The incubus takes off his jacket, hangs the collar by two fingers, and throws it over his shoulder. Once the leather gloves are off, it’s almost like he’s grown taller, wider, and more dangerous. His presence increases as heat radiates off his body. The air shimmers around him, but the shape of the illusion is very… wing-like.
Sexy Harlow in full-out incubus mode is near irresistible. And judging by the smirk on his face, he knows it.
Beside me, Jean-Claude lifts his lip, exposing his fangs as he looks at Harlow.
“Stop preening and follow me.” Then he looks at me. “And stop giving him reason to preen.”
“What?” I demand, shaking my head. “I wasn’t…”
Harlow aims a winning smile at the count. “Lead the way.”
The vampire grunts. “One moment.”
He walks around to the front of the carriage and bows deeply to Pilot. “If you wouldn’t mind waiting for me, Pilot, I wish to escort Ms. Stillwater to meet with Riven.”
Pilot nods his head yes, and the winged equine pulls the cart forward to let another mount and rider onto the platform.
Jean-Claude leads us to a portcullis large enough for a marching band to parade through, and from there, we walk into an inner courtyard. There’s no grass, just concrete, and my initial excitement drops at the thought of actually attending school here. No trees. No bushes. No green. Ash floats around like it’s waiting to cling to eyelashes, tickle noses, and choke anyone who inhales the sticky flakes.
We walk the halls, and the architecture of the inside of the Academy of Necromancy is as fierce as the outside. A hall of lockers lines the walls between the doors. Nothing is uniform except the overall brown color. Some doors are square, some are arched, and others are a version of a teardrop shape.
Students see Harlow coming and either avoid him by giving him a wide berth or they turn and walk the opposite direction. Some literally walk up the walls to get out of his way, using the lockers as a pathway, as if gravity has gone haywire. Light filters through the hall, but I can’t tell where it’s coming from. The place is a little disorienting, but has its own charm.
One guy, who has his nose in a book doesn’t look up in time, is snared into Harlow’s shimmering orbit. The poor kid cries out, convulses, drops his book, and crumbles against the lockers.
“Thanks for breakfast, Sheridon.” Harlow waves without looking back.
A few students laugh, but everyone walks past the poor kid.
“Harlow!” I hiss and try to go back to help the fallen student, but the count holds me to his side.
“Leave him.” Jean-Claude pushes me forward.
“But…”
“It’s best you don’t get involved.”
The count’s lack of compassion gives me pause. He’s not so apathetic with me. And the reaction the kid had to Harlow isn’t the same as when the incubus and I had our moment. With the bookworm kid, he was just so… casual. Like he got caught eating a muffin while walking to class. What passed between us… was nothing like that.
We travel the halls until the air gets warmer—steamier is the more accurate word. The path gets quieter, narrow and darkens as we travel down.
Jean-Claude ushers me past a desk, and we enter what’s supposedly an office but feels more like a Victorian library. A fire roars in front of two high-backed chairs and a desk sits before a ceiling-to-floor window. Books are everywhere. I turn to face Jean-Claude and Harlow because the person we’re supposed to see, Riven, isn’t here.
“At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if the superintendent was the invisible man,” I sigh.
“Actually, Cackus is the superintendent.” The count waves to the fireplace. “Riven is the Headmaster.”
Harlow stays silent. The air no longer shimmers, and his bravado is gone, now that he’s put his wings away.
The count moves to the chairs standing in front of the desk and pulls me along with him. The fire jumps, snaps, and roars as we come closer. A face within the flames smiles at me. It throws me off and I gasp in response.
“Is that Riven?” I point to the fire.
The face looks like that of a dragon. It has reptilian eyes.
“No, that is most assuredly not Riven.” The count is back to being dour and serious.
Harlow drapes half his body over my chair. “That’s Cackus.” The incubus manages to make the statement sound sexy. “There are fireplaces in each classroom. Whatever you say or do, Cackus knows.”
“That’s the superintendent?” I point to the blaze.
“Yep.” Harlow looks at the fire. He waves. “Say hi.”
I do just as the door opens, then closes, and I jump up and turn, anxious to meet the person who might be able to help me get back to Arcadia, back to where I belong.
The newcomer bows his head in greeting.
And… yeah.
He’s striking. Just like the count and just like Harlow. I’m beginning to detect a pattern here—men of the shadow lands, of the darkness, are like the hottest men I’ve ever seen—ever.
Short, spiky brown hair contrasts with his olive skin. Light blue eyes, that are almost white, and fine features lend him an androgynous look, except he’s undeniably male. Plump lips reveal large, white teeth. His mouth is shaped so his lips seem to curl into a permanent smile even if he isn’t trying. But when he sees me, his grin is genuine.
A sense of calm spreads over me. All my
