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“Help you find a date?” I sputtered.

Devlin shrugged, the movement casual. “You write the exact kind of romance I’m looking for. Who better to help me find it in real life?”

Literally anyone else.

Okay, sure, I could write a slow-burn romance. But knowing how to write it and knowing how to make it happen in real life? Two entirely different skill sets.

I had never even been on a date before, let alone helped someone else find one.

But Devlin didn’t need to know that.

I’d just have to fake it, make it up as I went along, and pray to Hecate that Devlin’s personality was as good as his ridiculously sculpted everything if he wanted any chance of finding a date.

Not that it would even matter—whoever he met wouldn’t see the real him anyway.

His incubus magic would shift his features, molding him into whatever their subconscious found most desirable.

Which was a damn shame. He really was very handsome.

My gaze flickered over him, lingering against my will. I tried to imagine what my version of him would look like, the Devlin I would have seen if my desires had been left unchecked by Lobato’s suppressing magic. But every time I attempted to alter his features in my mind, nothing changed.

His deep chestnut hair, thick and effortlessly tousled, was begging to have fingers threaded through it.

Those smoldering, amber-hued eyes, warm and intense, were the sort you could get lost in without ever wanting to find your way back.

And his lips—full, pale, and utterly sinful— yeah , those were probably going to star in my dreams tonight, doing all sorts of wickedly delicious things.

A pulse of warmth flickered through me, pooling low in my stomach before I could stop it.

I swallowed hard and stole a glance at Devlin.

No reaction.

Had he... dampened his senses around me?

Had he dampened them to give me my privacy―in which case, aw ―or was it because he was looking for something deeper than just feeding? Someone he actually wanted to be with? And he’d decided I was already out of the race―in which case, ouch.

I mean, sure, I was saving myself for my mate. I had no intention whatsoever of being with him. None. But an immediate, straight-out-of-the-gate rejection still stung.

Or maybe he’d just wanted to block out the waves of grief that had crashed over me when he mentioned the banishing spell—because it had instantly pulled me back to that moment. The one where my home had been filled with mortal police.

He wants to room with you, Jen. Not be your therapist. Not date you.

I exhaled sharply before straightening. “Fine. I’ll let you stay here and help you find a date”—an excited flurry of sheets rustled from the kitchen—“but there are a few ground rules.”

Devlin’s shoulders seemed to relax, the tension melting from his face. “Go ahead,” he said, sinking deeper into the armchair, his fingers curling on the wooden armrest in a way that had me swallowing a gulp.

“Rule number one: keep your senses dampened,” I said, watching him carefully, bracing myself for any flicker of hesitation, or worse, disgust.

But Devlin just smirked. “Way ahead of you.”

And, judging by the easy way he said it, the lack of tension on his face, it had been for privacy’s sake. Not because he’d taken one look at me and thought don’t want to date her .

A small, unexpected knot of something—relief?—unraveled in my chest.

“Rule two: if you actually manage to find someone willing to go on a date with you, take her back to her place to feed. ”

Devlin’s expression flickered before he let out a small wince. “Yeah... about that. I was kind of hoping to find someone who wanted to take things slow. Like, glacially slow. Really get to know each other before doing anything... physical .”

Aw. That was... unexpectedly sweet.

“Okay, finally,” I said, struggling to maintain my irritable demeanor, “I want to sample the goods first.”

Devlin’s eyes widened, his breath hitching.

He let out a slow, almost pained exhale as he pushed to his feet, his fingers moving to his belt buckle.

My brain lagged, struggling to process what he was doing as he unfastened it, sliding the leather free from his jeans with the kind of practiced ease that could have earned him a starring role in Magic Mike.

“No, no, no! ” I yelped, throwing my hands up in front of my face. “Poor choice of words!”

Devlin froze, belt hanging loosely from his hand.

I let out a breath before clarifying. “I meant that I want to see how you’re planning to help me with my writing before I start offering dating advice like your personal romance Yoda.” And before I could stop myself, I added, “Swipe right, you should.”

I immediately winced.

Smooth Jen. Real smooth.

His shoulders sagged in relief. “Oh.” A beat of silence passed. “Not sure if I should be grateful that you’re not blackmailing me into having sex with you or offended by just how disgusted you sounded at the very idea.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “I’m not disgusted... but I also don’t want to have sex with you.”

Devlin slipped his belt back into place with deliberate slowness. He glanced up at me, his lip twitching into a grin. In an infuriatingly accurate Darth Vader impression, he said, “Impressive. Most Impressive. You have controlled your lust.”

I resisted the urge to throw my notebook at him.

“Anyway,” he said, amused, “let’s get started, shall we? Can I have your manuscript?”

I held my notebook out, but he made no move to take it. Instead, he flicked a glance at his hand. “Mind setting it on the coffee table? Y’know... incubus touch and all.”

I rolled my eyes. “I told you—I don’t want to have sex with you, remember?”

Devlin smirked. “Oh, I remember.”

“Besides,” I continued, dryly, “even if I was interested—which, to be clear, I’m not —the magic suppressing mine also blocks out others’. At least until it wears off. So, I’m afraid your incubus touch is completely useless on me.”

His brows lifted slightly. “Really?”

“Really,” I said. “I mean, if it did work, wouldn’t I be seeing you as the man of my deepest desires?”

Devlin nodded, though skepticism still lingered in his expression.

“Well, unless the man of my dreams just so happens to have messy hair and a scar running down the length of his thigh... I’m afraid it’s just you I’m seeing.”

I braced for a scowl. But instead, Devlin’s expression softened, his lips parting slightly, eyes glinting with something almost... pleased. “It’s not often that a woman looks at me and doesn’t see their celebrity crush. It feels kind of nice that someone can see me... the real me, that is.”

Shit. He just had to go and make me feel sorry for him.

Even if he was crap at helping me write my scenes, I’d probably let him stay here for pulling on my heart strings.

“Right, that’s enough touchy-feely stuff.” I shoved my notebook toward him. “Show me where I’m going wrong.”

Devlin eagerly reached for the notebook, his fingers grazing mine as he took it from my hand. A subtle tingle lingered where our skin had touched, but I ignored it, shoving my hand deep into my pocket.

Devlin watched me intensely as if he half expected me to launch myself across the coffee table and tackle him to the ground while sucking his earlobe.

“See?” I said, willing my heart rate to stop its escalation. “ Nothing .”

His grin stretched wider, his head shaking slightly in amused disbelief as he flipped through the pages. He finally found the passage he was looking for, and my heart plummeted when I saw just how close to the start of the story it was.

“Alright,” he said, enthusiastically tapping the page.

“Mina’s spent the last few years exiled from her coven, completely alone.

When she arrives at the pack, she’s bubbly, excited to finally have some company again.

But Kieran’s already made it very clear to his pack that he doesn’t need some ‘hermit hag of a witch’ to help him find his missing packmate.

But the second he lays eyes on her, he’s speechless.

And because he’s a stubborn, emotionally repressed alpha, he immediately covers it up with an a-hole attitude.

Mina, meanwhile, has had it . She’s tired of people rejecting her, of always being the outsider.

She was excited for this adventure, and she’s not about to let some growly wolf-man ruin it for her. ”

I stared at Devlin, oddly impressed by just how invested he seemed in my story.

“You nail the tension,” he said, his focus entirely on the notebook.

“Right up until the moment Kieran tries to intimidate Mina into leaving, pretending he doesn’t need her help, when really, he’s already afraid he’ll fall for her and screw up his arranged marriage.

” He glanced up, smirking slightly. “Then you write: ‘Kieran strode across the room and loomed over me. He smelled of pine needles and earth, and I wanted to kiss him.’ ”

I felt my lips press into a thin line.

Yeah... that did fall flat. Deadline flat.

“Okay,” Devlin said, an eager grin pulling at his lips. “Pretend that you’re Mina and stand against that wall.”

My heart gave an unexpected flutter. I’d assumed he was just going to talk me through the changes—not act them out.

It’s for the book, Jen. You need help with your scenes, and what better way to improve them than actually drawing from experience?

Swallowing my nerves, I walked over to the wall and pressed my back against it. Mina was based on me—well, pre-prison me. And pre-prison me wouldn’t have been intimidated by a six-foot-three wolf shifter.

I glanced at Devlin. With his broad frame, the sharp angles of his face, and the intensity brewing in his amber eyes, he looked eerily close to how I’d described Kieran.

It was surprisingly easy to slip into Mina’s mindset—to imagine that Devlin was just a grumpy, brooding alpha, secretly my fated mate, doing everything in his power to resist me.