Vacation With The Alien Devil (Monsters and Margaritas)

Chapter 1

Chapter

One

FERCER

Three encores. They demanded three encores.

My voice feels like I’ve gargled plasma shards, and my face aches from holding the signature smolder that graces a thousand promotional posters across the sector. The etched metal caps on my horns, custom-designed with swirling flames to match my stage persona, weigh heavier than usual tonight.

I’m so tired.

“Incredible performance, as always.” Vyla falls into step beside me as I stride down the corridor toward my suite, her heels clicking against the metal flooring.

Behind her, one of the station’s security guards follows at a respectful distance.

“The crowd was absolutely feral for you. I counted at least twelve females who fainted during ‘Burn for Me.’”

“Only twelve?” I flash her the grin that launched a million album sales. “I must be losing my touch.”

The words come out smooth. Practiced. The Devil never falters.

Vyla laughs. “Never. You’re at the peak of your career, Fercer. The galaxy’s most desired male.”

I keep the smile fixed in place. The galaxy’s most desired male wants nothing more than to sleep for a week. Perhaps two. But that’s not something the Devil would ever admit.

Despite my exhaustion, Vyla shows no signs of leaving as we reach my suite. She’s already pulling out her comm and settling in on the curved sofa of the lounge area as if she plans to spend the night working there.

Which she may do. She’s tireless.

As my manager, Vyla has managed every aspect of my carefully constructed entity known as “Devil, the Lord of Volscian Rock.” She arranges my schedule, my finances, and my public appearances.

She’s been with me since the beginning, back when I was playing dive bars on mining stations for tips. I owe her my career. I genuinely fear the day that she’ll want to leave me for some new upstart.

“I’ll have the chef send up something,” she says, tapping away at the screen, already anticipating my needs. As I said, Vyla is brilliant at her job.

“You know, you’re the best manager ever,” I tell her.

Vyla flashes a small smile, her focus on her comm. “You do need to eat. You’re looking thin.”

“A dessert, perhaps?” The hope in my voice is embarrassing.

Vyla frowns at me. “You are on a diet.”

“You just said I was too thin.”

“Better that than fat.”

Our eyes remain locked in a silent standoff, a wealth of information passing between us. I might be known as the Devil, but she takes torture to a new level.

“You know what, I’ve changed my mind. You act more like my mother than my manager. A good manager would also order me something sweet.”

“My dear son,” Vyla jests back at me, playing along. “If you keep up the good performances, you might get a treat.”

I roll my eyes.

“Plus, my mother would order me that dessert too. Because she’s nice.”

Vyla smirks, yet keeps her focus on her screen. “You’ve got to try harder than that, Fercer.”

“I take it all back. You are a terrible manager.”

“I’m an excellent manager,” she replies without missing a beat. “And right now your manager is telling you that we’ve got to review tomorrow’s schedule.”

I’m too tired for this.

“I’m not that hungry anyway,” I say, moving toward the inner door that leads to my bedroom. “It’s late, Vyla. Can we do it in the morning instead?”

“Just a quick check-in first. The label wants to discuss extending the tour, and there’s that offer from Entertainment Ventures—”

I tune out her voice and ongoing torture as I push open the bedroom door, already imagining the blessed relief of collapsing onto my bed.

I freeze.

Something is wrong.

The scent hits me first—rich, savory, unmistakable. My gaze sweeps the room, cataloging details: the closet door, normally kept closed, now ajar; my robe, folded over the back of the chair rather than tossed where I’d left it; and there, on my pillow—

A crystal dish. Inside, worms coated in sauce, pale bodies glistening under the dim lighting.

My stomach turns.

Zongarian worms. A traditional Volscian courtship offering, the kind of gift someone presents to a potential mate. Most Volscians would be flattered. The worms are expensive, a delicacy, a clear statement of serious intent.

I feel nothing but sick.

“Fercer?” Vyla appears at my shoulder.

“Someone’s been in my room.” My voice comes out flat. The charming performer has vacated the premises entirely. “Security. Now.”

The guard rushes in, hand on his weapon.

While he moves through the suite, checking the refresher unit and closets, Vyla steps closer to examine the dish. The worms continue their slow, glistening writhe. My stomach does its own sympathetic movement in response.

I’ve never admitted it publicly—the Devil can’t exactly confess to having a weak stomach for traditional delicacies—but the rich, savory smell of Zongarian worms has always unsettled me. I’ve always preferred sweet things. Another secret I keep buried beneath the persona.

“This is the third incident this month,” I state. “First it was handwritten notes slipped under hotel room doors. Now someone has broken into my private space—”

Someone is watching me. Claiming me.

Vyla’s brow furrows as she turns back to me.

The guard emerges from the refresher. “The suite is clear. No sign of forced entry. Whoever did this had access codes.”

The tips of my claws stab against my palms. I flex my fingers, willing myself to stay in control. “That narrows the suspect pool considerably. Have the station’s security chief pull access logs.”

Vyla turns to me, her hand resting against my arm. “I’ll handle it.”

“I want answers. I need—”

“You need a break,” Vyla interrupts. “Somewhere that security can actually do their jobs.”

The guard winces at her words but doesn’t say anything. My suite was breached under his watch, unfortunately.

At least Vyla looks as unhappy as I feel.

“The tour...” I start, knowing I have obligations.

“Can wait. Your safety comes first.” She pulls up something on her comm. “There’s a resort on Cardonia, very exclusive, very private: the Alien Hotel. I can have us booked on your private ship by tomorrow.”

I blink. “You’ve already looked into this?”

“I’ve been worried about you for weeks,” she says simply, matter-of-factly. “You’re exhausted. And now you apparently have...”

“A stalker,” I supply.

“A stalker,” she agrees, swallowing the word uncomfortably. “It’s my job to anticipate what you need, Fercer. Any good manager would have a contingency plan ready.”

Put like that, it sounds reasonable. Responsible, even. Vyla has always been thorough; it’s what makes her so good at her job.

So why does the thought of this vacation feel less like escape and more like trading one cage for another?

“Fine,” I hear myself say. “Book it.”

Vyla nods briskly, already tapping at her comm. “I’ll handle security, handle the label, handle everything. You just focus on resting.” She moves toward the door, then pauses. “Try to get some sleep, Fercer. You look like death warmed over.”

“Charming as always.”

“Someone has to tell you the truth.” Her expression softens. “You can trust me to always be there for you. Goodnight.”

The door clicks shut behind her.

I stand motionless for a long moment, staring at the dish of writhing worms on my pillow. A courtship gift. An intimate violation. Someone out there wants to claim me like a prize to be won.

The guard clears his throat awkwardly. “Should I, uh, remove that, sir?”

“Please.” I can’t bear the thought of touching it.

I watch him carry the dish away, willing my stomach to settle. When the door finally closes and I’m alone, I sink onto the edge of my bed, as far from the violated pillow as possible, and let the mask crumble.

I’m so tired.

Tired of performing. Tired of being watched. Tired of smiling when I want to scream.

My hand slips beneath the mattress, finding the object hidden there by touch alone. I pull out the battered paperback, its spine cracked from countless readings, its cover featuring a muscular warrior clutching a swooning female beneath two moons.

*Claimed by the Shadow Commander.*

My guilty secret. The galaxy’s most desired male and eligible bachelor spends his nights alone, reading romance novels. The tabloids would have a field day. Vyla would probably combust.

I trace the embossed title with one claw, and something in my chest loosens slightly.

I open to my bookmarked page, letting the familiar words wash over me.

“Stay,” she breathed. “Because I choose you. Only you, exactly as you are.”

Wouldn’t that be something. Someone who chooses you—not for the fame, not for the image, not for what I can give them. Just... for me.

With my upcoming vacation, perhaps I can find a few moments of peace. Perhaps I can pretend, just for a little while, that somewhere out there exists someone who’d want the real me.

Whoever that is. Beneath this persona I’ve built up, I’m no longer certain I know.

Just tired.

I settle against the headboard, book in hand, and let the story carry me somewhere better.

It’s the only escape I have.