Page 86 of Accidentally Vacationed with an Incubus

“Jen—” Devlin’s voice was barely above a whisper, his amber eyes pleading. “I didn’t mean to—”

Before he could finish, BooDini blustered into the room. Its sheeted form was slumped, its eyes hollow and sorrowful. It glided toward me, its small, weightless hands clutching at its chest before reaching out and placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. Then, slowly, it pointed toward the living room.

The room fell deathly silent.

I strained my ears. A soft sound drifted through the air—fragile, fractured, barely there.

Someone was crying.

Chapter 24. Devlin

My chest tightened as I trailed after Jen and BooDini down the stairs.

Well done, Devlin. Not only did you throw Jen into emotional chaos by accusing her best friend of murdering her parents, but you also blurted out the very thing you were trying to keep from her, at least for now. That she is your mate. Perfect timing, really. Right when she was still reeling from the revelation that she wasn’t responsible for her parents’ deaths, you went ahead and dumped that little bombshell onto the already smoldering wreckage of her emotions.

Way to go. You. Fucked. It. Up.

So caught up in my own self-loathing, I nearly missed the sight of Mr. Cadmus slumped forward on the couch, his frail body trembling, his face buried in his hands. A slow, creeping dread settled in my gut.

“Mr. Cadmus?” Jen’s voice was soft. “Is everything okay?”

Slowly, he lifted his head, revealing bloodshot eyes, his face framed by a tangled beard, damp with tears. Grief was carved deep into his weathered face, a raw, aching thing that made my stomach twist. I didn’t need heightened senses to know he’d been crying for hours.

“Oh, Mr. Cadmus!” Jen rushed forward, wrapping the old basilisk in a fierce embrace.

I clenched my fists, torn between stepping in and giving them space. The sharp whistle of the kettle from the kitchen gave me an excuse to move—to do something,anything, that felt remotely useful. I turned away, joining BooDini in preparing tea, knowing there was little else I could offer.

When I returned, two cups of chamomile tea in hand, the air was thick with mourning. Jen sat beside Mr. Cadmus, hisgnarled hand clutched between both of hers. She sniffled, her eyes red-rimmed and brimming with sorrow.

“She went very peacefully, Jennifer,” Mr. Cadmus murmured, accepting the tea with a small nod of thanks. He took a deep sip, his shoulders sagging under the weight of exhaustion. “She just went to bed... and never woke up.”

Jen let out a quiet, broken sob, her fingers tightening around his. I lowered myself onto the couch beside her, resisting the urge to reach out, knowing she needed this moment with him.

“I’m so sorry for your loss, Mr. Cadmus,” I said softly.

He exhaled shakily, nodding again. “Thank you, Devlin.” His gaze dropped to his tea, staring into it as if searching for something lost. “She was so happy yesterday. And I can’t thank you both enough for making her final day one of comfort.”

Jen swallowed thickly, fresh tears slipping down her cheeks. I knew what she was thinking—how bright Ms. Cadmus had been, how full of warmth, how unfair it was that such joy had been so fleeting.

Mr. Cadmus drained his tea and set the cup down with a quietclink. He turned to Jen, his hand shaking from both age and sorrow as he squeezed her shoulder. “Anyway, I need to go. There’s so much to arrange. But I wanted to tell you myself, dear. And to leave you this.”

With painstaking care, he placed a worn silver cake tin on the coffee table. Jen’s breath faltered as he lifted the lid, revealing a perfectly golden apple pie.

“She made this for you yesterday,” Mr. Cadmus said, his voice thick with emotion. “She hadn’t baked in years... but you brought that spark back to her. She was so excited to bring this over to you today.”

A choked sob escaped Jen, her hands trembling as she reached for the tin. “She always made the best apple pie,” she whispered.

Mr. Cadmus cupped her cheek. His fingers trembled as he brushed away her tears. “Think of her when you eat it, dear.”

Jen nodded, unable to form words, her fingers curling around the edge of the tin like it was the last tangible piece of the woman they had lost.

***

I paced the house for what felt like hours, the silence pressing in around me. Jen had retreated to her room, grief weighing her down until sleep became the only escape.

BooDini floated behind me as I stalked from one end of the house to the other, its sheet quivering with each sharp turn. My mind churned. When Jen woke, she’d need comfort—and an explanation.

Guilt twisted deep in my gut. I should’ve waited. Should’ve given her time to breathe before dropping the wholefated matesrevelation on her. But there was no undoing it now.

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