Page 6 of Accidentally Vacationed with an Incubus

To have someone laugh at my terrible jokes because they truly found them funny, not because they thought it might coax me into their bed.

To hold someone and feel them lean into me, not because my touch sent them into a frenzy of lust, but because it felt right.

This year, I wasn’t going to sit around waiting for Fate to disappoint me again.

Which was why I had enlisted the help of an old friend.

And because I apparently had nothing better to do with my time, I’d arrived at the dive bar four hours early for my meeting with Jasper. That meant spending the evening hunched in the darkest corner, swirling my barely touched bourbon and doing my absolute best to avoid making eye contact with the bartender, who kept casting me looks that flickered between unfiltered longing and homicidal rage.

The moment she first laid eyes on me, I recognized the familiar sharp intake of breath, the slow drag of her gaze, likeshe was trying to memorize every detail, and the slight parting of her lips, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing.

The incubus curse in full effect.

Anyone actively searching for a sexual partner saw me as their ultimate fantasy—a living, breathing embodiment of whatever did it for them. The only people who saw the real me were the ones who weren’t interested in me at all.

And, of course, my fated mate, who had clearly decided I wasn’t worth the effort.

“Has anyone ever told you that you look like Tom Hiddleston?” the bartender had asked, her voice silky and sending a skitter of revulsion over my skin.

Loki again.

Tom Hiddleston was a very handsome man, obviously, but my actual appearance was more Thor than Loki—tall, broad, and chiseled, if I do say so myself, but chestnut-haired instead of golden-locked. The kind of guy Lochran once described as“one of those rancher romance cover models, but, like, sadder.”

“I get that sometimes,” I said, taking a slow sip of the bourbon she’d slid my way.

She leaned in over the counter, pressing her arms together just enough to make sure I noticed the bulge of her breasts, her grey eyes crawling over my Loki-form with open appreciation.

“So sexy,” she purred.

Before I could respond, she reached over and placed her hand on mine.

And just like that, it was over for her.

The incubus touch didn’t create desire—it amplified it. If there was even a flicker of attraction before, the moment our skin met, it became a raging inferno. Her pupils dilated, her breath hitched, her fingers tightened over mine, and I was half-surprised that she didn’t leap over the counter and attack me where I stood.

I snapped my hand from hers. Inevertouched a human until I’d got explicit consent that they wanted me, albeit in whatever form of me they saw, and that they knew it was a onetime, no-strings-attached deal. I wanted to leave them satisfied, not wondering what had possessed them to ask me into their bed.

Which was why I’d immediately declined. And why she had spent the past four hours casting daggers at me, looking as if she were one spilled drink away from stabbing me with a corkscrew. By morning, the worst of it would wear off, and this time tomorrow, she’d chalk it up to the questionable martini olives she was grinding on.

So, I kept my gaze locked on the damn neon clock, listening to thetick, tick, tickingof the grimy second hand as midnight drew closer.

Stop thinking about it, Devlin, I told myself.

“Devlin,” a deep voice called over my shoulder, smooth and familiar, but heavier than I remembered. A second later, a massive wolf shifter dropped himself unceremoniously into the seat across from me.

I blinked, taking him in.

The features were the same—full lips, sharp angles, jet-black hair, and those cool, onyx eyes—that had once belonged to a boy who’d looked like he had stepped out of a K-drama.

But that boy was gone.

In his place sat a towering, broad-shouldered force of nature—one who had at least six inches on my six-foot-three frame. His muscles stretched the seams of his black jacket, the kind of effortless strength that came from dominance, not vanity. Power rolled off him in crashing waves. Controlled, but undeniable.

The young pup I had once rescued was now an alpha.

And not just any alpha...

... the alpha of the infamous Hell’s Gate pack.

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