Page 67 of Accidentally Vacationed with an Incubus

She cried for him, for them, for herself. And if she hadn’t squeezed my fingers so tightly, pulling strength from my presence—I probably would have joined them.

But she didn’t need my empathy today. She needed my strength.

We scrubbed, washed, laundered, polished, vacuumed, and mopped our way through the house for seven solid hours—until our muscles ached, until our skin cracked from the sting of cleaning products. But it was all worth it.

Just as I was returning from what felt like the hundredth trip to the trash can at the end of the lane, a familiar sound echoed through the hall. The slow, rhythmic clacking of Ms. Cadmus’s cane.

Her frail, skeletal frame appeared in the doorway, hunched over her cane, her body nearly folding in on itself from the effort of moving. Pain clung to her like a second skin, but when her wide, watery eyes took in the kitchen, something softened in her expression. Slowly, she hobbled toward her husband, thin, trembling fingers reaching out to brush against the surfaces, to touch her belongings as if she were reacquainting herself with her own home.

When she finally reached Mr. Cadmus, her shaking hand lifted, cupping his cheek with tenderness.

“You brought me home,” she whispered.

Tears spilled down Mr. Cadmus’s cheeks as he pressed his hand over hers, cradling it. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t do it sooner, my love,” he choked out, his voice fracturing under the weight of emotion.

A silent sob wracked Jen’s frame, and I wrapped my arm around her, pulling her into me, holding her as she wept.

Even with my senses dampened, Ms. Cadmus carried with her the scent of acetone—the telltale sign of someone reaching the final stretch of their journey. But she would leave it in comfort, in love, in the place that had been hers for a lifetime.

And that was because of Jen.

Ms. Cadmus turned toward us, her sunken eyes bright, her toothless smile wide as she exclaimed, “Oh! Diane!” She hobbled closer, her frail body leaning into Mr. Cadmus as he steadied her with a gentle grip on her arm. “I’m so glad you’ve come to visit me, dear. You are such a good friend.” Her voice wavered, but her joy was genuine. “Now, you tell that daughter of yours to keep better company than that orc.” Jen stiffened beside me. “I found him hiding in the bushes the other night, watching her in her bedroom. The one who has been stalking Jen all summer.”

Stalking?

I am going to fucking kill Rowan.

Rage ignited in my veins, pulsing through my body, my muscles tensing, ready to unleash hell on that fucking orc.

Jen threw me a pointed glance—the kind that saidwe’ll talk about it later. Only when she squeezed my hand did I realize the shadows had started pooling around my feet, creeping up my arms like living fury.

I sucked in a slow, measured breath, biting the inside of my cheek to keep myself in check—to keep myself from marching out that door and hunting down the bastard who had been stalking my...

... what?

Temporary girlfriend?

“I’ll be sure to pass it on to her,” Jen said.

Mr. Cadmus shot Jen a pointed, knowing look.

“Never trust an orc,” he said gravely. “They may act kindly, but once they’ve staked a claim on you, they’ll stop at nothing until they get what they want.”

Jen stiffened beside me.

Ms. Cadmus nodded earnestly. “Anyway, dear. I’m so sorry about what happened the last time you were here.”

Jen’s lips parted slightly.

“Dear,” Mr. Cadmus interjected gently, “you already talked to Diane about this yesterday. We got it all cleaned up, remember?”

A deep, burning flush crawled up Ms. Cadmus’s face, her frail hands trembling slightly as she looked away. My heart clenched. We had thrown out three entire bags of soiled incontinence pads from her room, and though we had done it discreetly, I couldn’t imagine what it must have felt like to lose control of something so fundamental, to have others bear witness to it. And to have to relive the shame and helplessness of that first time over and over again.

Jen reached out without hesitation, placing a gentle, grounding hand on Ms. Cadmus’s arm and giving it a small, reassuring squeeze. “It was an accident,” she said softly. “There’s no need to be embarrassed, Ms. Cadmus.”

Ms. Cadmus exhaled a shaky breath, her shoulders easing as relief softened the rigid lines of her face. “It’s been hard, Diane,” she admitted, her voice wavering. “I just haven’t been feeling quite myself recently. I’ve been forgetful... and sometimes I do things I don’t mean to—”

A choked sob tore from Mr. Cadmus, pulling Ms. Cadmus from her downward spiral. Ms. Cadmus gave his hand a soft pat before turning bright-eyed toward Jen.

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