5. The Incubus
As Vashel smoothly darted along narrow roads, Kamryn continued to watch him out the corner of her eye. Everything about his demure screamed relaxed; from his hands that were splayed over the steering wheel in a loose grip to his slumped shoulders. Yet there was something unfamiliar still there, hiding beneath the surface. A darkness that she never realised existed. Even his constant smirk no longer seemed sincere. It was forced, too wide and toothy. There was no emotion behind it.
Kamryn didn't like what she was now discovering. Working as a Tracker meant that she had never got the luxury of looking through rose tinted glasses. She saw how the world was bathed in blood, dirt and sin. But had she been foolishly trusting Vashel? Had she been ignorant in disregarding Max's opinion on him?
A bitter taste filled her mouth and her stomach churned. Doubt was niggling away at her confidence.
She couldn't-wouldn't- accept though that what little she did know of Vashel was a lie. He had been a mentor-like figure, her rock. When everyone else tossed her away, because of Max's crime, Vashel remained there for her. He never judged her and simply treated her the same way he did everyone else. Just because the man liked his privacy, it didn't mean he was a bad person.
So, why was Max so against him?
Ever since Kamryn could remember, her brother had always been wary of Vashel. Whenever they were in the same room, Max would grow tense and take a closer step towards her, protectively. She never understood why. Vashel had always been like an odd, funny cousin to her. He was like family. Even more so than her Grandfather.
"Are you finally spellbound by my incredible, good looks?" joked Vashel.
"What?" Kamryn blinked, finally drawn from her reverie.
"Well, you have been staring at me for the last ten minutes." Vashel smirked. "So, I can only assume that you can't get enough of my devilishly handsome face."
Kamryn rolled her eyes. "Don't flatter yourself. You just happened to be in my line of thought."
The light banter between them washed away any of Kamryn's remaining doubts. This was Vashel Desmarias: easy-going and flirty. She had nothing to worry about. The silence returned, only the gentle thrum of the tires against the road filled the car.
Now calm, Kamryn turned her attention to outside the window. Vashel drove them into the uptown, fancy part of the city. An area occupied by rich businessmen and heiresses. Rows of tall, detached houses crowded them on each side, like identical, imposing soldiers. All of the buildings were a warm red shade, rather than the typical bleak, gravestone grey colour that the cheaper neighbourhoods consisted of, with black slate roofs and some had chimneys, puffing out thick smoke. Each had little steps leading up to their doorway and delicate iron gates. Everything was so perfect here.
The snow had even been ploughed from the roads and paths that the bleakness consuming everywhere else wasn’t present. A slight crack in the dark clouds seemed to be made specifically here, so that glimmers of the remaining afternoon sunlight could shine upon their ridiculously priced homes.
This was a largely human dominated area. The government may have insisted that they accepted every race, but that didn’t mean they wanted them as neighbours. Hypocrites.
So, how the hell was an incubus living here?
Kamryn frowned. “Are you sure you have the right address?”
Vashel parked his car at the pavement of a house with a navy blue door and gold knocker in the shape of a rose. He nodded. “This is definitely it.”
“Ulrich Knox lives here?” She still couldn’t believe it.
“Yes”, snapped Vashel, exasperated.
Accepting it, she got out of the car and walked around to meet Vashel at the door of Ulrich’s house. She grabbed the handle, which was a leaf, on the knocker and banged once. Twice. There was no response. Three times. There was a shuffling of feet and a male voice yelled, “I’m coming!”
Five seconds later the door burst open. A man, maybe in his late twenties or early thirties, opened it; dressed in nothing more than a white, cotton towel around his hips. Kamryn’s eyes widened, as she took in his tightly, corded muscles and washboard abs. She licked her lips, mouth suddenly dry. When God had sculpted this man, he’d definitely been in a good, generous mood. He had coal black hair that was thick and unkempt, yet still appeared stylish. He was pale with a sharp jaw line and long, aristocratic nose. This was definitely Ulrich Knox. Only an incubus looked this good. After all, they needed some way to lure women in to feed their hunger. Plus he reeked of a sweetness that was clinging to his skin. The scent of roses.
|Gage Golightly||as Kamryn Westwick|
|Gabriel Mann||as Vashel Desmarias|
|Kat Dennings||as Juliet Brady|
|Tyler Hoechlin||as Bran|
|Blake Lively||as Cleo Woodville|
|Jane Levy||as Beth Green|
|Matt Barr||as Maxwell 'Max' Westwick|
|Michelle Pfeiffer||as Constance Redgrave|