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Eventually, I force myself upright, limbs protesting. I search for the water container he left me days ago, gulping it down to steady my nerves. My reflection in the obsidian shard catches my eye—lips kiss-bruised, hair rumpled, eyes haunted. A shaky laugh escapes me at the absurdity of it all.I just had a savage encounter with a demon, and I’m… still wanting to do it again?

I scold myself,Get it together, Valentina. He’s dangerous.And yet, the empathy I felt when touching his broken horn tugs at me, a reminder that maybe he’s not all cruelty. He’s scarred, bound, furious at his own captivity. We’re alike in that, at least. But there’s no place for softness in a fortress built on nightmares.

My gaze drops to the fur covering me, a meager shield against the fortress’s chill. A sharp ache twists my chest, a mixture of shame and dark fascination. I can’t let him see me falter. If he wants to pretend this was nothing, then I’ll let him. Yet I can’t deny the raw, addictive spark that crackled between us. It might be the doom of us both.

I stand, forcing my exhausted body to move. Pain lances through my thighs, a reminder of how thoroughly we clashed. I gather my clothes—shredded in places—and pull them on. Each movement stings. I grumble under my breath, half-cursing Malphas for his roughness, half-scolding myself for embracing it.

When I’m dressed, I stumble to the slab, deciding to do as he said—rest. My mind won’t shut off, replaying every searing moment. The fortress wards hum in the distance, as though murmuring secrets about the twisted bond forming under this roof.

Eventually, I sink onto the slab, burying my face in the fur. My ribs ache, my lips feel swollen, and my heart thrums with amaddening cocktail of conflicting emotions. Sleep is elusive, but I clamp my eyes shut, demanding my mind quiet so I can brace for whatever tomorrow brings.

Tomorrow,I think bitterly.We go back to Vhoig, where the elves want me dead and Malphas enslaved.The risk is monumental. If we’re caught, I’ll face a fate worse than any illusions. If Malphas succumbs to the contract’s agony, we both might perish.

But deeper than those fears, I sense a new worry:What if this clash of lust and loathing becomes a chain of its own?I tremble at how easily he unravelled my defenses, how I ache for more despite the terror that still clings to my bones.

No answers come in the darkness. Only the slow, pounding echo of my heartbeat as I drift into fitful slumber, replaying the memory of his broken horn under my fingers, the half-silent gasp of pain that escaped him. A moment of empathy amid our collision.He is bound, too,I remind myself.And part of me hates him for it, even as I can’t turn away.

And thus, night folds over me, heavy with secrets, forging a fragile respite before the next storm.

10

MALPHAS

Ipace the length of my private study, tension humming through every sinew. My wings rustle whenever I pivot, leathery membranes scraping the basalt walls. The air in here smells of dust and centuries-old parchment, a stark contrast to the cloying scent of brimstone that saturates the rest of my fortress. Tall shelves line the perimeter, stacked with scrolls and tomes I’ve gathered from ancient battlefields, deserted sorcerer towers, and raids on the dark elf archives. A single arcane lantern sheds weak light, throwing restless shadows across the floor.

At the center of the room, a circular runic diagram glows faintly—a web of swirling lines and sigils etched into the stone. The lines pulse in rhythm with my heartbeat, responding to the power coiling under my skin. It has been decades since I last used this circle to unearth secrets locked behind spells or wards. Tonight, I’ll attempt something I never imagined: analyzing the bloodline of a mortal—no,not just a mortal—who vexes me in more ways than I can count.

The memory of last night slams into me unbidden: Valentina gasping my name, her nails clawing my horn as if searching forpurchase in the madness of our joining. The taste of her mouth, the heated shock in her gaze as I pressed her into that slab of basalt. A growl rumbles in my throat. It was a foolish indulgence, a raw collision fueled by frustration and lust. Part of me still aches from it. Another part curses how close I came to losing control, especially when the contract twinged at the height of my desire.

I clench my fists, glaring at the swirling runes. “Focus,” I mutter under my breath. Desire is a worthless distraction. Yes, I took her, but I’ll not allow that to sway me from the real mission: discovering the truth behind her blood. If she truly is the key to shattering the demonic oath binding me to the dark elf King, I can’t let the complexities ofusstand in the way.

Grim determination steels my spine. I pull a small crystal phial from a leather pouch at my belt. Within it, a single droplet of Valentina’s blood shimmers under the lantern’s glow. She scratched her arm this morning on a jagged edge of my fortress walls—likely while avoiding a nosy Trolvor—and I seized the opportunity. Whether she realized I pocketed that droplet is uncertain, but I suspect she guessed. She’s no fool, that one.

The droplet pulses faintly against the glass, as though alive with dormant power. The sight unsettles me, flaring an uneasy flutter I refuse to name. This is more than mortal blood. It resonates with something primal, a whisper older than the illusions shaping my domain. A whisper that reminds me of the Abyss, that infinite darkness the oldest demons sometimes speak of in hushed tones.

I step into the runic circle, carefully placing the phial at its center. Power stirs in the air, drawn by my presence. My horns tingle with the first brush of arcane energies. “Show me the origin,” I command, letting my chaos magic slip into the etched lines.

The runes blaze to life, black flames crackling along the sigils. My breath grows shallow. This circle can reveal hidden genealogies, blood-hex curses, or any number of secrets inscribed within a single drop of blood. I haven’t used it in ages, mainly because the results can be… unsettling.

A swirl of smoke coils above the phial, forming shapes that flicker in and out of focus. I see the faint outline of a woman’s face, gaunt from hunger, then a man brandishing a sword in a dusty field. The images shift too quickly for me to catch every detail. They’re glimpses of Valentina’s ancestry, or perhaps the mortals who preceded her. My heart thuds an uneven beat.You must keep your mind on the goal, Malphas.

The smoke condenses, blackening at the edges. My lips peel back in a silent snarl as a deeper power stirs within the circle. Something old. Something that hisses from beyond the wards of my fortress. The flames gutter, then flare bright, spitting sparks.

“Damn,” I hiss. This reaction is more intense than I anticipated. The swirling blackness forms a shape in midair: a horned figure with serpentine eyes, a shifting silhouette that dwarfs the ephemeral images of humans. My veins burn, chaos magic answering in kind.

Another shape flickers, this one vaguely female, locked in a swirling dance with that horned figure. There’s a sense of conflict, betrayal, and unstoppable power. The circle’s runes sing with tension, like the strings of a bow drawn too tight. My tail lashes the floor.What am I tapping into?

The ephemeral scene collapses back into swirling smoke. A single, jagged rune forms at the center, pulsing red. I recognize it as an ancient demonic glyph referencing the “Fallen One.” My breath catches. The Fallen One is a primal figure from demon lore, a being cast out in the earliest days of the Underworld’s creation.

I recall scraps of legend: the Fallen One was an Abyssborn entity who warred against demonkind itself, or perhaps warred with them. The stories vary. Only one truth remains consistent across every telling: the Fallen One’s bloodline is lost, extinguished… or so we believed.

“Impossible,” I murmur. The glyph hovers in the air, confirming otherwise. The droplet of Valentina’s blood resonates with that ancient lineage.She’s Abyssborn,a direct descendant of the primeval power that once shook our realm.

Heat surges in my chest, excitement, and a flicker of fear. If she possesses the blood of the Fallen One, that might explain the contract’s instability whenever she’s near.She can potentially sever it.My wings twitch, anticipation thrumming in my bones. For centuries, I’ve served under compulsion. Now, for the first time, a genuine path to freedom opens before me.

The black flame roars higher, spitting out one last image: a chain snapping. My entire body stiffens, recognition blazing. It’s symbolic, a sign that Valentina’s ancestry can break bonds even older than mine. Then the flame winks out, leaving the runic circle scorched. The phial cracks, releasing the droplet of blood into the air. It disperses in a hiss, leaving no physical trace behind.

The abrupt quiet weighs on me. My heart thunders, grappling with the revelation.She’s Abyssborn.She’s the reason my oath to the King is faltering. If we harness that power, perhaps it’s no longer a question ofifI can break my chains, buthow.