyes narrowing on Annette and his markings veering closer to all-black. “I won’t ask again.”

“How do you intend to carry out that threat?”

---