“Asia.” His kind voice had a soothing effect on me. “Can you walk?” He coiled an arm around my waist.
I shook my head. Big mistake. The pain doubled.
“I’m sorry, but we must hurry.” Evander gathered me in his arms and resumed running. “We have to be quick. He could be around.”
A sigh escaped me when I rested my head on his hard, warm chest. His heady scent enveloped me, and for the first time that night, I was safe.
Ten
AS I WAS LYING IN EVANDER’S ARMS, my sore muscles slackened. He ran along the streets at a steady pace, turning many times. I had no idea where he was taking me, and I didn’t care. Now and then, he whispered something that sounded gentle and reassuring, and the tip of a finger would caress my cheek.
The rain stopped punching me, and warm air hit my skin. I glanced up. Evander had entered a dark room with shelves packed with books. A bookshop? I blinked. It was the same antiquity shop where I’d met him, where that nasty little man insulted me.
“Hang on. Nearly there.” Balancing my weight with one arm, he opened another door and started down a flight of stairs.
Let me guess, another entrance to the R. O. B.
The steady beat of his heart thumped against my cheek, and I relaxed again. He changed his rhythm, and instead of going down, he went up, holding me with infinite care. I wrapped my arms around his neck and snuggled closer to him. His body’s warmth stopped the shivers of cold rocking my body. His lips brushed my forehead, but it could’ve been a casual gesture. Still, the thrill shooting through me warmed me further.
There was the sharp click of a key in a keyhole, and he pushed a door.
“Here.”
His voice rumbled in his chest and reverberated in my stomach.
After he unlocked another door, we stepped into a dark room.
“Fire,” Evander said in a low, controlled voice.
It didn’t sound like he was shouting the word to give the alarm.
In a flash, fire crackled, and wood sizzled. Warm air that smelled of wood polish and beeswax stroked me.
“What happened?” I mumbled.
He laid me gingerly on a plush couch, but when he was about to let me go, I wrapped my arms around his neck in a sudden surge of panic.
“Don’t,” I shouted. “Please, don’t.”
Pride be damned, but I didn’t want the hands of that maniac on me again.
I was safe in Evander’s arms. I didn’t want him to leave me.
“I’m here. I’m right here.” He caressed my back in slow circles. “You’re safe.”
My heart jumped to my throat, and shudders pebbled my skin. I held him tighter and buried my face in the crook of his neck, where his steady pulse kicked.
“Don’t worry. We’re in my house. He can’t enter here.” He sat next to me on the couch, still stroking my back. “I need to have a look at your head.”
The gentle, tender tone of his voice was soothing like his hands, hands that a moment ago had been punching restlessly a man.
He kept holding me until my body loosened, and I eased my grip on him. His breath feathered on my cheeks, and again his lips brushed my temple. Not a casual gesture. He kissed the top of my head, and although I’d never considered the top of my head a particularly sensitive area, the kiss set a fire in my veins.
His chest heaved, and his heartbeat drummed faster. “Is it better now?”
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
Slowly, he released me. His hands lingered on my waist.
“Let me take some brandy for you,” he said.
A brandy sounded like a damn good idea.
I untangled my arms from around his neck and trailed my hands on his chest. The wet fabric of his shirt was no barrier over his taut skin, and my soaked top showed more than one of my lacy French negligees. He drew in a shuddering breath, his gaze flickering over my body for a moment. Water spiked his wet lashes and sprinkled his stubble. The intensity in his gaze chased away the cold out of my body.
“I was so scared,” I whispered.
“I know, but you’ve been very brave.” Then he took my hands and kissed my knuckles.
Energy shot through me like a bolt of lightning. For a split second, Bertie’s attack seemed something that had happened a long time ago.
“I’m right here. I’m not going to leave you.” He lowered my hands and rose. Then he turned on a few lamps.
I curled in a corner of the couch, shivering and rubbing my goose-bumped arms. Evander shrugged off his wet jacket and draped it on the back of a chair before opening a sideboard.
A desk occupied a corner of the room. Heavy-looking volumes were stuffed in shelves that seemed too small to contain all those thick tomes. A blazing log fire crackled in the hearth, and an empty cup of tea lay on the low table in front of me. The place was like him: warm, practical, and inspiring calm.
I quivered again. My wet shirt clung to my body and revealed the curve of my breasts and the hardening tips of my nipples, but I was beyond modesty.
Staring at the floor, he wrapped a dry blanket around my shoulders and covered me. “He hit you really hard.” His voice roughened as he checked my face.
“It’s nothing.” I huddled the blanket tighter around my body and tucked my feet underneath it. “I’ve seen worse.”
“That doesn’t make me any happier.”
Glass clinked when he poured a full tumbler of brandy.
He offered it to me, concern etching his handsome face.
“Thank you.” I closed my hand around the glass and took a long, invigorating sip.
The brandy shot to my head and cleared it, even though the pain was still there.
“The fire,” I said. “It wasn’t lit when we entered, but the room became hot after you said ‘fire’.” It sounded crazy.
“Fire is the best weapon against many enemies,” he said, as if his words explained everything.
I was about to press the matter but shut my mouth. I wasn’t sure I could handle the answers.
Evander went to grab his wet shirt from the back, and I stopped nursing the glass, waiting to finally see all his lean, well-defined muscles, kissed by the orange glow of the fire. My breath caught, and my head spun again—and not because of the concussion— when a glimpse of his naked belly tantalised me. But the impossible man paused.
He averted his gaze and adjusted the shirt, not that the darn thing showed too much of his body. “I’m sorry.”
I wasn’t. At all. “About what?”
“A gentleman shouldn’t change his clothes in front of a lady.”
“True, but, as I pointed out numerous times, I’m not a lady.”
His jaw clenched. As usual, when I remarked the truth about my status, he stiffened.
“I’ll be back in a moment,” he grumbled.
He entered a room and came out with a towel and a fresh shirt. If he meant to distract me from the questions piling in my head, he’d succeeded.
The fabric enhanced his taut body, covering all that male glory, and I wondered how his skin would feel under my lips or tongue. He towelled his hair until the messy strands fell in disarray on his cheeks, making him even more attractive than usual.
Some of the hot turmoil inside me must’ve shown on my face because he stared at me.
I took another sip of Dutch courage. “I understand if you feel uncomfortable with me.”
I expected him to deny it, but instead he drew a hand through his hair and exhaled. “Yes.”
Yes? A teensy sting of disappointed pierced my heart.
“Let me check your head.” After grabbing a cloth from a cabinet, he sat on the couch next to me.
The cushion dipped under his weight, and I slipped a few inches closer to him. His fingers probed my head gently.
Pleasant shivers caused new goose-bumps to grow on my skin. He touched the back of my neck and massaged the tense muscles with his thumbs. A sigh
escaped me.
“You have some blood on your head, but the cut isn’t serious,” he said, applying the cloth on my head.
“All right.” Who cared?
With his free hand, he resumed massaging my neck. “But you strained your neck muscles. They’re stiff and hot.”
Oh, I was all hot. “All right,” I repeated, my voice croaky and raspy.
He dropped his hand and put the cloth on the low table. “You don’t sound all right.”
I swallowed more brandy. “I’m simply surprised.”
“About what Bertie did?”
“No. I mean yes, but it’s the first time that a man touches me without wanting to have sex with me and pay me for it.”
He shoved to his feet so fast the cushion on the couch huffed. The movement jolted me, and I nearly spilled the brandy.
Tension charged the air again as he gave me his back while poking the fire with too much energy. A log broke, and red sparks sizzled.
“Have I said something wrong?” I asked.
His gaze remained on the fire. “You can stay tonight.”
“No.” I put the glass on the table harder than I meant, and some of the brandy sloshed. “You promised me answers.”
He wouldn’t distract me anymore with his hands and magnificent body or his puzzling behaviour.
“Who is Bertie? How did he disappear? How did you light the fire with just one word? And more importantly”—I drew in a breath—“who are you?”
Eleven
THE FIRE HISSED and crackled when a log split under Evander’s poking, revealing its incandescent, angry core. Red sparks shot around, and the flames flared up. The only sounds in the sitting room came from the hearth.
“Evander?” I said. “I want answers. I think I deserve an explanation.”
“You do.” Evander kicked off his wet boots and dropped into an armchair in front of me. “But there are things I can’t tell you.”
Pain throbbed in my head and neck now that he wasn’t rubbing my muscles anymore. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to make me understand what’s happening all the same. Lat’s start with you. You work for the Royal Occult Bureau.”
He didn’t nod or shake his head.
Speaking made the ache pulsate harder, but I pressed on. “What is this Royal Occult Bureau? What do you do? Is it a spy department?”
“Not really.” He ran his hands over his thighs.
I slammed a hand on the couch and regretted it since a stab of pain shot through me. “Can’t you just answer the questions? A man tried to kill me tonight, and I don’t know why. My missing best friend lured me into a trap, and I’m not sure I can trust you.”
That captured his attention. His gaze snapped to me. An affronted frown creased his brow. “You can trust me. I thought I proved that.”
“You’ll have my trust after you tell me the whole truth.”
It was a bluff. I trusted him. He didn’t want to hurt me. I was sure of that, but it didn’t mean he didn’t have things to explain.
Evander released a breath that slumped his shoulders. “The occult bureau deals with supernatural beings.”
“Supernatural like what? I’ve seen enough parlour tricks to know there are fraudsters out there.”
His hands ran over his thighs. Tension rode his neck muscles.
Finally, he stared up. “No, not parlour tricks. The man who attacked you tonight wasn’t human. He was an incubus.”
If his face hadn’t been so straight and serious, I would’ve laughed. “What’s an incubus? Isn’t it a sort of demon?”
A noise halfway between a giggle and a huff escaped me.
“Not really.” Evander rubbed the back of his neck. “An incubus is an immortal creature who draws sexual energy from humans, usually women, to survive. The female of the same species is called succubus and feeds from men, although an incubus can also feed from men and a succubus from women. It depends on their tastes. But incubus and succubus belong to the same species.”
Species? Lord, my head was killing me. And the absurd conversation wasn’t helping. “What does drawing sexual energy mean?”
“An incubus uses his enthralling charm to attract a woman. While they have sex, the incubus replenishes his body with the sexual vibe from the woman.” He poked the fire again, working his jaw.
I shut my hanging mouth, not sure about what to say.
“It’s a lot to take,” he said.
“Yes.” My hand shook when I took the glass for another sip.
“Wait here.” His footfalls faded in the corridor.
I slouched back in the couch. An incubus who fed on women. I couldn’t believe I was having this conversation with a supposedly sane adult.
Evander came back, carrying a bag. He handed it to me. “It’s ice, for your head.”
“Thank you.” The cold bag helped soothe the pounding in my head, but not to make the mess of supernatural beings clearer.
His gaze trained on me as he returned to his chair.
“You were saying about the incubus feeding?”
“He seduces a woman and has sex with her. It’s through this exchange that he recharges himself while draining the woman.” The light of the fire limned his tense face muscles.
“What happens to the woman? Does she die?” A shiver crept along my neck like a file of ants.
His shoulders hunched. “Are you sure you want to hear the whole story now? Isn’t it enough to take for one night?”
“Bertie did his charming trick on Charlotte, didn’t he? I want to know what will happen to her. Will she die?”
“When an incubus selects a victim, he doesn’t drain her immediately. He can take only a small portion of the woman’s energy. There’s always a price to pay though. The victim of an incubus falls sick. Lack of sleep, weight loss, and weakness are all signs that an incubus fed from a person.”
I put a hand on my belly. The brandy was burning my stomach and threatening to come up. “That’s a description of Charlotte’s symptoms. What happens next?”
“A bond is formed between the incubus and the victim. She becomes addicted to him and seeks his presence constantly. She can even sense his presence.”
I stiffened. “That’s how Charlotte found him. She said she would’ve followed her instinct.”
Dash it. She’d told the truth. And I hadn’t listened.
Evander swallowed. “Don’t be too angry with your friend. She’s probably under the incubus’s influence and did what he ordered her to do. She isn’t herself.”
“What else?” I pressed on, needed to know everything.
“Once the incubus has extracted the last ounce of the woman’s energy, he might devour her.”
“I beg your pardon?” I perked up.
He gestured to a copy of a newspaper folded on the table. “Those women found mutilated in different parts of London most likely are all victims of this incubus.”
“Oh, my God.” I dropped the glass on the table and doubled over, rocked by gasps.
Nausea burned the back of my throat. The ice bag fell from my grip.
“Asia.” Evander’s hand caressed my back. “Take deep breaths.”
Easier said than done. My pipe was clogged. Shudders coursed through me, and my teeth chattered.
“Come here.” His arms wrapped around me.
I closed my eyes and rested my sore head on his chest. Monsters were real, and they were preying on my best friend.
“It’s a lot to take.” He rubbed my arms and back. “Listen, why don’t you go to sleep and we’ll talk tomorrow?”
As tempting as his offer sounded, I ignored it. I wouldn’t be able to sleep, anyway. “Is it what he wanted to do to me? Take my energy and then eat me?”
“His seductive power doesn’t work on you.”
“How can you say that?”
“You rejected him.”
“But it doesn’t mean he can’t force me!” I sai
d.
The sadness and worry in his touch were meaningful enough. “I’ve called a doctor. She should be here soon.” Gently, he laid me down the couch and arranged a cushion under my head. Then he placed my legs on his lap.
The blood crawled to my head, and the nausea subsided, but his voice sounded distant.
I stared at the ceiling, my feet up on his lap. The world had shifted from its axis. “I can’t believe it. What were you doing in my bedroom then?”
There was a moment of silence before he replied. “I knew the incubus had targeted you.”
“Me? Why?” I tried to sit up, but he pushed me down gently.
“An incubus avoids the sunlight if he can. He might prowl around in a particular cold and grey day, but he’s essentially a nocturnal hunter. During the day, a noxus takes care of the chores his master needs.”
“What’s a noxus?”
He massaged my feet with his deft hands, and oh, Lord, the nausea diminished, and the pain subsided each time his thumbs pressed a spot on my soles.
“A noxus is the opposite of an incubus and succubus,” he said, rubbing my toes. “He can’t have sex but craves it. Thousands of years ago, a witch . . .” He paused and glanced at me.
I didn’t flinch. If incubi and succubi were real, why not witches? Or dragons? I wouldn’t mind if unicorns were real, too.
“A witch,” he continued, “cursed the man who had raped her and her daughter. He would roam the Earth, forever desiring what he can’t have. This is how noxi were born. You might’ve met Bertie’s noxus, disguised as his footman or valet. Noxi are usually ugly little men, sexually impotent.”
“Bertie’s driver.” I tugged the blanket. “So what does the noxus do?”
“He serves the incubus, sometimes searching for fresh victims. The occult department has spies everywhere. Our net of agents reported us that the incubus was visiting De Luna House regularly. Incubi often prey around, er, houses of pleasure.”
He really couldn’t say the word ‘whore,’ could he?
The Royal Occult Bureau Page 10