Page 4 of Greer's Change

A beetle flies out and lands on the porch flooring.

“Well, that was uncalled for,” I grumble as it scurries away.

So much for being a badass.

Whatever.

I don’t care who you are, giant, winged beasts flying at your hair is going to cause panic.

I stumble inside, and the first thing I notice is that it doesn’t smell musty at all. My nose twitches; there’s a citrusy scent that seems to be everywhere.

Huh, I wonder if the house is spelled to stay clean?

That would be a nice trick.

Witches could pull it off with very little effort. Bumping my rear end against the door, it clicks closed as I take in the entryway.

There’s a massive portrait of Granny Rollins and her husband. Though he’s technically my grandfather on my dad’s side, I never met the man. He died before I was born.

Sighing, I take off to check out the rest of the place. An incubus in full demon form comes around the corner, and my feet leave the ground as I jump about a foot in the air.

I squeak but frown at the dishrag and wineglass in his hands. He continues drying the rim of the glass, like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

“You’re in my house,” I accuse once my shoes finally plant on the wooden flooring. “Why are you in my house?”

His head tilts as he looks me up and down. There’s something about his jaw that makes my brain melty. It’s covered in a short black beard that perfectly accentuates his features.

Dammit.

Incubus have otherworldly sex appeal. It’s kind of how they survive, since they feed off sexual energy. His huge, void-like eyes glitter as he tosses the dishrag over his muscular shoulder.

“Is ityourhouse?” His shoulder-length black hair sways as he quirks a bushy eyebrow.

“Yes.” I nod wildly as my eyes zero in on his jugular. “It is.”

Holy shit.

This is a problem.

My mouth is actually watering.

I’m so hungry.

Famished, really.

It’s surprising that I haven’t desiccated yet.

Normally, I would be appreciating the thick lines of muscle on his bare chest. He’s in a pair of low-slung jeans that show the sexy little indents that frame his hip bones.

His black, leathery wings twitch the longer I stare at his pale bluish-pink skin.

“Humans have short lifespans. I’m happy to share it with you for the duration of yours.” His low chuckle fills the air as his black, void-like eyes sparkle. “Are you okay? You’re looking a little…” He hums. “Hungry.”

“I am…” I grimace, pulling my hand up to block my mouth. I think he assumes I’m a human, considering Granny Rollins was. “I am fine,” I correct. “What I don’t understand is why you’re in my house!” My words come out slurred due to my fangs.

Even that’s not as embarrassing as the urge to pounce and drink him dry.

Shit, I bet he could defend himself. He’d probably be able to stop me before I got to the danger zone. Also, incubi are basically impossible to kill. If you manage to injure them badly enough, that they can’t heal, they’re simply resurrected in Hell.

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