Page 3 of Incu-bliss

Anticipation coils tightly in my stomach as I brace myself for the inevitable onslaught of vitriol and rage from Vesper, known for his legendary temper and lack of mercy toward even his family members. But to my surprise, instead of a fiery outburst, I am met with a hearty laugh that unsettles me.

“I’m going to forgive you for that because I know it’s coming from a place of loneliness and bitterness. I'd likely share your sentiments if I were you and you were me. But Selene is my mate. I knew it even before I laid eyes on her. She wandered into Nightshade on the night of the full moon, experiencing her first heat and unwittingly searching for me, the only being who could satisfy her need to mate?—”

I cut him off with a scowl, fury visibly rising as my brow furrows. “That is far more information than I needed. If you believe she’s your mate, I have no choice but to accept your description. Forgive me for not believing you. I’ll give her the proper deference as the new Queen of Darkborne, but your sudden transformation is not enough to convince me.”

Vesper nods and a knowing look passes between us. He acknowledges it’s a far-fetched concept for me to accept so quickly. "Have you decided where you want to live? The castle is always open to you, but I can sense your discomfort with the new design scheme. Perhaps you would feel more at ease in a home of your own, whether it be here in Nightshade or somewhere else in the kingdom. Your loyalty and dedication to the legion havenot gone unnoticed, and I grant you the freedom to choose your residence."

His words should offer me solace and support in this pivotal moment, but I’m immediately suspicious of his motives. I don’t care if he’s found his fated mate. My brother is not capable of this level of change.

“What’s the catch?” I ask, my eyes narrowing with mistrust. I grit my teeth, and my upper lip curls angrily, unable to hide my frustration with him.

This isn’t my brother. He’s a kinder, gentler version of someone I used to know. But how could he have changed so drastically after thousands of years of loneliness? I can hardly fault him for believing in fate.

“No catch.” Vesper feigns innocence, holding his palms out in mock surrender to calm me. “But I would like you to do something for me. I sense you’ll need help reacclimating to our new way of life. I want you to check yourself into the wellness sanctuary and retreat run by Odette Black, sister of Queen Isolde,” he suggests as we pass by a series of tall, arched doorways veiled in sheer fabric that flows like waterfalls—another new addition to the palace. “Selene is a frequent visitor and has dragged me there occasionally. And I’ll admit I was pleasantly surprised. It might help with…your rage.”

I attempt to walk away, but my steps falter at that word—rage. It's always been a part of me, as much as my shadow. It can’t be washed away by some scented steam and oils. Yet, as I glance at Vesper, there’s no mocking glint in his eyes—only genuine concern. He must have anticipated my reaction and still took the chance to speak the words. For the benefit of fraternal camaraderie, I try to listen to his reasons.

“Why would I do something like that?” We pause at a balcony, gazing down at an expansive garden below. "Why do you think I would do something like that?" I inquire, my tonetinged with disbelief. “Are you sincerely asking me to tame my metaphoric demons?”

Vesper looks out over his realm—a kingdom that once thrived on fury and fire—now shimmering under a veil of tranquility. “Selene made me realize that power can be quiet,” he says simply. “That solace can be as formidable as any sword or spell.”

As we stand there in silence, with only the distant sound of water trickling through some unseen fountain filling the air between us, it occurs to me that perhaps I crave a sliver of the happiness he’s found. I may not have a fated mate, but after fifty years of constant seething discontent, I might benefit from a few days of tranquility. Perhaps this is what I seek.

“I’ll give it a try,” I murmur under my breath, still slightly unconvinced.

“You won’t regret it, little brother.”

valek

. . .

I knowI will regret this, but I promised my brother I would give this place a chance before declaring myself unfit for solace and relaxation. At first glance, it seems pleasant enough, but the hand-carved wood chimes that greet my entrance into the Sorcery & Serenity Spa do nothing to soothe the infernal irritation simmering beneath my skin. As I step through the unnecessarily ornate doors, a wave of lavender and something painfully citrus hits me like a physical blow. Humans must feel this when they enter a demon's lair—utterly out of place and seconds away from losing their sanity. I plaster what I hope is a benevolent smile on my face, but inside, the saccharine air gnaws at me.

"Welcome to Sorcery & Serenity," chirps a too-cheerful nymph at the front desk. Her eyes are wide, unnervingly bright. "How can we help bring you peace today?"

"I have an appointment," I mumble, scanning the room for any familiar infernal faces, or at least someone who doesn't sprinkle fairy dust in their morning tea. Grasping my brother's advice like a lifeline—"Just give it a chance, Valek"—I approach a small group gathered in a corner of the lobby. There's an orcwith skin the color of fresh moss, a vampire whose pale elegance seems almost otherworldly in this mundane setting, and a shifter whose eyes flicker with barely contained energy.

Attempting to shake this awkward feeling, I approach them slowly, each step an exercise in self-control. "Hello," I say, keeping my voice steady despite the irritation pricking at every inch of my skin. "I’m Valek."

The vampire looks up, her gaze piercing through me in that unnerving manner only vampires manage. "Valek? Vesper’s brother? I’ve heard a lot about you," she says, her voice smooth and cool. It's refreshing after the cheerful welcome at the door.

The shifter, a massive werebear in his human form, nods stiffly. "Not all bad things," he adds, letting out a small chuckle that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"And you won't hear any bad things today," the orc interjects, his voice a deep rumble that vibrates through the floorboards. We’re all trying to find some tranquility here." His massive hand gestures around us at the sweeping curtains and light tinkling of chimes.

Trying not to let my disdain show too clearly, I nod and force out a sentence that tastes like ash on my tongue. "Yes, tranquility would be… refreshing."

A moment of awkward silence passes as they assess whether I'm mocking them. Deciding to move past our initial discomfort, the vampire stands and gestures toward what looks like a garden of horrors—or, as they probably call it, the meditation gardens. "This is the first step," she says with an intimidating smirk. “Keep an open mind, and I’m sure they’ll convert you to our ways of peace.”

Following them through cloud-like corridors filled with more scents meant to soothe (but only tighten my stomach), I remind myself why I am here: my brother’s request. It’s doubtful I’ll getanything out of this, but I need to report back and confirm that I’ve tried it.

One by one, we settle onto oddly comfortable cushions by a gently babbling brook in the garden, surrounded by whispering willows and fluttering butterflies that seem almost too stereotypically peaceful. Wanting to appear cooperative and hoping no one offers further instruction, I close my eyes and pretend to meditate.

Perhaps there is something valuable here—not tranquility, but rather a test of endurance. And maybe that is precisely what I need to prove right now: that even an incubus demon can conquer discomfort.

I sit cross-legged on the worn rug in the center of the sparse room, trying to center my thoughts and hoping to find that elusive peace. The wind whispers through the open window, a gentle caress against my skin that fails to soothe me. Instead, the rustling of the leaves is like a murmur of the voices that haunt me, crying out in pain and sorrow. I try to focus on my breathing—inhale, exhale—the fundamental rhythm that is supposed to anchor me in the present moment. But each breath becomes a sigh, reflecting frustration rather than peace.

The stench of the human world comes back to me—the sharp tang of sweat, the sickly sweet rot of decay. It clings to my nostrils like a parasite. And with it come the images: a child barefoot, her eyes hollow with hunger; an old man collapsed in the street, ignored by passersby as if he were no more significant than the trash he lay beside.

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