Shit. Everything’s in my size. And expensive. Even the black silk bra and panties. The jeans mold to my ass, and the leather boots? They look completely unassuming, but when I take a step, it’s like I’m walking on air. There’s no way I can afford to pay him back. Not right away. He must have spent twice my monthly salary on one outfit.
Unless I want to get myself home in his bathrobe—or my bloodstained clothes from yesterday—I don’t have much choice but to accept the gift. And the bastard knew it.
My bag, which also bears a number of dark red stains, is at least mostly intact, and while my phone only has ten percent of its battery left, I slip out without saying a word to him and call a Lyft.
I’ll be steadier once I get to the Bureau. I have to be. These women’s lives depend on it.
* * *
No one looksat me twice when I walk in, even though I feel like there’s this huge sign over my head flashingI had sex with an angel last night.
At the coffee pot, I barely nod at Kunchin when I fill my mug, then grab my spare phone charger and battery from my desk and make a beeline for the upstairs conference rooms. I need to talk to someone, and I absolutely do not want to be overheard.
“Hey, Zoe,” Dion says when the call connects. “I mean, Agent Dawes.”
“No, Zoe’s fine. This isn’t exactly…um…Bureau business.”
She laughs, a deep, husky sound through my earbuds, and I can just imagine her throwing her head back and smiling as she says, “Well, okay, hon. What’s up?”
“Do you know much about incubi? I have questions, and the handbook was a little light on the answers.”
“You have a handbook?” After a beat, she huffs. “I’m not surprised. So many of us know little to nothing about those outside our kind. Pity, really. We all fight the same battles. Anyway, I know a little. What’s that partner of yours done now?”
The temperature in the room feels like it rises twenty degrees, and I shed the brand new black blazer I almost didn’t take from the bag of clothing Sin bought me. Until I checked the temperature outside and realized it was in the forties. “I need to know about their talents. How long their influence can last, what they can do to their victims…”
“Did he feed off of you?” Her voice sharpens, the hint of outrage both embarrassing and welcome. “Hon, that’s sexual harassment right there. I don’t care who he is, youworktogether.”
“He had to.”
“You’re defending him?” she hisses, the very feline tone full of outrage. “Zoe—“
I rest my elbows on the table and drop my head into my hands. “Just let me explain. We were attacked yesterday, and he was hurt trying to protect me. Seriously hurt. And I had a choice. Let him feed from me or watch him die alongside me. He…he actuallyaskedas he was lying there bleeding all over me.”
“Huh. Incubi don’t usually have that level of control. He’s old then. Really old.”
Picking through yesterday’s memories, I say, “At least six hundred.”
“Holy shit. Hon, he’s obviously careful as fuck. Most incubi and succubi are killed by their victims’ jealous lovers long before that.”
I choke back a sip of coffee. Dammit. I should have taken the time to add some creamer to this swill. “So how long does their influence last? After they feed, I mean.”
“You said he asked, right?”
“Yes.”
“What color were his irises?”
“Dark red. Even the whites of his eyes turned red.”
“He didn’t influence you, Zoe. He couldn’t have. Using his talent to alter or influence a person’s thoughts? It requires energy. If his eyes were pure red, he was fucked. Like about to die fucked.”
Suddenly realizing just how close we came to not making it out of that garage alive, I set the coffee down and force a few deep breaths to stop the room from spinning. “You’re…sure?” I wheeze.
“Pretty damn sure. Also pretty damn worried. Where are you right now?” Dion’s voice takes on a motherly tone, and I answer automatically.
“Work.”
“The Bureau’s off of Portrero, right? You have time to get coffee with me? Like now? I think the rest of this conversation needs to happen in person.”
