Playing with Fire: A Magical Romantic Comedy (with a body count)

by RJ Blain

  He slid his hand beneath the material and ran his fingertips along the curve of my spine, helping me remove my shirt. The instant it was over my head, I shucked the fabric off my arms, dipped my hand into my bra, and pulled out the vial and baggie of pills.

  I should have known the incubus would undo the clasp of my bra. Crap, crap, crap. In my panic, I tore into the plastic bag, and popped all the pills I grabbed at once. While I choked them down, I ripped off the red wax sealing the vial, flipped off the cap with my thumb, and showered the entire contents over me and the incubus.

  I only needed a little.

  Crap, crap, crap.

  While I’d taken transformative pills of all grades, I’d never taken more than one at a time. The incubus’s lust blasted through me and waged a brutal, messy war with my body’s need to change shapes.

  The pills won. Their magic tore through me and began the transformation process moments after I swallowed them. I screamed as all my bones shattered at the same time. A convulsion ripped through me, and my body contorted as my limbs lengthened and combusted into living flame.

  I burned, and the musty bedding ignited.

  While I cursed and thrashed in the throes of shapeshifting, the incubus moaned, a sound of pure lust and need. Panic seized me, and before my body finished changing shape, I surged to my hooves.

  I belonged to Quinn. Quinn belonged to me. I wouldn’t allow a smoldering, moaning incubus to take him from me. The creature tempted me; he could stoke my flames higher and bring pleasure and release.

  I bolted across the warehouse, lowered my head, and charged the steel door. Either I’d bust out or I’d break my neck, but I wouldn’t fall to the incubus. I belonged to Quinn until my last breath.

  Right before impact, I closed my eyes. Thwack.

  The door won.

  Ouch.

  Not only had the door won, my horn slid into the metal until my forehead slammed into the steel. My hindquarters dipped, and my hind hooves cracked into the door. Somehow, I didn’t break my neck although I wasn’t convinced I hadn’t cracked my skull open.

  Ouch, ouch, ouch.

  My neck and spine throbbed from my introduction to the door. With a shudder, I unsheathed my claws and situated my hooves beneath me. Once upright, I pulled.

  My horn refused to budge. The hinges groaned, and metal shrieked. Step by step, I backed up. Instead of pulling free, I popped the door off its hinges and out of its frame. I flattened my ears and snorted my displeasure at my unwanted adornment.

  How the hell was I supposed to escape the warehouse with a door stuck to my head?

  Behind me, the incubus moaned, spreading lust through me, my body demanding I surrender to him. I needed him, my desire so strong I ached.

  No, no, no. I would not give myself to a high incubus whose name wasn’t ‘Quinn.’ I wouldn’t give myself to the incubus, no matter much pleasure he offered. Crap. Not a good thought, not a good thought at all. I needed out before I discovered how an incubus made love to a unicorn. It probably involved shapeshifting and becoming the world’s sexiest stallion.

  I turned my furry ass around, used the door as a shield, and backed through the doorway.

  Clang.

  Crap.

  Of course I’d get the door stuck in its frame. At least I had a nice metal barrier keeping the incubus from touching me. If he touched me, I’d lose. If the bracelet didn’t work, I’d be in a lot of trouble.

  “Come to me, beloved harem queen,” he purred, and my lust and desire intensified.

  “In-cu-bus go play with miss-tress. Miss-tress. Miss-tress wants you. Bad. Wants you bad.”

  I wanted him bad. It took every tattered bit of my willpower to keep from whimpering or moaning. I burned, and the stench of heating metal filled my nose. I tried to step back, but the door remained lodged in its frame and stuck to my horn. Jerking my head back shifted my improvised shield.

  “Come to me. I’ll enjoy you first, then I’ll enjoy you both together. You’ll enjoy it, I promise.”

  Not good. Not good at all—or really good, if I wanted a wild fling with a walking, talking sex machine.

  I only needed one man: Quinn. Quinn, Quinn, Quinn. Married-to-me, heaven and hell rolled together in one delicious package Quinn. I snorted, and flame blossomed over the door.

  “Why do you deny yourself? You know you want me.” The sound of the incubus’s voice drew closer.

  I did. I wanted him so much it hurt. I also wanted to bash his face in with the door lodged on my horn. I gathered my muscles, gave in to the need to get closer to him, and lunged forward, claws unsheathed so I could shove the door across the warehouse’s concrete floor.

  I hit the incubus at full speed, and the impact knocked me off my hooves and dislodged the door from my horn. I fell in a tangle of arms, legs, and incubus wings; his tail slithered over my fur and ignited lust deep within.

  A squeal burst out of me. Oh God, I needed more. Not fair. Not fair at all.

  My body demanded I stay while the rest of me flailed in incoherent panic. If I didn’t get out of the building, I’d end up rubbing all over the wrong man. Incubus. Whatever.

  I stabbed him with my horn, mauled him with my claws, and turned his moans into screams. His hold on me weakened enough I could get to my hooves and bolt for the door. I kicked my hind hooves and flashed my claws at him in warning of what I’d do if he tried to impede my escape.

  Running like a bat out of hell, I hit the asphalt outside so fast my claws sparked and embers flew from my fur. I surged across the empty parking lot towards the road.

  Quinn, Quinn, Quinn.

  I chanted his name to keep from turning around and begging the incubus to forgive me for clawing him and kicking him and stabbing him before pleading for him to take me on the warehouse floor to make up for my violence.

  If I’d been paying a little more attention to where I was running rather than fantasizing about throwing myself on the nearest male, preferably Quinn, I wouldn’t have collided with a transport. I bounced off its grill, got tossed like I weighed nothing, and smacked to the sidewalk on my side. I rolled, tucking my hooves close to my body so I wouldn’t break a leg. Gouts of flame flared from my coat. The concrete sizzled and melted beneath me.

  Lesson learned: getting sideswiped by a transport cured incubus-inspired lust. It also hurt like hell. The transport’s brakes squealed.

  Great. Now the truck driver would end up having the night of their life. I staggered to my hooves. Maybe they’d leave before the incubus recovered. I doubted it. Shaking out my coat, I limped away from the warehouse and the road. I’d already avoided one sexy incubus bullet, and I wanted to get the hell out of Dodge while I still could.

  “Sor-ree, truck dri-ver. Have fun. Please. Much fun, long time.”

  No court would convict me, right? Well, at least not for running away from the sex-crazed incubus. Fleeing the site of an accident would get me into trouble. So would pouring an entire vial of the best pixie dust in the world on an incubus.

  The truck driver would get a hit of the pixie dust the instant the incubus went on the hunt for a partner and discovered them near the warehouse. They wouldn’t be responsible, nor would they have to spend a fortune on the high. They would also have one hell of a story to tell later.

  Maybe Mary had been right all along. Looking on the bright side helped.

  The incubus’s influence returned after I staggered away from the transport, and it took two long, dark blocks of abandoned warehouses for it to fade away. I spent at least an hour shivering in an alley before the heat of my lust ebbed enough I was willing to face anyone of any species.

  Most women and men would consider me crazy, especially since unexpected dalliances with an incubus or succubus didn’t count as cheating. Maybe Sylvester’s magical ball and chain had helped me get away. I’d probably never know.

  All that mattered was I had gotten away without rubbing all over the incubus. I even felt a little guilt over hitting him with a d
oor, slicing into him with my claws, and stabbing him with my horn. It wasn’t his fault I happened to have pixie dust tucked in my cleavage. It wasn’t his fault Audrey hadn’t been smart enough to search me for potential weapons.

  The temperature dropped. My shivers strengthened to full-body shaking. I shifted my weight from hoof to hoof in an effort to warm myself. The cold air bit my nose, and the musky stench of live gorgons tainted the wind. Audrey’s mention of sisters worried me. If they had a full hive of three to seven females, their smell would permeate the air within a mile of their lair.

  An abandoned warehouse district was a sensible site for their home. The neighbors wouldn’t complain, and they’d have all the space they needed for raising their whelps without accidentally petrifying someone. I doubted they had a male, needing to rely on an incubus—and me—for their breeding purposes. I shuddered.

  One determined female could spawn enough whelps to establish a full clan—if she had a male of the right species. What would tossing an incubus into the mix do? I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. No, I knew I didn’t want to know.

  I wanted to go home.

  If I was lucky, Audrey would find a willing surrogate. Then she and her sisters could keep their pet incubus busy for months to come. I wondered how she had managed to avoid petrifying him. Was she simply that weak, or was there something else to it?

  Quinn’s cousin had left chaos in his wake in the bar, and from what I gathered, he hadn’t been involved with the incubus in the first place but was merely another victim of lust.

  Screw it. I’d worry about it later. I needed to find somewhere warm and cozy to take a nap. After a nap, I’d deal with my gorgon problem. Warm places to sleep made everything better. I trudged out of the alley, my legs quivering beneath me. Sirens wailed in the distance and drew closer. I pricked my ears forward.

  Sirens meant vehicles. Vehicles meant engines and cops. Cops meant jail. Car engines were warm, and so were jails.

  Score.

  I followed the sounds. The flash of red and blue lights splashing onto the empty warehouses led me back to the transport. Four cruisers surrounded the vehicle I’d crashed into. I could smell the heat and gasoline, and with a happy purr, I rubbed against the nearest car in my effort to steal its warmth. I was vaguely aware of cops gaping at me. They weren’t from the NYPD, and disappointment surged through me. Their uniforms weren’t quite right, and a quick glance confirmed the cars weren’t the right model and design, either.

  The engine wasn’t warm enough. With a low, desperate moan for its elusive heat, I circled the cruiser. The driver’s side window was down, so I shoved my head and horn inside, careful not to stab anyone or anything. I ignored the driver’s startled protests and lipped at the climate controls. Once I had the heat blasting, I closed my eyes and basked in the warmth.

  While my ability to become a unicorn embarrassed me as often as not, I enjoyed the advantages of my big, furry ass. When I didn’t want to move, no natural force on Earth could move me. The cops tried and failed, and I lipped at the vents in a wordless plea for more heat. When the woman I had trapped realized she could open the door and squeeze out, I shifted to the side enough to give her space without losing the little warmth I had managed to steal from the vehicle. I still shivered but breathing in the heated air helped.

  “There’s a unicorn in my car,” the woman blurted.

  I couldn’t blame her for her incredulous tone. If I were her, I’d be pretty surprised, too.

  “An injured one from the looks of it. I’m pretty sure that’s blood all over its legs. I’m getting the feeling our driver didn’t hit a deer,” a man replied. A moment later, a hand touched my shoulder. It hurt. I flattened my ears and snorted.

  I was too cold to blow smoke and too sleepy to kick him. The cop would survive his familiarity without a nip—as long as he kept his hands to acceptable places. I’d stomp on him if he tried any funny business.

  “Seems friendly enough. Who the hell do we call about a unicorn?”

  “Do we even need to call someone?” the woman asked. “It’s not like we charge deer for running out in front of cars, so why would we prosecute a unicorn? I mean, it’s basically a deer with a fancy horn.”

  “The incubus probably startled it into running across the street. The timing is about right.”

  I liked these cops, providing me with such a useful—and true—alibi. “C-c-cold,” I whined. Nuzzling the vent didn’t make it blow hotter air, much to my disappointment.

  “Melissa? The unicorn can talk, and it’s apparently cold.”

  Silence.

  “Okay.” The woman sighed. “I’ll go get the shock blanket out of the trunk.”

  Within a few moments, the cruiser shook and she slammed the trunk closed. I closed my eyes and stomped a hoof, contemplating taking a nap. The cops wouldn’t mind too much, would they? They had cop things to do with the transport. A short nap wouldn’t hurt anything.

  One of the cops tossed the blanket across my back, and while it didn’t cover much of me, it helped. I mumbled a thanks, lifted a hind hoof, and yawned.

  “It’s trying to talk, Melissa.”

  “What’s it saying?”

  “Not sure. It’s mumbling.”

  “I’ll go ask Fredrick. Maybe he can put that fancy degree he likes bragging about to good use for once in his life,” Officer Melissa grumbled.

  A few startled curses announced the arrival of more cops.

  “Jesus Christ! That’s a cindercorn. Where the hell did it come from?”

  Cool. My breed had a nifty nickname. I liked it. I liked cinders, too. Yummy, delicious warm cinders.

  “So, what do we do with it?”

  “For starters, pray it doesn’t eat you. Call animal control, tell them we have an exotic, pyromaniac carnivore we need captured and taken out.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that at all. “No, don’t take me out. Out cold. Cold, cold, cold. Want fire. Be good for fire? Fire? Please? Fire?”

  “And I never would have guessed they could talk.”

  “Cold,” I insisted.

  “All right. The cindercorn is apparently cold and has its head stuck in your car. I’ve got nothing, Mel. Did you really put a blanket on it?”

  “It was cold. What else were we supposed to do? Is this cindercorn a risk?”

  “You hear about 120 Wall Street?”

  “Who hasn’t?”

  “That was the work of a cindercorn.”

  Silence. I would have preened but posturing took too much effort.

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine. Just don’t piss it off. Maybe it’ll get bored and wander off?”

  “How did the NYPD deal with their cindercorn problem?”

  “Theirs wasn’t a problem, for starters—they didn’t have a wild animal. I’m not sure about the details, but I think it was one of their agents maybe? Anyway, I think they used blowtorches and a spotlight or heat lamp.”

  Officer Melissa sighed. “Hell, why not? We’ve had an incubus on a high tonight already. A cindercorn needing a heat lamp is nothing compared to that.”

  No kidding.

  Chapter Twenty

  A heat lamp lured me out of the cruiser. With a contented sigh, I curled around it and went to sleep. A stronger source of heat roused me, and I lifted my head seeking it. A bright point of fire caught my eye. I staggered to my feet to get closer to it. A cop dangled a raw, bloody piece of steak in front of a blowtorch, and the scent of searing meat woke my hunger. I pursued the man to a horse trailer, snapping my teeth at the treat.

  “That’s right, come on in. I got some nice warm blankets for you in here, and you can eat this nice steak instead of my hand,” he murmured, his tone soothing.

  My desire for the steak got me into the trailer, and while I flattened my ears, I resisted the temptation to nip him. I took the steak gently with my teeth and held it in my mouth while hunting for a spot to set it down so I could rip chunks off it. I spotted a generator near the back
of the trailer and plopped the steak on it, lifted my hoof, and pinned the meat so I could devour it.

  Two braver cops strapped a horse blanket on me and added heated blankets on top of it. I licked the generator clean, my head nodding as the warmth seeped into me.

  Instead of jail, the cops took me to a stable with an indoor arena. Large, overhead lamps heated the air, and a ring of heat lamps warmed a circle of sand. I waited long enough for an amused cop to strip the blankets off me before I charged the circle, hopped over a lamp, and went to work digging a hole so I could bury myself in the sand.

  Perfect.

  The cops needed a gold star or whatever they got when they did a good job. Tucking my hooves close to my body and resting my nose near my belly, I basked in the heat and returned to the serious business of dozing off. I cracked open an eye whenever anyone approached. Most of them were curious cops, and they stayed outside of my ring of heat lamps.

  The two men in suits worried me. I lifted my head, turned my ears back, and bared my teeth in warning. Neither showed sign of leaving, and they stared at me. I stared back.

  One of the cops joined the duo.

  “You’re definitely correct, Officer Andrews. That is definitely a blazer—a cindercorn, as you call it.”

  A second cop trudged across the sand and joined the group. “Did I miss anything?”

  “No, sir. We’ve determined she’s a female, but this is the first time she’s been responsive or interested in us.”

  I assumed the new cop was a higher rank than the first to warrant the sir, so I focused my attention on him. “That’s probably a good thing. Rumor has it the males are meaner.”

  Officer Andrews shrugged.

  I snorted, and smoke trailed from my nostrils. “No proof. No close stud-ee. All stud-ee know is u-nee-corn eat meat, burn, like fire. Warm-er now. Thank you.”

  The humans stared at me in slack-jaw shock.