Page 1

VAEL

T he spires of Ti'lith cast long shadows over the alleyway as I stalk my mark through the winding corridors of Galmoleth's sole city.

The scent of fear clings to the air—sharp, tangy, and as recognizable to me as my own reflection.

The demon I'm pursuing isn't particularly clever, leaving a trail so obvious even a human could follow it.

Pausing at the corner of a twisted black structure, I catch sight of him—Nev'rozik, a minor thief who thought stealing from the royal treasury in Ikoth would somehow work out in his favor.

His pathetic, hunched form scuttles between shadows like a rat sensing a predator.

Which, I suppose, isn't far from the truth.

I roll my shoulders, feeling the comfortable weight of my weapons against my back. This job is almost insultingly easy. My mother would say it's beneath me.

" You should be focusing on more important matters, " her voice rings in my head, unbidden and unwelcome. I can picture her perfectly—standing in her stark chambers, horn jewelry glinting in the red light of Ikoth, lips curled in disapproval. " The Vaelrix bloodline cannot continue itself. "

I scoff, the sound echoing slightly in the empty alley. Nev'rozik freezes, his small horns quivering. Sloppy of me, but it hardly matters. There's nowhere for him to go that I can't follow.

"You're thirty-seven already, Vaelrix," I mimic her haughty tone under my breath as I slip from shadow to shadow. "Every respected demon has produced at least two heirs by your age. Your cousins have already established bloodlines."

My prey darts around another corner. I don't bother to rush—he's heading toward a dead end. I know this city better than the back of my hand.

"The business will die with you," I continue my mother's imagined lecture, drawing one of my smaller blades. The weight feels perfect in my palm, an extension of my arm. "Our reputation, our standing?—"

"Please! I didn't mean to!" Nev'rozik's voice interrupts my thoughts as I round the corner, finding him pressed against the wall, trembling.

I advance slowly, savoring the moment. His tiny horns—barely worth mentioning—mark him as low-born, insignificant. Nothing like the proud curl of my own that have earned respect in every corner of Aerasak.

"Didn't mean to steal from King Vag'thimon's personal vault?" I raise an eyebrow, twirling my blade between my fingers. "What, did you trip and accidentally pocket seven hundred nodals?"

"I was desperate!" His eyes dart around, seeking an escape route that doesn't exist.

"Aren't we all," I mutter, thinking again of my mother's endless pressure.

Find a suitable mate. Produce strong offspring. Continue the family legacy. As if I'm nothing more than a breeding stud with convenient assassination skills.

"You don't understand!" Nev'rozik drops to his knees, palms out. "I have children! Three sons!"

I falter for just a second, the blade stilling in my hand.

"How fortunate for you," I say, voice carefully neutral. "Your matron must be very pleased."

"She is," he snivels, misreading my pause as mercy. "They're everything to her!"

And there it is again—expectations, legacy, bloodlines. Even this pathetic excuse for a demon has managed to fulfill the one task I continuously avoid.

"Stand up," I snap, irritation flooding through me. "You're embarrassing yourself."

My mother's voice intrudes again. " The females I've selected for your consideration are all from excellent bloodlines. Strong, ruthless. Perfect for producing heirs worthy of the Vaelrix name ."

Nev'rozik scrambles to his feet, hope flickering across his features.

"You're letting me go?"

I snort, refocusing on the present. "No. But you can die with some dignity."

His face crumples. "Please, my children?—"

"Should have been motivation to avoid crime," I finish, moving with practiced precision. "Or at least not get caught."

The blade slides between his ribs with surgical accuracy, finding his heart. I don't enjoy killing—it's simply what I do. What I'm good at. What generations of Vaelrix demons have excelled at.

His body slumps against me, and I ease it to the ground, avoiding the blood that would stain my clothes and make my journey back more conspicuous.

"At least you leave something behind," I murmur to the corpse, popping out one eye as proof of completion. "Something besides a reputation and disappointed expectations."

I pocket the trophy and straighten, sighing. Another job done, another journey back to Ikoth where my mother will no doubt have arranged yet another "coincidental" meeting with some high-ranking demon female, expecting me to fall into line.

As I navigate back through Ti'lith's winding streets, I wonder what it would be like to have something—someone—to return to that was chosen by me, not dictated by bloodlines and expectations.

The towering black spires of Ti'lith's royal district loom ahead as I navigate through progressively wealthier neighborhoods.

The palace itself—a monstrous construction of obsidian towers and jagged archways—looks like it grew rather than was built, reflecting the strange, organic architecture of Galmoleth.

My footsteps echo against the glassy stone path.

Guards at the outer gates straighten when they see me approach, recognition dawning in their eyes.

My reputation precedes me, as it does everywhere.

The Vaelrix name carries weight, but my own accomplishments have eclipsed even my family's notorious bloodline.

"Here to see the Hooded King," I announce, not bothering with formalities.

The guards exchange glances but don't challenge me. One nods and gestures for me to follow. Smart move.

"His Majesty is expecting you," the guard mutters, leading me through a series of vaulted corridors.

Of course he is. Asmodeus might be new to ruling Galmoleth, but he's no fool. He knows when a bounty hunter of my caliber enters his territory and when one is preparing to leave.

The throne room doors—massive panels carved with scenes of demon conquest—swing open soundlessly. Inside, the cavernous space gleams with polished black stone and strategically placed braziers that cast dancing shadows across the walls.

And there sits Asmodeus, the Hooded King, lounging on his throne with the casual authority of someone born to rule.

Even though many don't believe him to be a real King, I respected his rule here when I came and met with him before hunting on his lands.

His features are partially obscured by the hood he rarely removes, but I can see enough to note his thoughtful expression.

"Vaelrix," he greets, voice carrying easily across the chamber. "Welcome back. Successful hunt, I presume?"

I approach and incline my head—not a bow, but acknowledgment. My mother would have a conniption fit if she saw such casual disrespect to royalty, but Asmodeus and I have an understanding.

"Always," I reply, patting my pouch. "Nev'rozik won't be stealing from anyone again."

Asmodeus leans forward, his eyes—the only part of his face fully visible beneath his hood—gleaming with interest. "I heard it was quite the sum he took."

"Seven hundred nodals from Vag'thimon's personal vault. Amateur move."

"Indeed." He drums his fingers against the arm of his throne. "I take it you're here to inform me you're leaving Galmoleth?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Your intelligence network is efficient."

"I make it my business to know the movements of certain individuals." A slight smile. "Especially those who could either be valuable allies or formidable enemies."

"And which am I?"

"That remains to be seen." He stands, descending the dais with fluid grace. "Before you go, I'm hosting a gathering tonight. You should attend."

I bite back a groan. A social event. Like I don't get enough of those with my mother trying to orchestrate some "chance" meeting with a potential breeding partner.

"I appreciate the invitation, but I have preparations to make?—"

"It wasn't an invitation." Asmodeus's tone remains pleasant, but there's steel beneath it. "Consider it a request from your king."

My jaw tightens. "You're not my king. I'm Ikothan."

"But currently on my territory." He moves closer, and I catch a glimpse of his mate lingering in a doorway behind the throne, watching our interaction with curious eyes. "Besides, you might find it... enlightening. My mate has invited several interesting humans."

"I have no interest in humans."

Asmodeus laughs—a rich, genuine sound. "Neither did I, once. Yet here we are." He gestures to his mate, who gives a small wave. "One evening, Vaelrix. Surely the great bounty hunter can survive a few hours of conversation and Amerinth."

I weigh my options. Refusing Asmodeus outright would be unwise, especially when I'll need to return to Galmoleth for future jobs. And the mention of Amerinth—that potent, sweet liquor that burns like fire—does make the prospect marginally more tolerable.

"Fine," I concede, the word tasting bitter. "One appearance. Brief."

"Excellent." He claps me on the shoulder, an unusual familiarity that I barely resist flinching from. "Who knows? You might actually enjoy yourself."

"Doubtful," I mutter, already planning my strategic entrance and exit to minimize interaction.

"The celebration begins at dusk," he continues, ignoring my obvious reluctance. "Wear something that doesn't have blood on it."

I glance down at my immaculate black leather outfit. "I never get blood on my clothes."

"A true professional." His eyes crinkle with amusement. "Until tonight, then."

As I turn to leave, I can't help wondering what my mother would think of this development. She'd be thrilled at the networking opportunity, no doubt already calculating which high-ranking demonesses might be in attendance. She's not here, but that doesn't mean I won't have to field some prospects.

Gods, I need a drink.