Page 33 of Incubus with Benefits
Lily
Istaredatthelast message I’d gotten from Julian.
How about tomorrow?
I really wanted to reply and tell him yes, I’d love to go with him. But part of me worried I was already in too deep with the incubus. I’d spent all of one weekend, albeit a long, emotionally charged, and physically addictive one, with him, and I alreadyfelt like I was falling hard. And I had a feeling my landing wouldn’t be as graceful or as fun as the ride up.
I’d honestly thought I could handle a friends-with-benefits type situation. My brain had been very clear on the rules: Julian was not the relationship type. He was the kind of man you kissed in the dark and forgot in the daylight. But it seemed my heart and body hadn’t quite gotten the memo.
Also, I was currently income-less, and the restaurant he’d suggested we try looked expensive as fuck. I was sure that if I used money as an excuse, he’d just offer to pay for me. And it wasn’t like I could let him do that, because that was getting suspiciously close to dating territory.
I had to be careful. Besides, I had to figure out what I planned to do with my actual life first. Money and survival came first. Then I could worry about playing dangerous, possibly heartbreaking games with a sexy incubus.
So I’d left him on read since yesterday, feeling a little bit like an ass, and a whole lot like a coward about it. Ugh, the guilt was real.
And the thing was, this wasn’t like me at all. I might be hesitant to realize my full potential when it comes to things like magic, but when it came to men and dating, I’d never been the type to hem and haw about whether I should accept a date or not. Before all this, I ran on the premise that if it wasn’t a hell yes, then it was a hard no.
So why was I so freaking confused over Julian?
I looked at the message again. It hadn’t even been the reason why I’d taken out my phone. I was supposed to be checking the time. It was ten minutes to noon, and if my sources were correct, I needed to be somewhere very soon. But instead, I was sitting here, staring at a text.
I was in a generic chain coffee shop just down the street from The Breach site. I made the cardinal mistake of ordering a coffee at first, and it had been so bad that I’d gone back and asked for a plain black tea. Gigi had seriously spoiled me for good coffee. The cake pop wasn’t much better. I took one last swig of my tea, left the cake pop half-eaten and stood. Then, clipboard in hand, I made my way out of the coffee shop and toward the roundabout, stopping outside one of the buildings with a direct line of sight to the front door.
The building itself was new too, but I couldn’t help but notice that the siding was already starting to weather, like it had been there for a while. It looked like the shack had been built from a blueprint labeled “utility shed” with no thought for aesthetics. There wasn’t even a sign denoting what it was for. The only thing going for it was that it wasn’t all concrete.
If I hadn’t helped confine the portal inside that building, I would’ve never guessed that a bloodthirsty, man-eating portal was locked inside. It looked like something you’d pass on your way to work without a second glance.
But if you did stop and look, you’d realize that the door, reinforced steel and painted a dull gray, was marked with a containment sigil so faint it would be invisible to anyone without magical sight. The narrow slit-like windows were frosted over with layered wards that pulsed faintly if you stared too long.
How many places like this existed in the world? Quiet, unassuming buildings hiding horrors inside. How many people walked past them every day, completely unaware?
At noon on the nose, the door to the containment shack creaked open. I expected the researcher they’d sent from Rome, the nerdy one with the pocket protector and the glasses, but to my surprise, a young woman with a Darlington University hoodie stepped out. Nerdy Rome Guy shuffled out behind her, looking like he’d just swallowed a lemon.
“Why can’t I eat inside?” she asked, waving her lunch bag in his face.
“You’re not even supposed to be here,” he snapped.
“Yes, I am. The university sent me. Didn’t you get the email? I need my work-study hours.”
“They did and I told them no. They sent you anyway.”
“It’s part of the deal. You get to do your fancy research. I get my hours. You get free labor. I’m supposed to be here.”
Judging by his expression, he thought she was here to sabotage his life's work.
“Just let me eat inside. I won’t touch anything.”
“No one goes in without me. EA rules. Don’t like it? Complain to them.”
They crossed the street toward me, and I busied myself, clipboard in hand, pretending to concentrate on the plants and grasses—mostly non-native weeds—that had already begun creeping into the disturbed soil around the roundabout. Construction had only wrapped up a few weeks ago, but nature didn’t wait for permits. Crabgrass, thistle, and a stubborn patch of knotweed had claimed the edges, like squatters thriving in the chaos.
They passed me without a glance.
“Why are you following me?” he huffed.
“I’ve got nowhere else to go.”
“Well, outside food’s banned where I’m headed. Find a park bench or something.”
