I Can Hear My Incubus Husband’s Inner Monologue

My family was broke. So broke that I had to put myself up for sale online.

A matchmaking agency connected me with a premium incubus: Benjamin Walker, the youngest son of the powerful Walker dynasty.

He had just turned twenty-one and was entering his first mating cycle, which meant he desperately needed human essence to survive. Saliva, sweat, tears… any bodily fluid would do.

The amount of money Benjamin was offering was astronomical for someone like me. I assumed his need was critical. So the moment we met in his penthouse, I started unbuttoning my shirt. "Your place or mine? The sofa looks comfortable, or would you prefer the bedroom?"

Honestly, if I saw a man who looked like him in real life, I'd think I was dreaming. No one should be that flawlessly beautiful. But he was a premium incubus. That made sense. Their kind was genetically engineered to be unnaturally attractive.

Then he spoke, his voice cool. "That won't be necessary."

As it turned out, he'd only hired me to get his family off his back. Every warning bell in my mind started ringing: Oh no. He's not into women.

That night, we slept in separate wings of the apartment. I went to check on him once. The bathroom door was ajar, the sound of running water echoing. Later, deep in the night, odd, strained noises drifted from his room. The butler explained with an awkward cough, "The young master… is experiencing a fever."

I couldn't help but think, 'Seriously? He took a shower and got sick? So gorgeous, yet so delicate?'

…

The weekend arrived. Benjamin's parents came for a visit. Benjamin was a pure-blooded, premium incubus. As the future of the entire lineage, he was expected to be keen on producing an heir. But Benjamin showed no such inclination.

He asked me to pretend, so I did. Perched on the plush sofa, leaning back against his firm chest, I plucked a segment of mandarin orange from the coffee table and held it to his lips. "Open wide, darling."

Benjamin's expression remained impassive. His sculpted lips parted slightly as he accepted the fruit from my fingers. A searing heat ghosted over my skin. His lips felt… abnormally warm.

After he swallowed, I noticed his parents had frozen completely. His mother leaned toward his father and murmured, "Did Benjamin just eat… citrus?" His father gave a slow, grave nod. "…The power of affection is truly remarkable."

After they departed, I did a quick search on my phone. It turned out, much like vampires with garlic, incubi had certain foods that filled them with primal dread—citrus fruits. Mandarins were especially potent.

That night, Benjamin spiked another fever.

Guilt twisted in my gut. "I'm so terribly sorry."

…

Another weekend. After spectacularly failing a "Fundamentals of Incubus Biology" pop quiz—missing every single question—I yelled in exasperation, "I wish all incubi would just vanish!"

To decompress, I headed to the private home cinema to watch a film.

One title seemed fitting: The Incubus Purge.

I was fully engrossed when the young master entered. On the massive screen, incubi were being decimated by human artillery. Horrified, I patted the empty seat beside me. "Join me, sweetheart." He sat down rigidly, his face a mask. "You can drop the endearments when we're alone."

"Right."

Even more flustered, my hand flailed and landed on something warm, velvety, and sinuous—it felt like brushed leather. I glanced down. Huh? What an odd accessory. A slender, peach-colored appendage with a heart-shaped tip. Absentmindedly, I traced my fingers along its length.