Page 24 of The Demon and the Burning Girl (Prothekan #2)
VALENTINA
I prowl through a narrow corridor carved into the basalt, my pulse still thrumming from the brutal sparring session with Malphas.
He vanished in a swirl of black fire after our last clash, leaving me standing breathless on the training floor.
I told myself I was glad to see him go, yet my body betrays me.
Every nerve remains on edge, torn between anger and a feverish yearning I can’t explain.
A pair of Zonaks lurk near an archway, their squat forms blending with the uneven shadows. At my approach, they scuttle off, probably more wary of Malphas’s claim over me than of me personally. Good. I’ve had enough unwanted company for one day.
My hand drifts to the short sword strapped at my belt.
After that near-brawl in the courtyard, he insisted I keep a better blade.
I told him I could handle myself just fine with a dagger, but Malphas only scoffed, pressing the hilt into my grip with that infuriating mix of arrogance and concern.
If only I could untangle which motive guides him at any given moment.
I can’t shake the memory of how close he pinned me, chest to chest, the furnace of his breath brushing my cheek. The recollection sends a tremor through my limbs—equal parts dread and reckless heat. Why do I crave more from the demon who nearly murdered me?
I arrive at the chamber Malphas designated as “mine,” the place that might as well be a cell in all but name.
The weight of his fortress wards presses in, reminding me that I stand in a realm shaped by chaos magic.
Its corridors coil like serpents, illusions thick in my vision.
I push open the door, stepping inside with a rough exhale.
The violet brazier in the corner gutters low, casting warped shadows on the basalt walls.
The battered fur he gave me still lies across the slab I’ve been using as a bed.
My reflection glints in a shard of obsidian jutting from the wall—hair disheveled, cheeks smudged with soot from the training grounds, silver eyes shadowed with exhaustion.
The illusions test rattled me, but not half as much as Malphas’s presence did afterward.
I shed the patched coat, letting it drop onto a ledge.
My bruises protest every movement, especially where the demon’s claws gripped me.
I wonder if he left marks. My fingertips linger on the faint soreness at my waist, recalling the pressure of his arm pinning me in place.
My heart thumps an unsteady rhythm. No matter how hard I try to banish it, the memory sizzles in my veins.
A knock rattles the door behind me, making me jump.
It’s not a timid tap and more like a command.
I freeze, pulse leaping. Only one being in this fortress knocks like that.
Swallowing, I turn and open the door. Malphas fills the threshold, towering horns carving jagged shapes against the corridor’s faint torchlight.
He says nothing at first, gaze raking over my disheveled appearance.
There are molten lines across his ebony skin, pulsing faintly as though echoing a heartbeat.
Those lines trace up his neck, disappearing beneath the collar-like plating near his throat.
His wings shift behind him, tattered membranes reflecting ghostly arcs of color from the brazier’s glow.
“Did I disturb you?” he asks at last, though his tone suggests he knows full well the effect he has.
“I—no,” I manage. My throat feels painfully dry. “I was just?—”
He steps inside without waiting for an invitation, forcing me to retreat a few steps or be trampled. The door slams behind him, sealing us in. My scalp prickles as I realize we’re alone in a confined space. And the fortress wards hum, almost like they sense tension between us.
He looms closer, crossing his arms over his broad chest. The movement pulls the plating across his shoulders, highlighting the ridges of muscle.
His horns catch the brazier’s glow, one half-broken near the tip, a permanent symbol of a battle lost. I recall how that break draws my eye every time—some vulnerability in an otherwise invincible form.
“You left the training hall quickly,” I say, forcing my voice steady.
He tilts his head, a stray lock of midnight-blue hair shifting across his temple. “I had things to attend to,” he replies curtly. “But there’s more we need to discuss.”
I bristle, hugging my arms around my sore ribs. “Now? Couldn’t it wait until tomorrow?”
His gaze flickers with a heated intensity. “No.” Then, softer, “I’ve been thinking about our arrangement… about you.”
My stomach flips. I recall how he tested me with illusions, how we’ve danced around each other with simmering conflict ever since. He’s a demon who thrives on power games. And yet, under that veneer of violence, there’s something else—an unspoken spark that flared in every near-touch, every glare.
He exhales, stepping nearer until the heat of him washes over me, overwhelming my senses. My entire body tenses, fight- or-flight warring with an unwanted surge of longing. My fists clench, nails digging into my palms. I force out a breath, refusing to surrender to fear.
“That arrangement includes you obeying me,” he murmurs. “But you’ve resisted at every turn.”
I lift my chin, heart pounding. “Is that why you came? To lecture me on obedience again?”
A flicker of dark amusement lights his crimson eyes. “Partly. But there’s more.”
He moves with disconcerting speed, bracing a clawed hand above my head against the basalt wall, effectively boxing me in.
My pulse skitters. His other hand hovers near my hip, not quite touching.
The tension radiating off him is palpable, igniting the memory of how effortlessly he could crush me.
Yet a whisper of desire whispers through my bloodstream, thick and heavy.
“You test my patience,” he growls, voice low. “You stand defiant when you should be on your knees.”
Anger and a traitorous flush combine to spark my reply. “I’m not kneeling to you. Ever.”
A savage light flares in his eyes. “No? Then why are you trembling?”
I stiffen, realizing my hands shake despite my best efforts. Frustration wells. I want to deny it, but the dryness in my throat betrays me. “Because you won’t stop cornering me,” I snap. “If you’re trying to scare me?—”
“Am I scaring you?” he interjects softly, leaning in. His breath caresses my cheek, warm and laced with brimstone.
“It’s complicated,” I blurt, hating how my voice wavers.
A low laugh escapes him, rumbling like distant thunder. “You want to fight me, yet your body says otherwise.”
I shudder as the truth in his words lances me. “It’s just… anger,” I insist, weak even to my own ears.
One corner of his mouth quirks. “There is anger, yes. But there’s also something else.” Slowly, he dips his head, his breath ghosting over my jaw. “Something that sets my blood on fire when we clash.”
My heart clatters. Memories of every electrified moment flood me. The one in the chamber, the courtyard pin, that final parry in the training hall where we nearly… No. No, I can’t be wanting him.
But my traitorous body surges at his nearness, an uncoiling tension deep in my core. “You’re a demon,” I whisper, voice faint.
He exhales, a harsh sound. “I am. And you’re human… mostly.” His free hand finally settles on my hip, claws a whisper away from my flesh. “Yet here we stand.”
I find my spine arching of its own accord, pressing me closer to the scorching heat of him. “You can’t,” I begin, uncertain what I mean— You can’t want me, or You can’t do this.
He cocks his head, eyes flaring. “Watch me,” he murmurs, then leans in to claim my mouth.
Everything ignites at once. My protest dies in a haze of sensation.
His lips crash into mine, firm and demanding, stoking the embers of tension we’ve been dancing around.
A jolt of pure fire races through my veins.
I let out a muffled gasp, tangling my fists in the plating over his shoulders for balance.
I taste brimstone and darkness, the essence of him—danger and raw power wrapped in a heady charge.
He growls low, pressing me back against the wall, wings flaring out behind him. The kiss deepens, a battle of tongues and teeth. I nip his lower lip out of sheer defiance, and he hisses, half-laughing against my mouth. The braziers flicker wildly, as if reflecting the chaos swirling between us.
Heat coils in my belly, laced with an undercurrent of fear.
He’s a demon, lethal and unstoppable. Yet my pulse hammers with reckless need.
My nails scrape over the ridged horn near his temple, venturing close to the jagged stump of the broken one.
He lets out a ragged moan, as if that area is particularly sensitive, and grips my waist tighter.
“You taste of defiance,” he rasps, breaking from the kiss to trail his mouth along my throat. Sharp fangs graze my skin, but not enough to break flesh. Sparks dance in my vision. I cling to him, refusing to appear cowed, even as my legs threaten to buckle.
He sinks his free hand into my hair, tugging my head back to expose more of my neck. “Do you hate this?” he challenges, voice raw. “Do you hate me?”
My breath catches. Yes, part of me does. But loathing tangles with white-hot desire in a way that leaves me dizzy. “I hate your arrogance,” I whisper shakily.
A harsh laugh rumbles in his chest. “That’s not the same as hating me.” He claims my mouth again, fiercer this time, stoking the embers of my rage and want.
I respond with equal fervor, hooking a leg around his waist. He groans, pressing us flush, the ridges of his chest plating rubbing against my bandaged ribs.
Pain flares, but I welcome it, a reminder this is real.
My mind screams that I should push him away, that I’m losing myself in a demon’s arms, but my body refuses to obey.