100x Rebate Sharing System: Retired Incubus Wants to Marry & Have Kids

Chapter 768: Chapter 767- Mira and Helena gotten Emotional

The dragon pressed its snout through the hole in the roof, nudging the edges wider, its tongue — a thick, gelatinous appendage — lolling out and dripping slime onto the floor. Bella shrieked, pulling the silk nightgown tight against her body, covering her belly and chest with her arms.

"RUSTY! Bad! Down! DOWN!"

The slime-dragon didn’t listen. It never listened. It was too happy.

I stood from the bed. Naked. My cock — still half-hard from earlier — swung between my thighs as I walked to the window. My tail flicked behind me, and I reached up, patting Rusty’s snout. The surface was cool, viscous, yielding under my palm. It rippled at my touch, and the dragon made a sound — not a roar this time, but a low, rumbling purr that vibrated through the floorboards.

"Good boy," I murmured. "You got big."

Rusty’s tail wagged harder. A chunk of roof tile fell.

I stepped onto the windowsill. The night air hit my skin — cool, clean, carrying the scent of pine and distant rain. Behind me, Bella called out, "Where are you going?! You’re naked! Viktor! VIKTOR!"

I jumped.

Not down. Up. My body rose, propelled by the dormant incubus blood in my veins, and I hovered in the open air above the mansion. Naked. My tail swaying beneath me like a counterweight. My horns — still out from the earlier session — caught the moonlight and scattered it into violet prisms across the clouds. Rusty circled around me, its massive gelatinous wings displacing air in warm, wet gusts.

The world spread below me.

And it was beautiful.

The Millbrook Town — my town, my domain, the settlement that had grown from nothing into something I couldn’t have imagined — stretched in every direction. Huge trees formed the border, their trunks wide as houses, their canopies interlocking a hundred miles in every direction. The enchanted forest was Mira’s work and Helena’s magic combined — a living wall of bark and root and thorn that sealed the territory from the outside world. Within that border, the town had expanded enormously. New districts radiated outward from the mansion’s hill — residential clusters, market squares, workshops, training grounds. Construction was visible everywhere, torches and enchanted lights burning in the darkness as workers — all women, every single one — continued through the night.

I could see the war zone. The eastern border, where the trees thinned and the ground was scarred. Blackened earth. Craters. The remnants of an army that had tried to breach Mira’s defenses and failed catastrophically. And beyond it — the glow of more construction. Walls being rebuilt. Gates being reinforced. The infrastructure of a territory that had been attacked and was now hardening itself against the next attempt.

But what caught my attention wasn’t the town. It was the two presences I felt approaching.

Fast.

I sensed Mira first. Her energy was unmistakable — dark, dense, suffocating, the aura of a demoness who had spent the last several hours obliterating an army. The killing intent still clung to her like perfume. She was flying — not with wings, but with raw telekinetic force, her body cutting through the night air like a blade.

Then Helena. Lighter. Warmer. Her energy smelled of earth and green things, of roots deep underground, of forests growing. She had been at the border too — reinforcing the tree wall, expanding the defensive perimeter, shaping the living barrier with her nature magic.

Both of them converging on me. Now.

Two portals tore open in the air beside me — spatial rifts, purple-edged, humming with dimensional energy. They had sensed me. Through the bond. Through the blood. Through the undeniable pull that a husband felt when his wives were near.

Mira came through first.

She hit me like a wrecking ball. Her arms wrapped around my neck, her body slamming against mine, and the impact drove us backward through the air. Her breasts — massive, heavy, barely contained by the black battle-dress she wore — pressed against my chest. I could feel them. Soft. Warm. Yielding. The fabric between us did nothing to hide their shape or their weight. Her thighs locked around my waist, and she buried her face in my neck.

"You — you BASTARD!"

Her voice was muffled against my skin. She was shaking. Not from exhaustion. From emotion. The demoness who had, moments ago, been single-handedly destroying an army — slaughtering thousands at the border with dark magic that turned soldiers to ash — was now clinging to me like a child who thought she’d lost her parent.

"How dare you," she hissed. Her fangs — sharp, prominent, the mark of her demoness heritage — scraped my collarbone. "How dare you not tell me you were back. I felt you. I felt the bond light up and I — I thought —"

Her voice cracked. She pulled back. Her eyes — crimson, slit-pupiled, blazing with residual killing intent — were wet. Her silver hair, usually immaculate, was wild. Streaked with blood that wasn’t hers.

Her dress was torn at the shoulder, revealing the dark, milky skin beneath. She was still lactating — I could see the wet patches spreading across the fabric over her nipples. She had given birth recently. My children. I had pulled them from her myself.

The memory of her pussy — stretched, dripping, my cock still inside her as I reached in with magic — flashed through my mind.

"My my," I said. My hands found her ass. Thick. Round. Each cheek a handful and then some. I squeezed, pulling her tighter against me, and she gasped — the killing intent flickering, replaced by something warmer. "Is that how you greet your husband?"

She punched my chest. It didn’t hurt. She didn’t mean it to. "Cruel. You’re cruel."

Then Helena came through the second portal.

She didn’t slam into me. She materialized beside us, her hand going to my arm, her fingers wrapping around my bicep with the gentle but firm grip of a woman who had raised me. Her eyes — warm amber, the color of honey — looked me up and down. Her lips pressed together. Then thinned. Then trembled.

"Young master."

That voice. That particular tone — the one that was half scolding, half devotion, the voice of a nanny who had watched a boy grow into a monster and loved him anyway. Her lower lip quivered.

Her thick frame — broader than Mira’s, softer, the body of a woman built for comfort and nurturing — pressed against my side. Her breasts were enormous. They pressed against my ribs, and I could feel the warmth of them through her green and brown tunic. She was lactating too — the scent of milk was unmistakable.

"You could have told us," she whispered. "A message. Anything. We would have —"

"Helen," Mira snapped, still clinging to me. "Don’t give him the satisfaction. He did this intentionally."

"Of course I did," I said.

Both of them went silent. Looking at me. I could feel their bodies — Mira’s lithe, powerful frame wrapped around my torso, Helena’s soft, thick side pressed against my arm. My cock, still hanging between my thighs, was right at hand level. I felt Mira’s fingers brush it — an accident, maybe. Then not an accident. Her hand wrapped around the shaft, limp but heavy, and she stroked once. Slowly.

"Please, husband," she murmured against my neck. Her demoness aura pulsed — the killing intent entirely gone now, replaced by something raw and desperate and needy. The woman who had been obliterating armies was gone. In her place was a wife. A mother. A woman who had been alone too long.

I chuckled. Kissed Mira’s forehead. Then Helena’s. "Let’s first see what you’ve done. Then we’ll talk."