Chapter 8
Julian
I was mid-set in my home gym, muscles burning in that satisfying way that reminded me I was still alive after so many centuries, when the scream hit.
Sharp. Female. Panicked. My weights hit the mat with a thud as I bolted toward the sound. My apartment wasn’t huge, but the layout meant I had to cross the living room to reach the dining area. The moment I turned the corner, I saw flames dancing across the edge of my antique table.
Lily stood frozen, her hands glowing faintly, eyes wide with horror.
I reacted before I could think, reaching for the fire to smother it with my soulstuff. Fire had never been a problem for me, even though I wasn’t a fire demon. Heat and flame might sting, but they never damaged me like they did real skin and bones.
“No! Don’t touch it!” Lily exclaimed, eyes wide. “It’s magical.”
But it was already too late. I jerked back, hissing as the part of me that I’d used to smother the flames sizzled, giving off the unforgettable smell of brimstone.
“Fuck!” I roared. Magical fire. But of course it was magical fire.
I blinked over to the kitchen, grabbed the fire extinguisher from under the counter, and blasted the flames until they hissed like a pissed-off cat. When the fire finally died, there was foam and smoke everywhere.
“Glad I kept this around,” I muttered, setting the extinguisher down.
I turned to her once the last hiss of foam settled, smoke hanging in the air between us. Lily stood there, stiff, her hands trembling just enough to make my chest tighten.
“You okay?” I asked, voice low.
She nodded, but I saw her hesitation and the way her aura dulled.
She was not okay. I stepped closer, reaching out instinctively.
My fingers brushed her arm, then her shoulder, checking for burns or other injuries.
Her skin was warm and her aura flickered like a candle, brightening everywhere I touched.
She tried to wiggle away.
“Hold still,” I murmured, letting my hands move gently over her forearms, her wrists, the curve of her neck. Magical fire was unpredictable.
She watched me with those sharp but tired eyes, like she wasn’t sure whether to thank me or yell at me for fussing over her.
“You’re not hurt,” I said finally. “But you’re drained.”
She waved me off, eyes wide with guilt. “Forget about me. I ruined your table! I’m so sorry. This thing looks expensive and old. Like, museum-old.”
I glanced down at the scorched wood. The fire hadn’t done much damage, just peeled away part of the varnish and left a circular burn mark where her singed bracelet had been sitting. I brushed my fingers over the edge.
“It’s from a speakeasy during Prohibition,” I said, voice low and calm. “Don’t worry. I’ll get it restored. It’s not the first time it’s seen fire. Every mark is just another story etched into the grain.”
The sprinkler system chose that exact moment to kick in, dousing us both in a freezing spray.
Lily shrieked, arms flailing, and I immediately formed a dome of soulstuff over her head. The water bounced off, but not before the first spray soaked her hair; the pink strands hung limp around her face, making her look even more tired.
“Your whole apartment!” she gasped.
“Just the dining room,” I muttered, already sending a tendril of my soulstuff down through the floor. Then I made just the tip of it solid, and twisted the main valve shut. The water stopped with a groan and a final splatter.
The damage wasn’t bad. A few soaked rugs, a puddle or two, and one very offended table. Nothing a stack of heavy-duty towels, an industrial fan, and a few days of open windows couldn’t fix.
I turned to her, offering her a smile. “Come on, let’s clean this mess up. Then you can tell me what the hell happened.”
We worked in silence for a few minutes. I tossed soaked towels into a pile while Lily gathered the remnants of her spell: charred herbs, cracked crystals, melted candles, and one bracelet that looked like it had been through a magical blender.
She crouched beside the table, inspecting the damage with a sigh. “It was supposed to be a protection charm,” she said finally. “A shield. Against physical and magical attacks.”
I glanced over. “Doesn’t look very protective.”
She shot me a glare, then softened. “It’s not the charm’s fault.
It’s mine. I don’t have a lot of raw magic, so to make something strong, I have to channel what I do have slowly.
Really slowly. Like sloth speed. That’s how less powerful witches like me build charms and talismans that are stronger than we are: layer by layer, little by little.
It’s kind of like saving it all so we can use it in one go. But everything’s been off today.”
She gestured to the pile of failed attempts. “It’s not the first one that blew up in my face.”
I moved closer, watching her aura flicker like a candle on its last breath. “Could be that spell from last night still messing with your magic.”
She rubbed her temples. “I think you’re right. I thought I’d shaken it off, but maybe not. I feel... stretched thin. Like I’ve been casting nonstop for days.”
“You look it,” I said.
“Thanks,” she said wryly.
“You need to recharge.”
Her eyes narrowed, sharp and suspicious. “Recharge? You mean with you?”
“I didn’t say that.” I’d meant it though.
“But you implied it,” she said, arms crossing, chin lifting. “I’m not that type of witch.”
I let a slow smile curl across my lips. “Didn’t say you were. And I know you’re not one of the groupies. Friends remember?”
She crunched her nose in that adorable way she did, then sighed. “But I guess I could recharge that way if I wanted to.”
I laughed. “You’re making it sound like a chore. I promise, with me, it wouldn’t be a chore at all.”
She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “You’re awfully confident.”
I stepped closer, letting the heat between us rise like steam off my scorched table. “Confidence is easy when you know what you’re offering. I am an incubus, in case you forgot. We don’t just take, we’re very good at giving.”
Her breath hitched, just enough to make me wonder if she felt the pull too.
Her magic sparked against me like flint to steel.
I reached out, brushing a damp strand of hair from her cheek, fingers lingering longer than necessary.
She leaned into my hand, her eyes closed, and I could already feel her drawing from me, and me from her, even with that little bit of contact.
I guided her toward the couch, my hand settling on the small of her back.
She looked at me, eyes dark and steady. “I’m not that type of witch,” she repeated, softer this time. “But maybe I can do with a little test drive. But we’re still just friends. You start treating me like one of your fangirls, and we’re going to have a problem.”
“I wouldn’t dare. Friends.” I grinned. “With benefits.”
She nodded. “Then yes.”