Wow. Who knew? Bind an incubus and they their vulnerability slips through.
I watch him as the carriage jostles him around. I’m sure he’s feeling the bumps more since his hands are restrained against the wall.
Then that sexual smile returns. I doubt it’s ever gone long. “But if you ever want to get rid of some extra energy or get rid of some stress, I’ll wear my body bag for you.”
“Body bag?” Hmm, I hope that isn’t as bad as it sounds.
“Yeah,” he purrs. “It’s a full suit. Covers my head, my face, my feet, my hands, everything.”
“So you can’t touch skin to skin?”
He nods then shimmies his hips, leaving no room for interpretation. “The material is thin enough to still have an effect, but thick enough to protect you.”
Huh. I can picture Harlow in a spandex onesie, the lines and contours of his frame tempting his partner to touch him. If the material were silk, it could be electrifying. “That works?”
He snorts. “Until I graduate.”
Graduate? “Do you go to the Academy of Necromancy?” I ask, frowning. “I mean, are you a student?”
He frowns back at me. “First of all, don’t sound so surprised.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, I’m a student.”
“What year are you?”
“Sixth. It’s my last year and I’m then I’m outta here.”
“And then?”
He shrugs. “Who knows?”
“So why don’t you have to wear the body suit after you graduate?”
“I will have learned to control my powers by then,” he answers with another shrug. “I mean, I guess that’s the hope, anyway.”
“If you’re a sixth year, shouldn’t you already have mastered that?”
“I guess? I’ve never actually tested my restraint without the body bag.”
“Do I count?” I ask with a smile. “I mean, you touched me and you stopped yourself.”
He chuckles. “If I were being graded by that performance, I’d fail.”
“Ah.”
“What year are you?” he asks.
“Third.”
“Just a baby…” he says and his eyes narrow with lust again.
“Hardly. I already told you I’m legal.”
“And I’ve committed that information to memory. Believe me.”
“I do,” I answer with a little smile. Even though he’s the most sexual person I’ve ever met, there’s something about Harlow that makes me… comfortable. As strange as that sounds. He just seems like the type of person who would be completely free of judgement. And that’s not something I’m used to. Dryads, and the fae in general, are probably the most judgmental of judgmental.
Before he retorts with another sexual innuendo, the carriage stops. To the right is a cliffside. On the left, is a castle. It’s rather dingy, nothing like the shiny spires of Arcadia. But it still holds the impressive intimidation of a large and looming fortress.
“Are you okay now?” I send a pointed look to his hands. “Not going to eat me?”
“Oh, Everly,” he purrs, “I’ll eat you anytime.”
I huff.
“Yes.” He smiles and dips his head. “I’ll be okay now.”
First straight answer I’ve gotten from him. I release the bindings and they fade back into the paneling of the carriage. Truth be told, if the carriage wasn’t made from oak, I wouldn’t have been able to call forth the vines at all.
Harlow opens the door for me and makes a grand gesture, leaving me to escort myself out.
“How come you don’t wear gloves?” I ask him.
He rolls his eyes. “Everyone knows not to touch me, except you,” he teases. “And I already wear too many clothes as it is. I’m practically a nun with the way I dress.”
“You’re hardly a nun,” I respond, shaking my head.
I step down with a squish, making an imprint of my ballet flats in the mud. Great. When I get out, I wrap Harlow’s coat around me. There’s no breeze, but the cold weighs on my body, all the same.
Harlow pays the driver and the carriage pulls away.
There’s nothing here but mud and concrete. “Do you live here?”
“No.” He shrugs.
“Then how are you going to get…”
He puts his hands in his jean pockets. “I’ll fly home.”
Right.
“I just want to make sure you’re delivered.” He smiles, but it seems strained.
“Delivered?” I repeat, not liking the sound of the word.
“I wanted to make sure you were safe,” he corrects himself.
Castle Raven Night stands over the city like a college professor reprimanding a student. Ominous. Proud. Old. Unyielding. It’s every strict instructor giving me lessons on how to behave. But I was taught how to deal with elves, not vampires.
“So, what should I know about the count?”
Harlow stiffens and wipes his face. “Shit. I should have told you while were in the carriage.” He puts his hands back in his pockets, flexing the muscles of his wiry frame. “Okay. Short version.” He flicks up the index finger on one hand. “One: Don’t run.” Next finger comes up. “Two: Don’t move quickly.” And the next finger. “Three: Don’t stare at him or look him in the eyes.” And pinky finger. “Four: Address him with his full name. Got it?”
“What should I call him? Count Jean-Claude?”
“Count Jean-Claude Von Zarovich, the third.”
“What? You aren’t serious.”
“Totally serious,” he says with a totally serious expression.
“Okay, run it by me one more time.”
He nods and then speaks incredibly slowly. “Count. Jean-Claude. Von. Zarovich. The. Third.” He clears his throat them. “Make sure you include the third part.”
He’s serious. “Okay. Count Jean-Claude Von Zarovich, the third.”
“If he gets in your space, step away from him. Don’t touch him. Vampires have this thing where it’s okay for them to get in your face,
