Page 4 of Knox
The man hesitated for a moment, then grasped Adrian’s hand, his grip surprisingly strong despite his apparent disorientation. Adrian felt a jolt run up his arm, a strange tingling sensation.
"Thank you." The Knox look-alike leaned heavily against him for a moment, his gaze meeting Adrian’s in a way that made his heart pound. The warmth that radiated from him seemed to burn through Adrian’s shirt, setting his skin alight. He quickly withdrew his hand, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
Shit, what was wrong with him?
And more importantly, what was happening here?
Evelyn, oblivious to Adrian’s distress, bustled about, gathering blankets and ushering them both out of the rain-soaked room.
"Come along, young man," she said. "Let’s get you settled in the living room. A cup of my special chamomile tea will fix you right up."
As they left the room, Adrian cast a final glance at the poster of Knox staring back at him from the wall. The resemblance was undeniable.
He was starting to think chamomile tea wouldn’t be nearly enough to deal with the storm that had just crashed into his life.
Chapter
Two
When Knox had set out to set the Shadow King straight, he’d been prepared to jump into battle if necessary. He’d been prepared to find himself amidst the opulent ruins of the Shadow Court, the air thick with the scent of blood and ozone, the ground trembling beneath the weight of a thousand battling shadows. He’d been prepared for a fight—an epic clash with the Shadow King, a duel that would determine the fate of their world.
But what he saw instead was… beige.
Beige walls, beige carpet, a beige sofa—which he was sitting on—with faded floral cushions that looked like they’d last seen battle in a war against good taste.
His head throbbed with a dull ache. He vaguely remembered a blinding flash of light, a sense of falling, a taste of something metallic and bitter on his tongue… and then… this.
He tried to summon his powers, to conjure a whisper of shadow or a spark of illusion, but nothing responded. His magic felt distant, muted, as if a thick fog had settled over his senses. It wasunsettling, like a phantom limb aching for a connection that was no longer there.
What had happened to his magic?
Had his journey drained him?
"What in the hells…" he muttered.
"Here, have some tea."
Knox looked up to study the old woman offering him a mug with steaming liquid. Though his senses were dulled, he could tell that she was human. Not a spark of magic in her. The other human in the room was different. He was perched on the edge of an armchair, his posture stiff, his gaze fixed on Knox with an intensity that felt like a physical touch. The human’s energy was muted, like the world around him, but beneath the surface, Knox sensed a raw, pulsing vulnerability, like an exposed nerve.
Emotional wounds, his incubus instincts whispered,easy to exploit.
The thought sent a jolt of both revulsion and a terrifyingly familiar hunger through him. He was an incubus. It was in his nature to find weakness in his opponents, to turn every one of their most secret desires into weapons to be used against them.
He’d spent decades doing just that, and then he’d spent another decadetryingto be better than his instincts.
And now this human spoke to the monster in him that only wanted to feed.
Knox refused to fall into old patterns.
He tore his gaze from the human and focused on the old woman, forcing a semblance of composure. "Thank you," he said, accepting the mug with a nod.
"Are you feeling alright, dear?" the old woman asked. "That was quite a fall you took."
"A fall?" Knox echoed, taking a sip of the surprisingly soothing liquid. It tasted of herbs and something faintly sweet. He recalled the sense of falling, but not what had actually happened.
"You came crashing through the skylight, young man," the old woman said. "Scared the living daylights out of both of us."
The other human spoke, his voice sharp. "Who are you? Where did you come from? And what in the hell were you doing on our roof?"
