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CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

I ’m not sure exactly how long I've been trapped in this cell before Lord Piehole finally shows his stupid face again. Judging by the four meals which have appeared and the lights dimming for what I’d guess to be around eight hours, it’s been at least a day.

I wish I had my phone. It would be useless for calling for help without any signal, but it could have helped me keep track of the time better. Who knows what weird schedule he’s feeding me on? He could be spacing the meals and sleep lighting oddly just to confuse me for all I know.

I spend the time alone thinking, trying to figure a way out of this mess. I’ve gone over every avenue of escape my panicked brain can conjure up, and while I’ve not given into defeat, I hate that none of them feel like good options. I hate how fucking powerless I feel. In my head I’m tearing him into pieces and breaking down the walls to my freedom, yet reality is hardly as kind as my fantasy. It’s a painful little bitch of a struggle, but I refuse to let it beat me. I won’t let him win.

When the demon appears by the far wall, right about the spot where he left before, I’m in the middle of imagining him choking to death. Poison seems like a good way to kill him, or it would be if I could only get my hands on something demons can’t consume. A challenging prospect for someone who’s currently trapped in a damn rune-covered fucking box.

“You have barely touched your food,” the demon says in lieu of an actual greeting.

“I don’t know about you, but being kidnapped and threatened doesn’t do much for my appetite.” The only reason I’d forced myself to eat any of it was for the baby. That and the fact I absolutely wouldn’t put it past him to force-feed me if I attempted a hunger strike.

“You should make more of an effort for your unborn child,” Paimon chastises me as he makes his way across the room, coming to loom over me. “Sitting on the floor is also quite the choice. Is the bed not to your liking?”

“Nothing of yours is to my liking, and if you supposedly care so much about the wellbeing of my child, you should let me go,” I retort, not holding back any of my irritation. Even if I go the sympathetic route to gain his trust enough for his guard to slip so I can kill him, it would be suspicious for me to flip so soon.

Little steps, Eden. Pave the road before you walk it. Just try not to attempt stabbing his eyes out with your nails every time he speaks.

“I think we both are well aware I won’t be doing that. I have had one child stolen from me already, I will not accept another loss.”

“No one can steal this baby from you because they’re not yours,” I remind him, glaring up in his direction. I barely hold myself back from lunging, instead forcing myself to try another tactic. As much as I doubt it’ll work given his actions so far, I’m willing to try anything while playing the long game, including trying to reason with the clearly insane and unreasonable. “Surely you want one that’s actually your child, or at least the same kind of demon as you. What good is a baby incubus or succubus to an iracae, really?”

“Attempting to convince me of what I do or do not desire?” Paimon drawls, an ugly expression on his stupidly delicate features. “I was not born yesterday, witch.”

“I’m just pointing out the obvious.” I shrug. “It seems weird to me that you’d want this baby over having another one of your own?—”

“Get up,” he orders abruptly, the sharpness of it startling me despite how constantly aware I am of the danger he poses.

No amount of polite conversation could make me forget what he is. A powerful demon who feeds on the act of death itself, one who chooses to take that need to its extremes based on the little I've been told about him. There are demons of his kind who choose to feed on the sacrifice of plants or bugs. However, this one has a reputation for murder, and for being so dangerous even demon hunters fear him.

Paimon is likely the most deadly thing I’ve ever been this close to. For now, though, it’s not as if he can kill me without losing what he wants, so I figure a tiny little rebellion won’t change that.

“No,” I retort. “Go irritate someone else. Don’t you have any demon friends you can harass?”

“Stand,” he says coldly, stepping even closer, an obvious threat as he repeats, “Stand, or I will make you stand.”

I weigh my options for a moment before slowly dragging myself to my feet. I’d rather the freak doesn’t have an excuse to touch me. “Satisfied?”

“I will be once we’re done.”

“Done with what?” I question, right as a strange contraption appears in the centre of my prison. The sight of it makes me sidestep, trying to put space between me and him. His arm appears, hand against the wall to block my path.

“Where do you think you’re going? Aren’t you excited to meet your child?”

My eyes dart over to the thing. Fuck. This is the acceleration he was talking about. It seemed like he’d needed more time, but I guess he decided to prioritise finishing his fucking preparations, whatever those entailed. Fucking great. It looks like I might not have the time to play the long game after all...

“It cannot be safe to do this,” I protest, silently praying to anyone who will listen that he wants them alive enough not to do something so obviously risky.

“It’s hardly ideal, but should the process cause complications, I am sure you will survive so that we may try again,” he replies, giving me a cruel, twisted smirk. “This time, with a child of my own, as you so graciously suggested.”

My hand is flying towards him before I can process it. It slaps right across the side of his face before I scrape my nails into the flesh of his cheek, clawing down through it with a surprising amount of ease. Surprising, that is, until I see the dark colour on what should be unpainted nails, then it becomes frozen horror instead.

In my moment of shock, he grabs the offending hand and twists my arm so he can hold my fingers out to inspect them. I try to pull free, twisting my body and yanking on my arm with all my might, but his grip is like iron. I kick his legs, and the bastard only laughs, not losing any of his stability.

“What do we have here…the first visible signs of your metamorphosis?”

Metamorphosis?

All of the things he’s said, along with what the others have said and what I knew already, start to line up in my head. They paint an unsettling picture. The baby will change me; I’ve always known that. I’ll need to feed on vitav, possibly even after they’re born. But saying I’ll become better, that I’ll improve. Asking about horns growing in…

“Am I turning into a fucking demon?” That’s more than adopting a few demon traits or characteristics. How can sleeping with Ash have turned —be turning— me into another damn species?

“Not quite. You’ll be a partial demon. I suppose that would be the most accurate way of putting it. Though you won’t have the raw power of your child, of course.”

Oh hell. Ash and I are definitely going to be having a talk about this whenever I get the fuck out of here…

“This is a good sign. The child should survive the process if you’re already far enough in to be changing. Though, you can’t seem to hold your partial form very long,” Paimon says, the last part sounding almost scathing.

I glance up at his face, repulsed as I watch the clawed wounds I’d given him knitting themselves back together until there’s no visible sign remaining. He sees me watching and smiles, tightening his grip when I start trying to break free again. Then he’s dragging me towards the strange object I’ve been avoiding looking at since it first appeared.

“Let go of me, you absolute prick!” I scream. “I will fucking kill you!”

“Doubtful.” He picks me up with irritating ease, ignoring my flailing arms and legs as he carries me the rest of the short distance across the room. I fight even harder as he sets me down and begins strapping me into what I can only describe as some sort of gold stasis pod. It looks both ancient and like something from a science-fiction film, its delicately carved ancient symbols contrasting with the futuristic shape of it.

I wonder if it will seal me inside like a sci-fi pod would too.

“I’m going to rip your fucking throat out,” I hiss, after trying and failing to bite off a few of his fingers as he tightens a strap which holds my neck down to the device.

“It really is a shame you met that foolish incubus first. All that rage, you would have made for a wonderful iracae, even a partial one.”

I don’t dignify that with a reply, mostly due to the fact I’m too busy squirming against my restraints. I’m trying desperately to avoid the goddess-damned needles and tubes he’s plucked from the insides of it and seems determined to attach to me. It’s no use.

Once he’s managed to attach the offending things to me, he pulls out a vial of blood and a paintbrush. He brings the blood-soaked tip of the brush to my skin, painting something with it on my face. I try to move, only for him to use his powers to hold me frozen the way he did when he pinned me to the wall before. It’s a horrid reminder that he likely could have simply held me still the whole time.

Did the twisted bastard just enjoy seeing me fight…seeing me struggle?

“Don’t cry. We can’t have you smudging these,” he tuts reproachfully as he finishes the painting on my face. I hadn’t even realised I was crying. “In a few hours you’ll get to meet your child. I’m saving you more than a month of hassle by speeding this up for you. Honestly, you should be grateful. I even took the time to protect your fragile little mind from being damaged by the process.”

I’m guessing he means whatever he’d painted on my forehead. I’d curse him, tell him how little I care, but I can’t even move my lips this time. Apparently he’s done listening to me speak. He yanks up my shirt next, and I try not to let the fear show in my eyes, nor the faintest relief I feel when he leaves it bunched up under my chest. He continues painting, slowly drawing something large and intricate over my stomach before stepping back and looking over me assessingly.

He nods, apparently satisfied with his morbid artistry.

Then, as if conjured by my worst nightmares, a transparent screen slides out and traps me inside. If I could move my arms, I’d bash my fists into it, but all I can do is glare up at the demon leaning over me as he does something with the device. The pod begins to hum, and a moment later, the blood markings on my skin grow hot, almost burning. I bite my lip, hands clenching as I realise I’ve regained some limited movement. Not a lot of good it will do me, though, strapped down as I am.

Paimon’s face appears right above mine, just the thin transparent screen between us. He looks irritated. Shouldn’t he be pleased at getting what he wants? Where’s the smug act now, bastard? When I get out of here, I’ll find a way to make him pay for this. I’ll find a way to be strong enough that he won’t be able to do this to me or to anyone else ever again.

“It appears I’m being called for, but I’m sure you’ll be fine in here alone for the time it will take me to handle this matter,” he says, his voice somewhat muffled through the screen dividing us. “I won’t be long.”

With that, he’s gone, and I’m left trapped in this fucking hell alone. No, not alone, I remind myself again. I close my eyes and focus on the baby in my belly. I can feel them moving. That's good.

“I’ll get us both out of here. I won’t let him take you from me. No matter what happens, I’ll protect us. I promise. One way or another.”