Incubus Marks Novels & Stories

She still couldn't forgive Mark. Not completely. Ever since Lucas had revealed his true identity, every memory she had of him seemed different. Every conversation. Every smile. Every time he had helped her. She had believed he was human. She had trusted him. And now she knew that the person she had known as Mark was one of the Five Sons of Hell. Incubus. A demon. A creature she had once considered a friend. Lucas stopped. Incubus was waiting nearby. Levi stood beside him.

He watched as she swiped her tongue across her lips, that simple action could be passed off as innocent but when she looked back at him, her lips held an almost taunting smirk. “There’s somewhere else you can go where no one can disturb you while you work.” She purred and pulled down the sunglasses she was wearing, just low enough for him to see her eyes-well the grey contacts that were in them. The inky look in his eyes was enough to tell Alice that he was interested, but there was an obvious confinement. As he was about to protest, she grabbed his arm, and pulled him from the stool, ignoring the sultry feeling of his skin on hers. She headed for the back of the club, where the real fun was

Faelon growled threateningly and Atlas grunted. "I'm just curious about what you find interesting about her. I can see her ex did a number on her and she has a mark on her inner left thigh. Looks like a demon bite," Atlas exclaimed in fascination. Faelon's brow rose as he recalled Lucifer saying she was demon marked. "What does a demon mark mean? Do you know, reaper?" He asked. Atlas shrugged and told him he had no idea but Rai may know. Sophia went to the sink and got a glass of water. They both watched her take a pill and sigh.

“We’ll find a way to fix it.” “No,” Astra said, shaking her head. “I came to tell you something. Before it’s too late.” Seraphina reached out to steady her. Astra grabbed her wrist. “You didn’t just break the curse,” Astra said, voice shaking. “You broke the locks. The prison beneath the Spire. It wasn’t just holding your fate, Sera. It was holding his.” “Who?” Seraphina whispered. Astra’s eyes welled with tears. “The one who came first. The first bond. The first Incubus. He was buried in dreamfire so he wouldn’t rise again.”

Malachor murmured, his voice a low rumble vibrating against her ear, close enough that she felt the warmth of his lips brush the shell. “Yes,” she replied, her voice soft, carrying a fullness she hadn't known before. He didn't move, didn't press. His hand remained steady, thumb tracing a subtle circle over her sternum, the motion igniting a spark low in her belly. Elizabeth swallowed, her pulse quickening as she focused inward. There, beneath her collarbone, a subtle thrum pulsed—a mark, invisible yet insistent, like a thread woven into her veins. It connected her to him, this quiet energy that made her skin tingle where they touched.

My body trembled above him as his hands pressed against my hips, guiding his length inside of me. “Selene…” he murmured against my throat. The vibration of his voice sent shivers racing down my spine. I moaned loudly as I moved up and down on him. I clung to him, my fingers threading into his hair as if letting go would mean losing myself completely. His teeth grazed the sensitive spot on my neck, making me gasp, making my heart slam wildly in my chest. And then, he sank his fangs into me, not just with his body but with that claiming bite, searing his mark into my skin.

Her broken stance, and shy-self reflected on my personality, and despite trying to hide it; people, often wolves, saw through me easily. Vivian was quiet for a few seconds longer, studying my expression, taunting me with a fact that she scented. It was one that I was cursed with the second I was born. A wolf who was rogued would be known on sight as they turned vicious and heartless, a rogue born, would have the scent of treason, something which an Alpha curses them with until they’ve been accepted. My mark was on my lower back, where he dug his canine on the night I was born, removing me from my mother’s arms, and yet careful not to injure or kill me as he threw me outside the pack. He gave

So I messaged customer service: [Hello, I'm looking for a gentle incubus who can warm my bed. I'd heard incubi tend to have higher body temperatures—perfect for warming my hands and feet. Besides, what if a succubus also suffered from cold intolerance? Customer service replied: [Hello!] A moment later, they sent over an incubus poster. [Based on your needs, I recommend this one. This incubus will give you the ultimate tenderness and let you experience blissful pleasure every single night.] That slogan was a little too dramatic, wasn't it? [The one you're interested in is a flash-sale item—what great taste you have!]

Those crimson eyes locked on me — heart-shaped patterns swimming in his pupils — with the greed of someone who'd narrowly escaped death. And the incubus mark on his lower abdomen was slowly blooming: vivid, full, alive. In that sweat-soaked, fevered embrace, I kept saying no, and kept allowing him everything.

​"Now, Aris!" ​As the doctor quickly hooked up the leads and adjusted the sensors, I stood back, my hands trembling. I stared at her neck. The Mark, that beautiful curse that had started all of this, was no longer its usual faint silver. It was pulsing. A toxic, bruised violet light emanated from her skin, casting an eerie glow across the underside of her jaw. It looked like a living thing, a parasite gorging itself on whatever was left of her spirit. Just like it did with the void.