Page 181 of Bred

THE DEVIL’S BARGAIN

M.J. MARSTENS

HIS FALLEN SPAWN

CHAPTER ONE

NATALIA

Ascratchingsoundjarsme from my sleep. I jolt upright, my chest heaving as remnants of my nightmare drift away. Seconds tick by as I orient myself and surroundings. The soft fleece of my winter sheets creates a warm cocoon around my legs as does my flannel nightgown. They remind me that I’m safe and alone in my apartment.

A glance at the clock shows me it’s the witching hour, but I’m not afraid of the demons said to roam at this time. Only the demons of my past haunt me, and I long since did away with them—thanks to a deal I made with the Devil.

As if summoned by my thoughts, the scratching at my window resumes, drawing my attention. In the pale light of the moon, a long, black claw rakes down the smooth surface, raising the hairs on my arm. Dammit, what was the saying…

Speak of the Devil.

My heart thuds in recognition as I wonder what he’s doing here, in the dead of night. I knew when I signed my soul over to the ruler of Hell, we’d meet again, but I assumed it wouldn’t be until I died. A gasp escapes, bouncing off the walls of my bedroom.

Is he here to escort me to the underworld?

Shouldn’t the Grim Reaper be coming instead?

I stomp to the window, pulling it open so the freezing air outside swirls inward, but it does nothing to cool my ire.

“I’m not dying!”

The demonic man floating by whatever unknown magic he possesses doesn’t bat an eyelash at my outburst. Instead, he simply ducks his head and enters my room.

“Don’t you need permission to enter?”

“That’s a vampire you’re thinking of, angel.”

I snort at his absurd nickname and repeat my earlier statement.

The Devil smirks. “I know you’re not dying—you wouldn’t be any good to medead.”

His announcement stymies me.

“Then why are you here?”

“Have you forgotten your promise to me so soon, little one?”

My lips curl into a scowl. I’m not little, per se, but compared to this man—more like beast—I am. He’s well over seven feet, not including the stereotypical horns.

“I sold you my soul in exchange…my freedom.”

“Hmmm, I believe the specific wording on the contract is ‘your life for a new life’.”

Again, I pause, my eyes narrowing. “Noooooo. Using the spell that crazy lady in New Orleans gave me, I called you to me and bargained an exchange of getting rid of my family for my soul.”

“Those were your words, not what was in the contract, and because you didn’t read it—a foolish mistake on your part—you assumed that’s what it entailed.”

“B-b-but you did as I requested, right?”

“Yes. I granted you a new life by disposing of your terrible family to the deepest, darkest pits of Hell.”

Hearing this perks me up a bit.