The vampire let out a sharp laugh. “Hades, no. Not creative enough for that. But I run a bookstore here in town—part of the Sinclair chain.”

I perked up at that.

All smut-loving bookworms knew about Sinclair Books.

The indie-friendly romance bookstore chain had been popping up all over the country for the past decade, run by Dean Sinclair and his fleet of vampire nest-mates.

They stocked everything from big-press bestsellers to self-published hidden gems, filling their shelves with Sinclair-approved romance and erotica from every corner of the world.

I was a devoted follower of their #IReadItBeforeItWasFamous selection—a monthly feature where Dean Sinclair himself handpicked an upcoming release, guaranteeing it to be an overnight sensation.

A spot on that shelf?

That was the kind of break that could turn an unknown author into the next big name in romance.

I could barely contain my excitement. “I’m actually acting as an... advisor of sorts for a budding author, helping her finalize her debut book. It’s a paranormal romance—grumpy wolf shifter, sunshine witch—and the romance was enough to make even me swoon.”

The vampire quirked a brow, intrigue flickering in his sharp yellow eyes. “A paranormal romance with sex scenes approved by an incubus? That might be exactly what Dean’s looking for.”

He extended a hand to shake mine but hesitated halfway, reconsidering. “I’m eager to read it, so... probably best not to mess around with an incubus’s touch.” Instead, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a sleek black card, and set it on the bar in front of me.

“The name’s Gavin Varrow. Tell your author to send the manuscript my way, along with an estimated publication date when she’s ready. If I like what I read, I’ll pass it on to Dean for consideration.”

Before I could thank him, a sharp chime cut through the conversation. Gavin glanced at his phone, then smirked. “Speak of the Devil,” he murmured, pushing to his feet. He answered the call with a casual, “Hi, Dean,” then pointed at the card and mouthed, “Call me!” before striding out of the bar.

I slipped the card eagerly into my pocket. If nothing else, at least I might be able to give Jen a shot at making it to the #IReadItBeforeItWasFamous shelf .

Behind me, a clink of glass caught my attention. The bartender had set down two martini glasses filled with glowing, acid-green liquid.

“How much do I owe you?” I asked, reaching for the wad of cash in my pocket.

She slid a napkin across the bar instead, her number scrawled in looping script. “Just a phone call,” she said with a wink. Before I could respond, an irate customer at the other end of the bar called for her attention, sparing me from an awkward refusal.

I grabbed the drinks and made my way back to Jen, sliding one in front of her as I dropped into the seat beside her.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her gaze flicking from the drink to the napkin still in my hand. A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. “You already got a number? Looks like you don’t need my help at all.”

“She thought I looked like George Clooney,” I replied dryly.

Jen snorted. “Young or old? Actually, doesn’t matter—both are hot.”

An odd spike of jealousy settled low in my stomach, sharp and unwelcome.

“Her number isn’t the only one I got,” I said, pulling out the vampire’s card and sliding it toward Jen.

My excitement dimmed slightly when Jen didn’t mirror it.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“The vampire at the bar,” I explained. “He works at a Sinclair bookstore.”

Jen glanced toward the bar, then back at me. “Okay?”

I leaned in slightly, my own enthusiasm making up for hers. “And I told him about your book.”

Her brows furrowed. “And?”

“And he wants to read it ,” I said, unable to stop the grin forming on my lips. “If he likes it, he’ll pass it on to Dean Sinclair for consideration.”

“Who?”

I felt my nose scrunch. “Have you been living under a rock for the last decade?” I joked. “ Dean Sinclair. If he picks your book for his #IReadItBeforeItWasFamous shelf, you’ll be an overnight sensation.”

Jen’s fingers stilled against the card. When she looked up at me, her expression was unreadable. “Not a rock,” she said quietly. “Prison, remember ?”

My stomach plummeted. “Jen, I forgot. I’m so sor—”

She waved a hand, cutting me off. “Don’t be,” she said simply. Then, after a pause, she turned the card over again, the ghost of a grin tugging at the corner of her lips. “Thank you, Devlin,” she murmured. “I really appreciate it.”

Jen made an awkward motion, half-lifting her arms like she was about to hug me—only to hesitate at the last second.

Unfortunately for her, my body had already decided we were doing this , instinctively leaning in to meet her.

What followed was a spectacularly uncomfortable mess of tangled limbs, a hesitant pat on my back from Jen, the unexpected, delicious burn of her cheek grazing my jawline, and— because of course —an instant, painfully obvious erection.

Yeah. Turns out, without my incubus magic smoothing things over, I was an absolute disaster .

I sat back, willing my body to calm the fuck down , while Jen shifted beside me, scanning the crowd, presumably searching for someone for me to flirt with, and thankfully not looking down at the bulge in my pants.

I, meanwhile, was desperately trying not to think about the way her body had just pressed against mine—or how very badly I wanted it to happen again.

“She looks nice,” Jen said, her gaze fixed on a gargoyle standing at the bar.

The gargoyle was undeniably pretty, with smooth mint-gray skin, a light, skimpy summer dress that contrasted sharply with the stony texture of her arms, and wings tucked neatly against her back.

But she wasn’t Jen .

“I guess so,” I muttered.

Jen’s eyes flicked to me, her brow arching. “Well, go and talk to her, then.” There was the slightest edge of irritation in her tone, like she knew I wasn’t putting in the effort.

Suppressing a sigh, I made my way toward the gargoyle, her eyes narrowing slightly as I approached.

“Excuse me,” I said, keeping my voice even.

She turned sharply, her expression already set in a frown. “Listen, dude, I’m just here for a nice night out with my girlfriends, and I’m not interested .”

“No problem,” I said, giving her a polite nod. “Sorry to bother you. Hope you have a great night with your friends.” Relief surged through me. Without hesitation, I spun on my heel and started my way back to Jen, whose expression was a perfect mix of disbelief and barely contained amusement.

“Wait,” the gargoyle called from behind me.

I froze.

Jen made a shooing motion, and with a resigned sigh, I turned back to the gargoyle.

“I guess you can keep me company while I wait for my drink,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “If you want to.”

I didn’t want to. And the last thing I wanted was to lead someone on. But judging by the look Jen had thrown my way, I wasn’t getting out of this so easily.

“I should probably be upfront with you,” I said, exhaling slowly.

“My friend and I made a deal—I’d help her with her project, and she’d help me find a date.

But... I’ve started to second-guess whether I’m actually the dating kind of demon.

” I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling uncharacteristically awkward.

The gargoyle’s gaze flicked over my shoulder before settling back on me, the corner of her lips twitching into a knowing grin. “That’s actually kind of sweet,” she said. “Your friend—she wouldn’t happen to be the cute little witch currently glaring a hole into your back, would she?”

My lips quirked into a grin before I could stop them. “That’d be the one.”

She hummed, clearly amused. “And why don’t you want to find a date anymore?”

Because I’m interested in Jen.

“It’s... complicated,” I said instead.

She arched a perfectly sculpted brow, smirking like she had me figured out. “Ahhh, I see. You’ve got the hots for your witch but don’t want to admit it.”

My eyes widened slightly in surprise, but she just giggled.

“Well,” she mused, “I guess I could humor you a bit longer if you want to keep up the ruse. I’m Jade. And you are?”

“Devlin,” I offered.

Jade tilted her head, considering me. “Well, Devlin, what do you want to talk about?”

I let out a slow breath. “Do you live here, or are you just vacationing?”

“I moved here a few years ago.” She swirled the dregs of her drink idly, then shot me a sharp look.

“My parents arranged my marriage to a gargoyle from another audacity—that’s a clan, if you’re not familiar with the collective noun for gargoyles, which, honestly, most people aren’t.

” Her lips twitched like she was used to having to explain.

“But I couldn’t go through with it. So, I ran away. ”

Jade’s gaze met mine, a challenge in her expression, like she was waiting for judgment.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said sincerely.

“Don’t be.” She lifted her chin, her tone unwavering.

“I’ve made a new family here.” As if on cue, her phone buzzed on the bar.

She glanced down, then smirked. “Speaking of which, that’s my friends checking in.

They want to know if you’re bothering me and if I need them to swoop in with an excuse to leave. ”

I chuckled. “Sounds like you’ve got good friends.”

“I really do.” She flicked a glance over my shoulder, and the mischievous glint in her eyes sharpened.

“So do you.” Lifting her glass to her lips, she drained the last of her drink slowly, her smirk widening.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say that witch of yours isn’t as eager to find you a date as she’s made out to be. ”

I turned my head just in time to catch Jen mid-death glare. The moment she realized I was looking, her expression smoothed, shifting into something far more neutral.

“She’s probably just annoyed that my side of the pact is cutting into time she’d rather be spending on her project,” I told Jade, though the words felt hollow even as I said them.

Jade’s phone buzzed again, and she sighed. “I really ought to go. One of my friends is a unicorn shifter, and she will disembowel you if she thinks for one second that you’re bothering me.”

I raised my hands in mock surrender. “Duly noted.”

Jade grinned, grabbing her fresh drink before hopping off her stool. “Good luck with your... dating coach ,” she teased, giving me a knowing look before disappearing into the crowd.

I made my way back to Jen, sliding into the seat beside her.

“How did that go?” she asked, her tone clipped, her fingers tightening around her glass.

“Okay, I guess. But definitely more of a friends vibe—”

Before I could finish, Jen sat back, pulling her hood low over her face, sinking deeper into the shadows.

Immediately, something in me shifted. Shadows rippled across my skin in response, my instincts sharpening as I scanned the bar for danger. “Jen, what is it?”

I followed her wide-eyed stare across the room to a stunning water nymph perched gracefully at the bar, her shimmering, seafoam-colored hair cascading over her shoulders.

There was something familiar about her, and after a beat, I realized why—I was almost certain she was the same nymph who had given me directions yesterday.

Jen turned to me, her voice barely above a whisper. “That’s Brooke,” she said. “She was my friend before... you know .”

“Oh.” Relief settled over me—it wasn’t danger, just... history. “Do you want to leave?” I asked, hoping she’d say yes.

But Jen shook her head. “Brooke is really nice. Her dad owns half of the vacation homes in Headless Hollow. You should try talking to her next.”

I frowned. “Is that a good idea? You were friends.”

“That was a long time ago,” Jen said quickly. “Just... don’t mention my name. And make sure she doesn’t look my way.”

I exhaled slowly. “Honestly, Jen, I think it’s probably best to call it a night.”

“No.” Her voice was firm, her fingers fidgeting against the table.

“You’ve gone above and beyond to help me,” she murmured, her gaze flicking to Gavin’s card resting between us.

When she looked back up, there was something raw in her expression—something almost pleading, like she needed this to mean something.

“Please, Devlin,” she whispered. “Just let me reciprocate.”

Teeth gritted, I pushed to my feet and turned toward the water nymph.