Galen

“Fuck!” I yell as Reese crumples to the floor.

That was not the reaction I expected from her. As I scoop her up and cradle her in my arms, I notice her labored breathing, waxy complexion, and clammy skin. She’s unwell. How could I have missed that?

“Reese? Reese, wake up.”

I shake her, trying to bring her around, but nothing works. What the bloody hell is happening to her? I tune in to the sound of her heart beating and heave a sigh of relief that it at least sounds strong. Her lashes flutter until she stares at me, dazed and unfocused.

“What happened?” she asks, her speech slow and deliberate, like someone who has had too much to drink and is trying to sound sober.

“You passed out on me.”

She rests her head on my chest and squeezes her eyes shut. Her face is still pale, and she clenches her teeth and breathes through her nose.

“Are you going to be sick?”

She shakes her head, refusing to open her mouth.

“I’m taking you home. You’re clearly ill.”

“No. Galen, I need to work. I can’t just leave without notice.”

With a soft curse, I attempt to set her down, but as soon as I stop supporting her weight, her knees buckle, and she’s in my arms once again. “That’s settled, then. You’re coming home with me until you feel better.”

“I’ll be fine,” she argues.

“No. You can’t even walk. You’re coming home with me. You can argue all you want, but I’m not taking no for an answer.”

She huffs, annoyed, but allows me to help her dress before I pick her up and carry her outside to my waiting car. By the time we pull out of the parking lot, she’s fallen into a fitful sleep.

She’s feverish. I can feel the heat radiating off her as I carry her to my bed. Even still, I want her. What is wrong with me? Soft moans come from her as she tosses and turns between my sheets. Her cheeks are red, and I can see beads of sweat on her forehead. Knowing she needs rest, I turn off the light and move away, planning to leave.

“Galen,” she murmurs, a frown marring her brow. “Don’t leave me. I need you.”

My heart gives a hard thud against my rib cage as I return to her and lean in, stroking her hair and trying to soothe her the only way I know how. “I’m here, a ghra.”

I hum softly the lullaby my ma used to sing to me when I was ill. I’ve long since forgotten the words, but the melody has stuck with me all these years. The line between her eyebrows softens as she relaxes and the frown leaves her lips. When I’m satisfied she’s fallen into a deep slumber, I carefully leave the room, heading down the stairs in search of my phone. Someone will need to be here during the day to care for her.

The click of the front door opening has me on alert, until I recognize the familiar scent of Devin.

“You’ve brought that woman back,” Devin observes. He doesn’t look pleased as he sizes me up. “You smell of her.”

“I’m glad you’re here. She’s ill, and I need to find someone to care for her during daylight. Do you still have that waitress under your thrall?”

He chuckles and shakes his head as he settles on my couch, resting his boots on the polished wood coffee table. “No. I did away with her years ago. She outlived her usefulness.”

Running a hand through my hair, I pace like a caged animal. I can’t leave Reese here alone to fend for herself. She’ll be out the door and working herself to death before the sun sets.

“Galen, you don’t just smell of her. You smell of sex. Have you fucked her?” Devin seems curiously neutral.

“I have. I don’t understand how or why, but I can’t control the need to be with her. It’s like nothing I’ve ever known.” The wonder in my voice is hard to disguise.

“Damn,” he bites out under his breath.

“What’s that?”

“You said she’s sick?” I nod in response, and he continues. “How long after you were together did she start feeling ill?”

“Well, after this last time, she passed out almost immediately.”

“Damn,” he says again, turning to me apologetically. “Galen, you’ve got to let her go. You’re killing her.”

My heart turns to stone in my chest. “What the bloody hell are you talking about? I haven’t fed from her. I haven’t even wanted to.”

“You are feeding. Every time you fuck her, you drain her life force.” He stands to his full height, almost as tall as me, and flicks his ice-blue gaze toward the stairs.

“What? But, I’ve never been able to do this before.”

“Have you heard the stories of the fallen angels? They’re sometimes called Watchers.” I shake my head, gesturing for him to go on. “The story goes that Watchers are angels who fell from Heaven because they sinned, lusting after human women. Instead of descending to Hell, they stayed on earth, taking wives and having children with them. As time went on, the fallen needed new bodies and found more successful unions in the bodies of immortals: vampires. These creatures are also known as the incubus. There are only a few hundred in the world. Most fallen have driven out the human part of the vampire, feeding solely on blood just like us, but some stay hidden deep inside their host until something triggers them. Those that share a body have to feed on lust as well as blood.”

Incubus. All I can picture is a monster that rapes women in the night. I have an idea of where this is going, and I don’t like it.

“You’re an incubus, Galen, but up until now the Watcher inside you has stayed dormant. Your woman must have woken it.”

“I’m not an incubus.”

“You are. I’ve suspected it for several years now. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I should have when you first told me about her. You have to stay away from her. Repeated encounters with an incubus end in one of three ways. Severe physical and mental deterioration, death, or pregnancy. The Watcher in you sensed something special about her. It won’t stop trying to beget a child with her as the mother.”

Beget? Suddenly everything has become dire and overtly biblical. I’ve always been a believer, even more so after becoming a vampire, but fallen angels? For some reason, that’s harder to swallow.

“You care for this woman?”

“Reese,” I say.

“Reese. Clearly, she’s more to you than just prey. If you don’t want to see her dead or her life altered drastically, you have to stay away from her.”

The idea of never seeing Reese again, never feeling her skin on mine or tasting her as she comes on my tongue, enrages me. I just found her.

“Let me take her. I’ll watch over her until she’s recovered.” Devin moves to the stairs and starts up them. Suddenly overcome with the urge to protect what is mine, I lunge at him, a vicious snarl rising from my throat. No one is taking her from me.

“Keep your hands off her. She’s mine.”

He darts away from me, blurring out of sight. A burning pain shoots up my arm as he seizes me by the wrist and twists my elbow at an unnatural angle behind my back.

“This is what I’m talking about. How long have you known her? A week, maybe more? This isn’t you talking, Galen. It’s the Watcher.”

He releases me, and I sit on the stairs, resting my head in my hands. I tug at my hair, trying to distract from the all-consuming need to be with her. He’s right. This isn’t me.

“I don’t think I can give her up,” I admit. I’m not strong enough, and I don’t know how much of my need is the Watcher’s influence and how much is my connection to her.

He shakes his head. “If you don’t, you’re risking her life. She won’t be safe unless you cast out the Watcher.”

“Fine. How do I do that?”

He shrugs. “No clue.”

* * *

Reese

Soft nudges on my forehead pull me from my dreams. I blink a few times and see that I’m in my bed, my room, with Mochi, my cat, head-butting me. Frowning, I try to recall how I got here. The last thing I remember is being at work, and Galen fucking me against the wall in the green room. Oh God. I had sex with a man who is practically a stranger—for the second time—at work.

A knock on the door has me sitting up and pulling my comforter tight around my body.

“Reese? You awake?” Trisha peeks in, a plate in one hand.

“Yeah, come on in.”

She sits on the side of my bed, concern evident in her posture. “How are you feeling?”

I roll my head from side to side, stretch, assess. I feel fine—great, even. “Good. Really good, actually.”

“Yeah?” She grins. “You looked like absolute shit when that guy brought you home on Saturday night.”

“You mean, yesterday?”

“No, hon. It’s Tuesday. You’ve been in and out for two days straight. I thought I was going to have to take you to the hospital.”

My stomach drops. Tuesday? I lost two days. “Did Galen drop me off?”

She shrugs. “I didn’t get his name. He didn’t look like the guy from the bar, if that’s who you mean.”

Anger burns in my chest. He passed me off to a stranger. He didn’t even make sure I got home.

Trisha shoves the plate of toast in my face. “Here. You need to eat something.”

Wrinkling my nose, I try to push the food away, but she’s insistent. After I take a few obligatory bites, she leaves me to my breakfast. Once I’m certain the toast is going to stay down, I stand, expecting to be overcome by the fatigue that comes with severe illness. Instead, I’m energized. I could run a 5k, no problem. Maybe I will. Lord knows I need something to distract me from thoughts of Galen and the fact that he didn’t even care enough about me to take me home himself.

My phone chimes from my nightstand, making my heart jump into my throat. I want so badly for it to be Galen, but he doesn’t have my number. Wincing, I open the message from Barnes.

Hope you’re feeling better. Take as much time as you need.

My eyebrows rise. That’s a very uncharacteristically kind message from my boss. Usually he’s more of a you’d better be dying kind of manager. Had I really been that sick?

As I scroll through the messages I’ve accumulated over the last few days, I see three in a row from an unknown number. My breath catches when I read the words.

I can’t stop thinking about the taste of your pussy.

I can’t stop feeling your heat on my cock.

I can’t stop wanting you.

Heat rushes over my entire body. Galen’s velvet-smooth voice rings in my ears and sends chills up my spine.

I type a short response and hit Send, but the message fails. I try again. It won’t go through.

Frowning, I try to call him. The call fails as well.

“Argh,” I grumble. It’s unfair that he can message me, but I have no way of contacting him.

Another text comes through, and I bite back a groan when I see it’s a picture. For a second, I’m terrified he’s sent me a dick pic, then I’m curious. When I open the message, I let out a soft gasp. It’s my mouth, lips slightly parted. I can make out his pillowcase.

I want your mouth on me.

Frustrated that I can’t respond, I toss my phone on my bed and strip off my clothes. I need a shower and some quality time with my vibrator. No. I just need Galen.

The water is soothing as it hits my skin, and for a moment, I think I can push Galen’s texts out of my mind. Nope. Not even close. I keep picturing all the things he said. But most of all, I can’t move past the visual of his last message. I want my mouth on him too. As I wash my hair, the suds run down my body, tickling my oversensitized skin. Eyes closed, I pretend my hands are his, using a feather-light touch to caress my breasts, circling my nipples until they’re hard peaks. My fingers slide down my belly until they find my slick folds, moving over the tender flesh.

“Galen,” I whisper, visualizing him as he entered me for the first time. His gaze had held wonder, as if he couldn’t believe what was happening as he’d moved inside me.

I fantasize that he’s here with me, his hands roaming my body while his hard length presses against my ass. I can feel his lips trailing kisses along my neck, over my shoulder, adding sharp nips here and there. He presses his hand against my clit and moves up and down as I reach behind me to grasp his cock. I can hear his hiss of pleasure as I stroke the head, feel the pulse of his arousal.

“I want your mouth on me, a ghra,” he says, his voice a thick rasp.

I turn and drop to my knees, the water cascading over us both, running in rivulets over his toned torso. Without any added ceremony, I take his cock in my mouth, and he cries out in a language I don’t understand. The sound of his pleasure sends a jolt straight to my core, making me moan around him. Threading his fingers in my hair, he pushes my head farther down on him, moving slightly as I work him. My own fingers trail down my body to work my clit, bringing me to the edge of orgasm.

A harsh knock on the bathroom door jolts me from my fantasy, denying me my release and leaving me frustrated.

“You okay in there?” Trisha calls.

Clearing my throat, I turn off the water and step out of the shower. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Okay, just making sure you weren’t dead.”

I huff out a frustrated breath. Not dead, but definitely not satisfied. My phone chimes from the counter, and a thrill runs through me when I see I missed a text from him while I was in the shower.

Do you think of me when you touch yourself? I was thinking of you.

I blush uncontrollably, my cheeks burning and my unsatisfied arousal roaring back to life. I wish I could text him back, call him, hear his voice.

Damn Trisha for interrupting me.