Chapter 3

Lucian's breath hitched. He said my name in a low, hoarse voice.

"Odette..."

Just as he began lifting his arm to draw me in, I—totally oblivious to what was happening—pulled back. Out of misplaced concern, I tugged the blanket over him, tucking in the arm he'd just raised along with his restless, twitching tail.

Afraid he'd catch a cold, I even adopted my sternest tone.

"Behave. Don't fidget. And no kicking off the blanket."

Lucian shut his eyes like a man who'd given up all hope of living.

After switching off the light, I lay down with my back to him.

Taking out my phone, I opened the customer service chat with a heavy heart.

Me: [Hi. Something seems... wrong with my incubus.]

Customer service: [Hello. For any basic care issues while raising him, please check the Incubus Care Manual. Ah... sorry, it seems I forgot to send you the manual last time.]

Me: [That's okay. But I don't think the manual will help. I'm afraid he's sick... seriously sick.]

Customer service: [Could you describe the symptoms?]

Me: [He keeps making a rumbling noise, his body temperature is really high, and he keeps staring at me as if he's sad or something.]

Customer service: [That's perfectly normal. It just means he likes being with you.]

My heart skipped.

Me: [Really? That's normal? I thought I'd overworked him. He's done housework every single day.]

A long pause passed before the reply came.

Customer service: [Housework? Wait, you've been having your incubus do housework???]

Me: [Isn't that what they're for? Your ad said they're very capable—that they can give humans "the ultimate happiness" every day.]

Customer service: [Well, that explains why your incubus is acting strangely.]

I frowned.

Me: [So he is sick?]

Customer service: [No. He isn't sick. He's just... hungry.]

Me: [Hungry? But he eats three meals a day.]

A burst of messages arrived.

Customer service: [Not that kind of hungry. He's starved for affection—he wants to kiss you, or perhaps... do other things.]

Customer service: [Incubi aren't meant for chores; they exist to help humans satisfy their desires. In other words, your incubus is in a state of extreme hunger and longing—for you, specifically.]

Customer service: [Unfortunately, he's been casting seductive glances at someone who's completely clueless.]

The message ended with a knowing smiley.

Hungry for me? Longing?

What the hell?

I finally opened the Incubus Care Manual—and went silent.

It turned out incubi weren't meant for chores. The "capable" in the listing... didn't mean what I'd assumed.

I turned over.

Lucian, whom I'd thought was asleep, was awake.

He was gazing at me again, eyes full of wounded yearning—and now, unmistakably, heart-shaped. His tail, hidden beneath the blanket, was brushing lightly against my waist. Barely a touch. So gentle I hadn't noticed until now.

Seeing me look back, he stiffened and hurriedly tucked his tail away. But almost at once it started creeping back toward me, rustling softly over the sheets.

Then, in a low voice, he whispered—his tone clear yet sweetly sticky, like mint-laced candy, "Master... I feel terrible."

He'd said that before, in the same clinging tone. Back then, I'd figured he had a cold and was just whining.

So I, kindly yet mercilessly, had made him drink several cups of hot water.

It worked, in a way. He stopped making noise that night—but his face went dark and sullen, like a small dog sulking in a corner.

But now...

Recalling what customer service had said, guilt pricked at me. I cleared my throat softly.

Then I lifted my blanket.

"Do you... want to share my blanket?"

Lucian paused for a beat. Then, in a husky whisper, he said, "I do."