Page 8 of The Incubus and the Bodyguard

A scream from the direction of the kitchen made his shoulders knot.

He kept his gaze on his attacker and gave Tarang a silent command.

Go!

Tarang hesitated, his worried gaze swinging from Vlad to the lithe man standing a short distance away, the stranger’s dark pupils gleaming dangerously above his mask.

I’ll be alright.Vlad cut his eyes briefly to the familiar.Protect our people!

The tiger whirled around with an irritated sound and bounded for the kitchen.

The masked man resumed his attack, each strike flowing into the next with deadly grace. But Vlad hadn’t survived this long in the criminal underworld by being an easy target to bring down.

He feinted left and drove his right blade through his attacker’s guard. The man moved to avoid it and stepped right into the path of Vlad’s second sword.

Blood sprayed as diamond pierced flesh. His attacker stumbled back, clutching his shoulder.

Vlad was about to deliver the final blow when pain exploded inside his body with a suddenness that made black spots swarm his vision.

He gasped, his swords slipping from suddenly numb fingers. Ice filled his veins, spreading outward from his core on a wave that stole his breath and made his heart stutter.

The sensation was like nothing he’d ever experienced.

It felt as if someone had reached inside him and twisted, corrupting the very essence of what he was.

What’s happening to me?!

The sickening gleam Vlad glimpsed in his attacker’s eyes before the man retreated into the shadows told him he’d fallen into the enemy’s trap.

Tarang’s roar of distress echoed through their bond, the tiger’s anguish slamming into Vlad like a physical blow as their connection started to fray.

The world tilted sideways.

The last thing Vlad saw before darkness claimed him was Cortes’s alarmed expression as the sorcerer bolted toward him, his mouth open on a desperate shout Vlad never heard.

CHAPTERFOUR

The first thingVlad registered when he came to was a bitter taste in his mouth. The second was the cold ground beneath his back and the shrill wail of sirens.

A warm weight pressed against his flank, taking away some of the chill seeping into his bones. He knew without opening his eyes that it was Tarang.

But the tiger’s presence felt odd.

Their bond, usually a vibrant connection singing between their souls, seemed pale and strangely muted.

Someone was talking to him. Vlad forced his eyes open.

Cortes’s troubled face swam into view. “Can you hear me?!”

Vlad tried to speak. His throat felt like sandpaper. He settled for a grunt instead.

“Here.”

A bottle of water appeared. Cortes helped him sit up and held it to his lips. Vlad drank greedily, his head pounding.

Popo was perched on Tarang, the familiar crooning softly to the anxious tiger as he hugged Vlad’s side.

They were on Madison Avenue. Red and blue lights strobed across the building beside him, casting strange shadows across the glittering facade. A crowd had gathered behind the police cordons, their phones held high as they recorded the incident.

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