Page 46 of Inflamed By an Incubus

“It’ll be okay. The mansion is well protected. The witch can’t get in,” he said and tensed as thunder shook the ground again, rattling the windows.

Although she could unleash hell on them from a distance apparently.

He palmed Rane’s shoulder, massaging his tense muscles. “Go get dressed. I’ll take you, Tiny and Mort to the lake house and you can oversee their work until the place is empty or the authorities arrive.”

Which wouldn’t take very long, but Rane looked as if he needed a moment to pull himself together, one away from the witch currently trying to break her way into the mansion grounds using brute force.

Rane nodded weakly as another peal of thunder echoed around them.

When the incubus still didn’t move, Fenix sighed.

“I could go and talk with her.”

Rane flicked him a look that asked if he was mad and quickly shook his head. “She doesn’t really know I’m in here, right? The spell… it conceals us. You said that once. She just knows there’s incubi here and she’s presuming one of them might be me. Right?”

His dark eyes leaped between Fenix’s and Fenix nodded, not because he was obeying his need to reassure a male who was like family to him, one he had taken under his wing decades ago, but because Rane was right. The witch was just trying her luck.

“Maybe she’ll be gone by the time we get back.” Rane backed away from him, the haunted look in his eyes telling Fenix he didn’t believe that, even when he desperately wanted to.

“Maybe.” Fenix watched him go, worry arrowing through him as another lightning bolt struck nearby.

Rane deserved the witch’s wrath, but he was damned if he would let her hurt any member of his makeshift family. Whether Rane liked it or not, if she crossed a line, Fenix was going to deal with her. For now, he would let her rattle the windows. He had more important matters to attend to.

Mort came jogging down the hall, his short blond hair damp and dripping water onto his open dark blue shirt. Droplets clung to the strip of chest and stomach it revealed. Mort must have been in the shower when the witch had shown up.

The incubus hastily buttoned the lower half of his shirt and tucked it into his black jeans, his blond eyebrows quirking as another rumble shook the building and his hazel eyes seeking Fenix. “What the fuck is going on? Are we under attack?”

Fenix shook his head. “Just an angry witch. Nothing to worry about. Nothing the spell can’t handle.”

“Rane,” Mort muttered, as if it was a curse word. “I warned him not to mess with her. Idiot couldn’t resist the challenge though.”

Rane and Mort had become fast friends when Fenix had picked Mort up in a fae town near London. He had met Mort on the streets, penniless and exiled from his clan for reasons Mort had never shared, but Fenix suspected it involved the pretty little succubus he had spotted watching Mort from a distance with a worried look in her dark eyes. Mort had been quick to take him up on his offer of a new home—a new family. Rane had brought the male out of his shell and Fenix had been grateful for his help, until the parties had started.

So many parties.

Rane returned, dressed in a black T-shirt that hugged his broad chest like a second skin and tight black jeans and heavy boots. Fenix grabbed him as soon as he was within reach and teleported with him to the lake house.

“Don’t touch that.” He pointed to the covered corpse and then the desk. “Or anything over there. Forget those papers. Whatever is in those jars is dangerous and you do not want to end up like this mage.”

Rane cast a curious look at the heap in the middle of the room. “What happened to him?”

Fenix swallowed the bile that rose into his throat. “Think end of Raiders of the Lost Ark.”

Rane blanched and nodded vigorously. “Noted. Not going to set foot in that part of the room, and I’ll warn the other two.”

Fenix released him and stepped back. “I need to ask a favour of Hella. Have you got this?”

The brunet’s eyes darkened at the mention of a witch, but he nodded. Fenix teleported, landing outside the last place he had seen Hella—the run-down white shack in the middle of the bad part of the Geneva fae town. Rather than knocking this time, he pushed the wooden door open.

And got an eyeful of Hella bent over the heavy wooden bench.

The big, mean-looking son of a bitch who towered behind her, fisting her blue hair in one hand as he pounded into her, settled glowing golden eyes on Fenix. Hella moaned and cried out as the male took her harder, their combined pleasure hitting Fenix with enough force to make his head hazy and take the edge off his hunger.

The dark-haired wolf shifter growled and bared huge fangs at him.

Fenix took the hint and backed out of the door, closed it behind him and turned his back to it.

Although even outside he couldn’t escape the guttural grunts or how they were shaking the whole building.

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