Page 9 of The Incubus and the Bodyguard

Memory returned in violent flashes of color. Vlad’s stomach lurched.

He met Cortes’s gaze wildly. “The restaurant?—!”

“Everyone made it out okay,” Cortes reassured him hastily. “Ilya got your staff and guests safely through the back. Your men had already secured the rear alley. A few of them got injured in the gunfight. Nothing that won’t heal.” He paused. “Marco took a bullet to his shoulder and Ilya one to the thigh. “

Vlad’s throat tightened. “Ilya got shot?”

“Yes.”

Anger brought a flush of heat to Vlad’s clammy face.

“Wei Chen and Giovanni?” he asked Cortes stiffly.

“Still processing what they saw.” Cortes grimaced. “Kinda hard not to when a tiger materializes out of thin air and starts tearing people apart.”

Tarang huffed softly beside them, his muzzle clean of the blood of their enemies. The familiar’s anxiety pulsed weakly through their weakened bond.

Vlad’s jaw hardened.

If that’s even the right word for what I’m feeling.

He remembered his second bodyguard and looked around. “Milo?”

“Getting patched up in the ambulance.” Cortes indicated the vehicle parked at the curb a short distance away. “He’s more pissed about his suit getting ruined than the bullet wound.” The Colombian’s mouth curved wryly. “The paramedics wanted to put you in one to check you over, but I said you’d be better off getting some fresh air out here. Tarang’s presence inside an ambulance wouldn’t exactly go unnoticed. He hasn’t left your side since you passed out.”

Vlad reached out and stroked the tiger’s neck weakly. Tarang huffed and turned his giant head to lick his hand, his tongue rasping hotly across his palm.

Cortes hesitated. “The men who attacked this place? They vanished the moment you went down. Like they’d pulled off what they came here to do.”

Vlad’s recollection of the fight was still hazy, but he remembered the masked figure who’d attacked him with a saber. The man’s expression before he’d disappeared had been one of triumph.

A wave of dizziness swept over him. He swallowed and closed his eyes.

“Vlad?” Cortes said, alarmed.

The Colombian’s voice sounded faint above the roaring in his ears.

Something felt wrong.

Vlad reached instinctively for his incubus powers.

The familiar heat that always simmered beneath his skin and in his blood failed to manifest.

His eyes snapped open. Fear drenched him in a cold sweat.

He pressed a hand to his stomach and tried again. Nothing happened.

“What’s wrong?” Cortes was watching him with a heavy scowl.

Footsteps approached before Vlad could reply. They looked around.

Jared Dickson was headed for them. An Immortal tasked with the role of a liaison between the Immortal Societies and the US Special Affairs Bureau, the NYPD Lieutenant had been a crucial figure in their fight against the Sorcerer King a few months back.

“Your crew works fast,” Cortes grunted.

Black-suited figures were moving efficiently through the chaos surrounding the brownstone building housing theOro Divino. They wore badges identifying them as Special Affairs Bureau agents.

“They’re not my crew,” Jared said curtly. He jerked a thumb at the blown-out windows on the third floor of the restaurant. “We need to talk about what happened up there,” the NYPD Lieutenant told Vlad. He stilled, his brow wrinkling. “You look like shit.”

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