Page 62 of Inflamed By an Incubus

“Underworld,” Hartt growled and his eyes darkened again. “I know of it.”

Judging by that look in his eyes, the elf knew of it and didn’t like it one bit.

The other elf muttered black-sounding things now and began pacing, his fingers twitching with each long stride that carried him back and forth across the office.

“Fuery,” Hartt murmured, his tone softer now, and the male stopped and glanced at him, his brow furrowing as his corrupted violet eyes sought Hartt. “All is well. We have no need to go there.”

Fenix guessed something bad had happened to the elves at Underworld and the experience had been traumatic enough that Fuery couldn’t even handle remembering it. The door behind him opened and a female with long blue-black hair wearing an ankle-length dark violet dress hurried into the room and crossed it to Fuery.

The male’s face crumpled as she opened her arms to him and he swept her into his, buried his face in her neck and held her close as she softly whispered things to him in the same language he had been speaking before.

The sight of them reminded him of Rosalind and Vail, and filled him with a need to track them down and warn them about what Archangel might be up to so they weren’t caught up in it.

“What were you speaking about with the males you mentioned?” Hartt pulled Fenix’s focus back to the room.

Fenix looked him in the eye. “There’s this sorceress called Aryanna—”

Hartt lunged for him and seized his left arm, gripping it tightly as his eyes widened. “You can tell me the rest when we reach our allies. We need you to help us and it all has to do with this Aryanna. Fuery, remain here.”

Fuery nodded and Fenix didn’t have a chance to ask what this was all about.

Chilling darkness engulfed him, had a shudder rolling down his spine as the inky black seemed to close in on him from all sides.

And then he was standing before a beautiful sun-soaked English thatched cottage in the middle of a colourful garden full of blooms and buzzing with life.

Fenix slowly took in his surroundings as Hartt released him and strode towards the worn wooden door, a black shadow that was out of place among the bright hollyhocks and cornflowers and the lush red roses that clambered over the stone walls of the cottage.

He breathed deep of the warm, clean air and stilled as he caught the smell of magic among the scent of all the flowers.

They were here to see a witch?

His eyes widened as the door opened.

“I thought we agreed no pop-ins? You know what—” Rosalind cut herself off as her large sapphire eyes landed on him.

Shoved Hartt aside so hard he stumbled and fell into a cluster of bright orange crocosmia.

She grinned as she hurried towards Fenix, her wavy ash-blonde hair bouncing against the shoulders of her drab knee-length black dress, the traditional garb of a witch on duty. Her pace picked up as her face lit up and he grunted as she hurled herself at him and looped her arms around his neck.

“Fenix!” She squeezed him so hard he choked.

Fenix risked it and wrapped his arms around her, his senses on high alert, scouring the area for her mate because if Vail saw him touching her, the elf would kill him. He couldn’t stop himself from holding her and squeezing her tightly as relief poured through him though, as he told himself that she was alive and safe.

She released him and pushed his shoulders, and he dropped her to her feet. She clutched his shoulders through his black shirt as she leaned back.

“Let me get a good look at you. Oh, you look tired. You haven’t been getting enough sleep. Hartt told me about your problem.” She frowned and pouted a little, framed his face with her palms and fussed over him like a mother would.

Or how he imagined a mother would.

He had never known his.

“It’s good to see you, Rosalind.” He smiled at her, those words coming straight from his heart as it warmed. It was better than good to see her. He had been worried about her from the moment they had parted ways, had cursed himself a thousand times over for not getting her address so he could visit her and make sure she had escaped Hell without the demons, or possibly her mate, killing her. He flicked a wary look at the one-and-a-half-storey cottage. “I’ve been checking fae towns trying to find you. Didn’t figure you for a country girl.”

She beamed at him. “My own little slice of heaven. I might have been a town gal once, but the country is where it’s at. I get all the space and sunshine, no bother from demons, and I can grow my own food and potter about the garden all I like. Speaking of pottering about the garden.”

She grabbed his hand in a firm grip and tugged him along the path to his right, one that looked as if it led around to the back of the house.

Fenix tensed the moment he sensed it.

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