Page 43 of Inflamed By an Incubus

Froze as the hairs on his nape rose and the air shimmered in front of him.

“Bollocks,” he muttered as a tall blond male materialised.

The mage’s dark blue eyes widened as they landed on him and his lips parted, and the sound of glass smashing drew Fenix’s gaze down to the male’s polished black boots. Pieces of a crimson bottle swam in a glowing golden liquid that gradually faded before his eyes. An elixir.

Fenix tensed when the mage swiftly raised his right hand and a single clone appeared between them and launched at him on a strange hissing sound. He grunted as he ducked beneath a blow the milky-eyed doppelganger aimed at him, twisted and swept his leg out, catching its ankles. The clone stumbled but didn’t fall, and Fenix shoved off, rolling and coming up onto his feet in the far corner of the room.

He twisted and braced.

And frowned when he saw there was still only a single clone.

His gaze darted to the liquid on the floor and then to the mage. Sweat beaded the young male’s brow. It seemed Fenix wasn’t the only one not at full strength. The elixir must have been made with phoenix blood, designed to give the mage a much-needed boost.

“How about we just talk?” Fenix knew it was a long shot as he grabbed a sturdy leather document tube as the clone came at him, swung hard and smacked it in the face, knocking it back into the desk.

It stumbled and landed awkwardly, knocking over several jars and spilling their contents. Smoke billowed and Fenix choked on the acrid air that swirled around him, struggling to get enough oxygen into his lungs as they burned. What the hell had been in those jars?

The mage came at him while the clone was recovering, and it had been a long time since Fenix had seen one actively participate in a fight. They usually let their clones do the dirty work. It reinforced the feeling Fenix had that this mage wasn’t at his physical peak.

All the more reason for the male to take him up on his offer of talking rather than fighting.

The blond didn’t seem to see things his way as he swung at Fenix, a wild haymaker that had no chance of making contact. Fenix ducked and twisted, brought his right fist up and hit the male hard in his kidney.

Knocking the wind from him.

Or at least that had been the plan.

His knuckles struck something that was as solid as steel rather than soft and fleshy and a pained grunt burst from his lips as fire ricocheted up his arm. He staggered back a step, gaining some room to manoeuvre, and wanted to growl when he spotted the blue glyphs that shimmered over the front of the mage’s black coat.

“I have no quarrel with you, mate,” Fenix said as he teleported to the other side of the room. He reached for the portrait in his pocket but didn’t get a chance to pull it out and explain himself. The clone grabbed him from behind, hooking his arms around Fenix’s elbows and yanking them back, restraining him. He struggled against the clone’s hold as its fetid cold breath skated over his nape and stared the mage down. “Let’s be reasonable. I have a portrait in my pocket. I’m looking for a mage called Drystan. He cursed me and my fated one, and I just want to end that curse.”

The mage’s blue eyes narrowed on him. “Why did he curse you?”

Fenix grimaced. “No reason in particular.”

“Sounds a lot like you crossed him somehow… and now you expect me to help you? I don’t know a Drystan, but I am sure the leaders at the New York coven would be interested in speaking with you.”

Fenix had the feeling by ‘speaking with you’ the mage meant holding him in a cell, a feeling the male reinforced by waving his hand through the air and producing a set of rusty steel manacles that had faint glowing runic symbols on their pitted surface.

Nope.

Fenix lunged back against the clone as his heart shot into overdrive, as the thought of being placed into yet another cell and kept from his mate tore down his sanity and burned all reason to ashes. He cracked the back of his head against the clone’s face, ripping a howl from him, and then teleported.

The world disappeared and when it came back, he was standing behind the mage.

The mage turned towards him and Fenix held it together, denying the urge to rip him to shreds that surged through him. He turned on the charm instead, staring into the male’s blue eyes and slowly manipulating him, nudging his feelings in the right direction. As much as he wanted to wipe this mage from the face of the planet, eradicating another threat to the phoenixes, he needed to make sure the male knew nothing of value and the easiest way to do that was to ask him.

Since the bastard wasn’t inclined to do this the easy way, Fenix would do things the harder way.

The young male’s gaze grew hooded, his pupils dilating as he stared into Fenix’s eyes. His lips parted as his cheeks flushed, and Fenix smiled slowly as his aura shifted towards desire, with a touch of confusion and conflict. That happened a lot when Fenix charmed males who didn’t feel the slightest attraction towards their own gender. He worked through it, holding the male under his spell, slowly stirring feelings that weren’t his own until they were strong enough to drown out the ones that were.

The mage slowly relaxed, and beyond him, the clone did the same. Weird. Fenix had never charmed a blood mage before and hadn’t realised that whatever they felt was echoed inside their clones. Having the milky-eyed doppelganger gazing adoringly at him was beyond disturbing.

Fenix shuddered.

“You want to help me with this little problem I have,” he murmured and inched towards the mage, closely monitoring him and applying just the right amount of charm to make him compliant but not horny as hell. The last thing he needed was a horny mage and his clone hurling themselves at him. “Help me and I’ll help you with that.”

He pointed to the hard-on that was tenting the mage’s black slacks.

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