Page 7 of Oh No! There’s an Incubus in my Hot Spring (Getting Cozy with Demons #1)

seven

Plan ofAttack

C onsciousness grips me briefly. I’m in my bed. Jason has his arm wrapped over my waist and his face tucked into my neck. We don’t cuddle often, but when he does choose to, he’s a great cuddler.

He fucked Alexis.

I jerk out of bed and thrash onto the floor, but it’s not nearly far enough of a fall to be my bed in my apartment.

Where the fuck am I?

“You were crying,” says a voice that sounds familiar.

I rub my eyes and look at the blow-up mattress. An icy gaze meets me on the other side.

Apollo. The hot spring. Right…

“Who is Jason?” he asks.

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “He’s no one.”

Apollo’s eyes glow brighter. “He’ll never be allowed here.”

“Why’s that?” I scoff, fully agreeing with him as I pull myself up.

“Because he makes you feel like less than you are.”

Apollo grabs me and tucks me against his chest. It’s dark and late, or early, so I let him. I’m tired and I just want to sleep.

“He’ll never come here,” I say, nestling my face into the space between my arm and the pillow.

It’s quiet, except for the flapping of the cling film, and I wonder if Apollo has fallen back asleep. Does he sleep? A question for another time. My eyes drift shut and I breathe deeply.

Lips murmur against my hair. “You deserve so much better.”

My alarm screams from somewhere nearby and I push myself up. Brilliant, golden light illuminates the room from the plastic-covered window. Apollo is on my bed.

“Hey, get up!” I demand, and his eyes open immediately, locking on me. “Who said you’re allowed on the bed?” I ask, feeling more like a woman scolding a pet than a demon.

“You were crying,” he says.

I stiffen, remembering the interlude in the middle of the night. How could I have let him get so close to me so fast?

“I’m not going to waste good energy,” he says, rolling out of the bed on the other side.

Right. My tears feed him, too. It’s not about my comfort to him. It’s about his survival, and that’s fair. It’s how I feel, too.

I consider the bread on the counter, the crunchy peanut butter, and the strawberry jam in the cabinets. But I’ve already had two PB&Js.

I want pancakes.

“I’m going into town,” I say, getting off the mattress and deflating it. “Is there anything you need?”

“I only need you,” he says, and my skins heats.

Don’t be stupid. What did you just tell yourself?

I grab a change of clothes and banish Apollo to the hallways. I have no idea if he actually goes. He could just be incorporeal, watching me. So what if he is? He’s not touching me, not hurting me. For fuck’s sake, he’s been more gentlemanly about my boundaries than any other guy I’ve gotten sexual with.

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” I say, slinging my laptop bag over my shoulder. I tuck the powerbank sack under my other arm. I’ll need to charge it up at the diner.

“I’ll count the seconds,” Apollo says, and a little knot of guilt settles in my stomach. He’s been alone for so long…

I turn to him. “Can you use your magic to look different? Like a human?”

“I can.”

“Why don’t you just come with me?”

“I’m bound to the stone, the water, and the wood of this magical place. I can’t leave,” he says, averting his gaze.

“How do you mean?” I ask.

Apollo crosses the room to the front door and opens it. He looks back at me and then begins walking. After a few steps, his form distorts and the space around him ripples. He explodes into mist and drifts away on the wind.

“Apollo?” I yell, running to the door.

There a thud behind me and I yelp, whirling around. Apollo is on his back in the middle of the floor.

He groans, then starfishes and sighs. “Was that example enough?”

My mouth is hanging open. Magic. Right.

“I’m so sorry.” I drop to my knees beside him.

He looks up at me. “It’s no different than my life has been for a long time.”

I slide my fingers over his forehead, moving some of his light hair out of his face. “Doesn’t mean I can’t still be sorry.”

A smile curls the corner of his mouth. “Go into town. I can feel how much it means to you.”

I stand and offer him my hand. He takes it but hardly leans on me as he gains his feet.

“I’ll be back soon, so don’t cool your heels too much. We have a lot of work to do,” I say with mock sternness.

“As my witch commands,” he says with a shallow bow.

I pick up my bags and stride out the door. It’s freezing in the crisp morning air despite the season. Colorado mountains are something else. I get in my car and stare back at the door to the apartment. He’ll be okay without me for a few hours.

The engine of my RAV purrs to life, and I reverse out of the dirt driveway onto the main road. It takes me about fifteen minutes to get back into town, but I find the diner easily.

“Hey there, hon! You didn’t die your first night up at the haunted springs I see,” Irene greets me when I walk in. Her dark hair is tamed by a colorful bandana tied in a cute bow at the back of her neck, and there’s a coffee stain on her blue and white frock.

“I didn’t,” I say. “Looks like you’ve had a morning so far.”

She tugs on the stained patch of her dress. “Did it on my way in. Potholes are crazy in my neck of the woods. You here for those blueberry pancakes?”

My grin can’t be contained. “You bet. Could I get a spot near a wall outlet? Need to power up,” I say, shrugging the bags on either shoulder.

She snatches a menu and a rollup from the host stand. “Right this way.”

Irene drops the menu and the napkin on a cute little table far from the cook window. She dashes off, promising to bring me a coffee and a water before putting in my order. I plug in my powerbank and my laptop, then flip the lid open to get to work.

It’s time to nail down the contractors I emailed last week and tell them the state of things. There are a few window guys in town, two highly rated plumbers, and a handful of general carpenters. I want the red rugs ripped out pronto. Those things are heckin’ nasty.

My first email is from one of the plumbers.

Ms. Azarolla,

My apologies but I will not be able to take your project, or any in the future.

Best of luck,

-Alvin Lopez

My eyes narrow as I read the email again.

Or any in the future.

“That’s weird,” I mumble.

“What is it?” Irene asks as she drops off my coffee.

“Lopez, the plumber, he says he won’t work on my place, ever .”

Irene clucks her tongue. “I’m sorry about that, hon. Lots of people are afraid of that place.”

“Cherry, refill please!” a customer calls across the diner.

She sighs. “Cheer up. I’ll be back with those pancakes soon.”

I give her a pitying smile. “Thanks.”

The next email is from one of the general carpenters.

Ms. Azarolla,

I won’t be able to take your job, or any in the future at the hot spring. Let me know if you get a place in town.

Sorry about that,

P. Durks

I take a scalding sip of my coffee and click over to the next email, from the other plumber…

Ms. Azarolla,

Can’t work on your place. Hope you find someone.

Thanks,

Joe Stevens

What the absolute fuck?

“Finally putting that dump back on the market?” a slick, slimy voice I already know too well asks. Mark Torres slides into the bench across from me with a broad, knowing grin.

I pack up my anger and push it to the back of my mind. “Things are progressing, actually. I think I could be back open in time for winter.”

He laughs, and keeps laughing, for far too long. Everyone in the diner turns to look at us. I school my face, ensuring that none of the “Stab him with your fork” from crazy-girl shows in my expression.

“You are too funny, Syl.” He shortens my name, and my temper goes with it.

Oooh , do I want to stab him with my fork.

He wipes his eyes with my napkin. “You should host an amateur comedy show at the springs. It would be a better use of the space.”

I lean forward. “I’m sorry, are we in middle school again? What is this behavior?”

“I was trying to be nice.” His expression goes flat. “You want the gloves off, I’ll take ’em off.”

I scoff. “Please, Mark, I don’t even want to fight. I just want to get this business back up and running.”

And free a certain incubus trapped in it.

“There are more than enough clients in the state of Colorado for us both, and people will come from out of town, too,” I say, trying to make him see reason. “The competition will be good for us.”

“I don’t want competition,” he says with a snarl as he leans over the table.

I steel myself. “Well, that’s too bad. You’ve got it.”

“Don’t bother reading the rest of your emails. They all say the same thing.” He snaps my laptop shut.

Stab his hand with the fork! STAB HIM!

I jump up from my seat with pure fury humming in my veins. Crazy-girl is about two seconds from pouncing. Irene lingers in my peripheral vision with a plate of blueberry pancakes and a stricken expression.

Hold on for the pancakes, Sylvia. If you go to jail for stabbing him, there will be no pancakes.

“I didn’t invite you to sit with me. Leave,” I say, pointing him away from my table.

He stands with a haughty smile, smoothing out his Patagonia vest over a black turtleneck. “Be seeing you.”

“I hope not,” I say to his retreating form.

He glances over his shoulder with a sneer like he’s won.

Irene approaches the table. “You’re gonna go toe to toe with him then, huh?”

“If I must,” I say, taking my seat and moving my laptop over.

She sets the pancakes in front of me, and I salivate at the scent of fluffy batter, gooey berries, and hot butter melting off the side.

“There’ve been a few other people over the years trying to fix that place. I’ll warn you, he’s always run them out of town before they even have a chance.”

“If this is his best, I’ll be fine,” I say, picking up my napkin and ripping off the corner Mark used to wipe his stupid eyes.

Irene shakes her head. “He hasn’t even gotten started. Trust me. I was on the inside when he ruined the last guy who came to fix it up. He was staying at a hotel nearby, and…”

“And what?”

She sits across from me and leans in. “And he left in a body bag.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

Irene nods gravely. “The official story is that he slipped off the top deck of the springs and broke his neck, and I mean it’s possible—that place is haunted AF—but it smelled really fishy to a lot of us.”

My mind replays my meeting with Apollo. If I’d been standing at the edge of the railing, could I have fallen?

“What about the people before him?” I ask.

“Well, Mark’s mother was in charge before that, and she made damn sure to scare everyone off before they even had a chance to look at the place.”

“Cherry!” The bell at the cook window dings loudly three times in annoyance.

“Thanks for the info, friend. Also, how the hell does Mark keep finding me here?” I ask.

She stands with a shrug. “I wouldn’t put it past the guy to have cameras on every street corner. He’s obsessive about this town. Like it’s his. ”

I grimace. “Perfect…”

“See ya later,” Irene says with a wave, then runs to collect the order.

I open my laptop and scroll through my emails. All of them are refusals to work with me.

Un-fucking-believable.

I cut into my blueberry pancake and swirl it in the syrupy reduction that’s been poured around the plate. The first bite I get the crispy edge and the sweet juice from the blueberries. It’s delicious, more than enough to make me want to stay in this town for a good stretch of time.

But if I’m going to stay in this town, I’m going to have to survive Mark Torres.

No, not just survive. I want to win.

This asshole wants a war, I’ll give him a war.

And I’m going to cheat.