Page 12

VALENTINA

D awn claws at the grimy windows of our makeshift shelter, painting the cracked walls with smoky gray light.

I’m slumped against a crumbled pillar, shoulders stiff and aching from our haphazard escape last night.

My mind replays the events of the ritual chamber, the frantic run through Vhoig’s streets, and the tense hours spent curled in this abandoned nook. None of it feels real.

Yet Malphas is unmistakably here, a silent sentinel in the half-dark.

He stands near the doorway with his massive arms crossed over a chest that ripples with muscle and carapace-like ridges.

Every breath he takes stirs the faint red glow beneath his skin—those molten veins that mark him as a demon forged in war.

His horns cast jagged shadows across the debris-littered floor, and I can’t shake the feeling that I’m trapped in a nightmare I haven’t woken from.

He meets my gaze when I shift, the faintest flicker of curiosity in his crimson eyes.

An ember of tension coils low in my gut.

Even though he spared me, I don’t for one second believe I’m safe.

The memory of his claws severing my ropes in the ritual chamber collides with the knowledge that he could kill me in a heartbeat if he wished.

I clear my throat, trying to summon some semblance of courage. “Any movement outside?”

He tilts his head, listening. “Few patrols, but they’ve slowed.” His voice is rough, edged with a touch of weariness. “They likely think we fled the city by now.”

My stomach twists at the mention of “we.” I never asked to become an accomplice in his rebellion. Then again, if not for Malphas, I would be lifeless on a blood-soaked dais. I owe him, but that doesn’t soothe my dread.

He pushes away from the wall in a fluid motion.

His wings flex, battered membranes rustling against the air.

A subtle grimace crosses his face, as though the strain of defying his contract still gnaws at him.

When I first realized he bore an invisible shackle to the dark elves, something akin to shock rippled through me.

A demon—one of the most terrifying creatures on Protheka—leashed by a monarchy that uses him like a prized weapon.

I rise, stretching out cramped muscles. My back throbs where old welts and bruises protest every movement. “So what’s our plan? You mentioned searching for an archivist who might have answers.” Talking keeps me from fixating on my fear.

A low rumble resonates in his chest, not quite a growl. “Yes. It’s still an option. But I have…other matters to address first.”

Unease crackles through me. “Other matters?”

He exhales, stepping closer. The floorboards creak beneath his immense weight. I brace myself, but he stops just short of invading my personal space. Even so, I feel the heat radiating off him in waves. His eyes glint with predatory intensity.

“I spared you, and you followed me,” he says quietly, the words thrumming with unspoken tension. “But I sense you still think you can slip away if an opportunity arises.”

I swallow hard. “What choice do I have? Stay with you and be hunted by every elf in the city? That’s not exactly comforting.”

“You’re already hunted,” he counters, voice deceptively calm. “The difference is, with me, you stand a chance of surviving.”

I flinch. Those words carry a dark truth. Without him, I’d have no real protection. On my own, the dark elves would recapture me in days—or less. Even so, there’s a steely part of me that balks at the idea of relying on a demon. The same demon who should have devoured me hours ago.

He must read my hesitation, because he shifts his stance, shoulders rolling as if he’s preparing for a confrontation.

His horns cast shifting patterns on the ceiling.

“I’m not offering you freedom,” he says, each syllable cold.

“If you remain with me, it’s under my rules. My protection—and my absolute control.”

My breath catches. “Absolute control,” I echo, trying to keep my voice from shaking. “That sounds like slavery under a different master.”

His jaw tightens. “You prefer to wander these streets, waiting for the elves to collar you again? Because they will. And next time, they won’t bother with a ritual. They’ll skewer you on sight.”

Anger flares. “You’re giving me two terrible options. It’s either die or place myself under your thumb.”

He clenches his fists, a tremor rippling through the molten lines on his arms. “I never claimed to be virtuous. I don’t do charity. If you want to live, you will abide by my conditions.”

The air turns stifling, tension coiling like a spring ready to snap. In this moment, it hits me how dangerous he truly is. I might be physically free of ropes, but his presence forms a different sort of cage. The knowledge sends a sick lurch through my stomach.

Still, I can’t quell the rebellious spark flickering in my chest. “Why me?” I demand. “Why not pick some other unfortunate soul to keep around?”

His eyes darken. A swirl of black seeps into the crimson, a reminder that chaos magic runs deep in his veins.

“Because your blood disrupts the contract that binds me,” he mutters.

“Because you dared to stand against me when every other sacrifice begged for mercy. Because everything about you says you shouldn’t survive—and yet you still do. ”

I bristle, torn between indignation and a bizarre sense of pride. He sees in me something more than victimhood. Or maybe I’m just an experiment to him, a curiosity he refuses to discard until he gets answers.

He takes one measured step forward, forcing me to crane my neck to maintain eye contact.

“I’ll make it simple,” he murmurs, voice dropping to a lethal whisper.

“Kneel, vow yourself to me, and I’ll shield you from the elves’ wrath.

I’ll feed you, clothe you, keep you from rotting in a dungeon.

I may even help you discover what your bloodline conceals.

But the moment you defy me, I’ll tear your world apart.

Because I refuse to be weakened by sentiment. ”

The vow rattles me to my core. Each word carries the weight of centuries of violence.

My instincts scream to run, but there’s nowhere to go.

I clench my fists so tight, my knuckles burn.

Is this truly my best option—trading one captor for another?

Yet the alternative is a swift execution at the elves’ hands.

Silence hangs between us. I think of Lowtown, of the shack that reeked of hopelessness.

I see Mirena’s fevered eyes, the child cowering in an alley, the endless cycle of brutality.

If I return to that, I’ll either be recaptured or forced into the gladiatorial pits.

Or worse, sacrificed again. Perhaps a demon’s protection—no matter how twisted—offers a sliver of hope.

He watches me, tension inscribe in every line of his towering frame. “Choose,” he says, an undercurrent of impatience throbbing in his tone.

My chest tightens. Memories flash through me—the ritual circle, my wrists bound, the swirl of dark magic.

My entire life has been defined by subjugation to the elves, but there was never a choice.

Now, Malphas presents a different kind of cage—one that might come with the faint possibility of changing my fate.

I clench my fists, summoning that spark of defiance I’ve relied on for so long. My voice trembles, but I force it out. “Fine. I accept your protection…on your terms.”

Malphas exhales, a slow, rumbling sound. His shoulders ease fractionally, though tension still radiates from him. “Good.” His lips quirk into something that could almost be a twisted smile. “I promise you, I won’t be gentle. But I will make certain you remain alive.”

A shiver races down my spine. I suspect he enjoys the power dynamic. Before I can reconsider, he extends a hand, claws tipped in obsidian. “Swear it, human. Swear that your life belongs to me now, or walk out that door and face the elves.”

My throat constricts. Kneeling feels like capitulation, but I catch the predatory glint in his eyes—a challenge.

If I refuse, he might kill me here and now.

If I do it, I seal my future under his dominion.

Gritting my teeth, I slowly lower myself, biting back every ounce of pride, until one knee touches the creaking floor.

My hands shake as I bow my head. The position sends a stab of old shame through my chest, recalling countless times I was forced to kneel before dark elf overseers. However, I sense this is different. Malphas demanded this as a demon does—direct, uncompromising.

“I vow,” I whisper, voice cracking, “that my life is yours. I will serve you…until I’m strong enough to stand on my own.” The last words slip out before I can stop them—an echo of my defiance, even as I yield.

He tenses, probably noting my slight rebellion.

“Fair enough,” he growls. Then he places a large hand on the crown of my head, his claw tips gently pricking my scalp.

The heat of his touch makes my ears ring.

It’s no arcane brand, but I can feel the weight of this moment, a tether snapping into place between us.

It takes all my willpower not to flinch or jerk away. Finally, he lifts his hand, allowing me to rise. My pulse gallops, and I brace my legs to keep from trembling. Malphas stands with an aura of grim satisfaction, though a hint of calculation darkens his gaze.

“So we have an accord,” he says, stepping back.

I exhale, releasing tension I wasn’t aware I’d been holding. My knees are stiff from kneeling on broken tiles, but I manage to keep my chin high. If I show him how shaken I am, he’ll exploit it.

Silence stretches, thick with unspoken truths. “We can’t remain here. The elves won’t relent until they find us. We need to move and secure resources—clothes, food, healing supplies. Then we’ll find a lead on your lineage.”