Chapter 5. Blaise
I threw my bag over my shoulder and into the back of the van, where it landed with a soft thunk atop the precarious heap of tactical gear.
I could almost hear Ambrose’s phantom voice nagging in my ear about being careless with the equipment.
Not that it mattered, seeing as we hadn’t taken on any remotely dangerous jobs in months.
My bulletproof vest had slipped off its hanger four months ago and still lay crumpled on the floor, buried beneath other bits of dislodged gear I hadn’t found the energy to put back.
With a sigh, I climbed out of the driver’s seat and circled to the rear. It took a full ten minutes to wrestle the mound of redundant crap into some semblance of order. Ambrose would usually have snuck into my van and done it for me once he got sick of complaining.
But, like with everything else these past six months, he’d been keeping his distance.
Gods, did I miss that neat freak.
There had been a moment during the summoning, just as the first bell tolled, just as I was fighting the urge to reach for him in case it was the last time, when his hand had found mine, and everything had finally clicked.
Ambrose might regret that night for reasons I didn’t understand... but he wanted me.
For one fragile heartbeat, as the final bell rang and I realized we’d been granted another year together, I thought we might be able to untangle this mess.
But when I raised my eyes to meet his—my mind whirring with all the things I wanted to say—there it was.
That same look. The same regret he’d worn that night.
And just like that, the confidence I’d felt seconds earlier drained away.
If he didn’t want me, why reach for me like he was afraid of losing me? Why stay in our apartment just to spend six months avoiding me instead of returning to the Shadow Realm and sparing us both this slow, miserable rot?
None of it made sense.
It was all just...
... fucking confusing.
The moment the celebrations ended, we made our way back to our shadow apartment in awkward silence. I spent every step trying to find the words—because I couldn’t keep living like this.
But the second we crossed the threshold of our dreary flat, Ambrose’s shadows brushed my legs, and my thoughts scattered. In the blink of an eye, we were back in our real apartment.
The whoosh of acceptance emails followed as soon as they found a signal, and Ambrose sagged with visible relief—relief that he’d be spending the next few weeks on a job, far away from me.
And that was when I had finally snapped.
I don’t remember exactly what I said. It all spilled out in a rush—half-formed thoughts that had made perfect sense in my head, only to fracture into tangents the moment they hit my tongue.
But the core of it was simple enough.
I needed to know why he regretted that night. I needed him to know that I didn’t. And, more than anything, I needed my best friend back.
He just stared at me. Mouth opening and closing with no words falling from his lips.
When he finally spoke, all he said was, “I need time to think. We’ll talk after the jobs.”
Then he left.
Since then, I’d spent the week oscillating between rotting on the couch, too numb to move, and sharp bursts of anger.
Anger at my best friend—the one who was supposed to have his shit together, who for the first time ever seemed just as emotionally constipated as I was. And anger at the witch who kept postponing the damn job that was meant to distract me from all of it.
But at least one problem had finally solved itself.
Caitlyn, the candy witch, was ready to start.
Under normal circumstances, being paid to loiter in my own apartment while a client got their shit together would’ve felt like a gift.
But with Ambrose gone after my less-than-graceful outburst, the apartment had become unbearable—his scent clinging to every room, every surface, refusing to fade.
Letting out a long breath, I forced myself to stop inhaling memories and tapped the pin Caitlyn had dropped into my map app.
***
I stared at my map, then across the barren field, and back at my map again.
I was exactly where I was supposed to be, but there was no sign of a witch, candy, or life of any kind.
The hairs on my neck prickled as a phantom pain flashed through the scar at my throat, my instincts roaring Trap, trap, trap.
I scanned the clearing, eyes narrowing as my shadows spilled from me, spreading low across the field, probing the brush for movement, for anything hiding just out of sight.
Nothing. The land was as dead as it looked.
Jaw tight, I glanced back at my phone and wasn’t surprised to find Ambrose’s contact info was pulled up, my thumb hovering over the call button like muscle memory had taken over.
Yeah, that’d go over well.
“Hey, Ambrose. I know we’re not exactly on speaking terms, and the last thing I did was unload all my feelings on you before you walked out—but the witch who hired me isn’t here, and now I’m standing in an empty field and I’m panicking, so naturally I called you...”
Even if there wasn’t this weird energy between us, Ambrose would not be remotely impressed if I rang him over something like this.
So, with a sigh, I pulled up Caitlyn’s number instead.
It took a full seven rings before she answered. “Oh, hey, Blaise!” she said, her voice barely audible over the near-deafening roar of an engine that sounded one bad turn away from giving up. “You okay? I’m just a few minutes out.”
“You’ve made a mistake with the directions,” I said, trying and failing to keep the edge out of my voice. “I’m currently standing in the middle of an abandoned field.”
Caitlyn groaned down the line, followed by a string of muffled curses. The only word I caught was “creep.”
She let out a long breath. “No. You’re in the right place. I’ll sort it when I get there.”
“K,” I said, leaning back against the hood of the van.
To my surprise, Caitlyn barked out a laugh. “Sorry,” she said, the line crackling. “It’s just... you say ‘K’ a lot.”
“Do I?” I asked, a faint prickle of guilt settling in my chest. Ambrose usually handled client correspondence, mostly because I was prone to short, unhelpful replies. Thinking back over the past week, I couldn’t remember sending Caitlyn a single full sentence. Possibly not even a full word.
“Uh-huh,” she said. “I was starting to worry you could only communicate in letters and thumbs up emojis.”
The corner of my mouth twitched. “I do know longer words,” I said. “I can even manage three syllables if I concentrate hard enough.”
Caitlyn snorted a laugh, which was oddly endearing.
“Good to know. The strong, silent type isn’t really my jam—” She cut herself off abruptly, as if the words had escaped without permission.
When she spoke again, her voice was flustered.
“Not that I was implying I hired you for anything other than security. I mean—there might be something extra, but totally professional, I swear! I’m not some weirdo who gets her kicks from luring supernatural beings to her lair under the pretense of work and then. ..”
A prickle of unease slid over my skin. She had no idea how close she was to accidentally stumbling onto the story of that night.
Still... her rambling softened it a little. It was kind of cute, actually.
“... Sorry,” she trailed off.
“It’s fine, Caitlyn,” I said. The words came out softer than I meant them to—low and a little seductive. I bit my lip hard enough to stop myself from saying anything else.
What in the seven realms of hell was I doing?
It was bad enough that I had prayed that my fated mate would forget about me for another year—just long enough for me to untangle these feelings I had for Ambrose.
Worse still, I’d even caught myself wondering if there might be a way out of the summoning altogether if Ambrose gave me even the slightest hint that he wanted more.
But flirting with a stranger? A client? A candy witch I hadn’t even met yet, just because her snort-laughs and rambling were... charming?
I needed to get a grip on myself.
“Anyway,” Caitlyn said, the fluster creeping back into her voice, “I’ll be with you in a few minutes and explain the, um... housing situation. Bye!”
I slipped my phone back into my pocket and dragged a hand through my hair.
My stomach grumbled.
Fuck. I should’ve fed before coming here.
But I just couldn’t bring myself to after the summoning.
It had been hard enough to feed over the past six months.
I was all out of sync feeding on my own, forced to confront just how much I’d come to rely on Ambrose to set the rhythm for me.
Without him there, I had to lean entirely on raw incubi magic and hope it could make up for my lack of enthusiasm.
I hated it. I only ever went out when hunger backed me into a corner, when I was close to starving and had no other choice.
The last time had been a week before the summoning, and I hadn’t found the motivation to go out again since.
It didn’t help that I had pictured Caitlyn as some harmless old witch in a frilly apron—someone I wouldn’t want...
And yet, without even meeting her, I was already flirting.
Gods. How was I fucking everything up so badly?
I sucked in breath after breath, forcing my body to remember how to breathe while the edges of my vision crept inward.
Everything felt too close, too tight—until the distant rattle of Caitlyn’s car broke through the noise in my head.
Slowly, the pressure eased, my sight clearing as I latched onto the sound.
It chugged through the thicket of trees lining the field, the occasional flash of neon green flaring between gaps in the fall leaves before vanishing again behind the foliage.
It felt like an age before the ancient car finally lurched into view, turning into the field with a trail of dark smoke choking out behind it.
The witch within was almost entirely obscured by the sheer volume of belongings she’d packed into every available crevice, from footwell to rooftop. Even the dashboard hadn’t escaped the messiness, buried beneath a coating of candy and burger wrappers.
The car finally seemed to give out, the engine letting out a death rattle as it lurched to a stop. I couldn’t make out Caitlyn’s features, aside from the hand that patted the wrapper-covered dashboard as if she were praising the car for making it to its destination.
I let out a deep breath and started toward the witch, who was seemingly struggling to open the driver’s door. The evening sun flashed off the window, a muffled thud sounding from within, as though she’d thrown herself against the door and still failed to open it.
My lip twitched into another grin as I reached the driver’s side handle and, with some force, wrenched the door open for her.
Wrappers and empty drink cups spilled from the footwell as the witch lurched forward, her hand still gripped around the inside handle.
I’d expected the smell of rotting fast food and stale, sugary drinks to hit my nose, but instead I caught the faint scent of honeysuckle.
My gaze dropped to the crown of her unkempt chestnut hair, my stomach knotting.
Slowly, she tilted her face upwards. The moment her wide, hazel eyes met mine, it felt as though the air had been knocked from my lungs.
She was the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen.
Which was going to make the next few weeks unbearable.
She stared back, just as stunned, frozen amid a sea of road-trip debris, blinking furiously as if she, too, felt stunned by me.
Which she probably did. My incubus magic would have instantly transformed my features into whatever she most desired.
The only people who would see my true form would be those who were not actively searching for a night of pleasure, and my fated mate.
Her perfect mouth parted as though she meant to speak, but no words came.
I couldn’t stop myself from taking her in—the button nose dusted with freckles, the flush in her high cheekbones, the way waves of her chestnut hair tumbled over her shoulders.
“Um, Caitlyn?” I asked, an unfamiliar fluster creeping into my tone.
She blinked again, then nodded and took her first step out of the car. At her full height, she was almost a head shorter than my six-foot stature. Her clothes were bright, clashing in the most perfect way, reminding me of someone from the seventies—much like her car.
Her mouth opened once more, then closed. Her fingers remained locked around the car door with such force that her knuckles were turning white.
“I... you’re... I mean... you’re—” she began, the adorable fluster in her voice causing something to swell in my chest.
“An incubus demon?” I finished for her. “We don’t normally advertise it on our website—stops the weirdos with kinks from hiring us,” I added, a rare awkwardness tugging at my words. “But if you read the small print in the contract, it does mention—”
“—my mate,” she said.