Page 25

His claws toy with the hem of my shirt, slipping beneath to graze my flank.

My skin prickles under his scorching touch.

We break apart, panting. He stares down at me, eyes burning with unholy light.

The half-broken horn draws my attention again, that single imperfection in an otherwise monstrous perfection.

I shift my hand from his shoulder to that horn, lightly brushing the ragged edge. He flinches, a guttural sound caught in his throat. For a heartbeat, I sense his pain—older than memory, deeper than any wound. My chest twinges with an unexpected sympathy. He’s not invincible.

That fleeting empathy collides with the raging lust between us, fueling a raw urgency. I rise on my toes, capturing his mouth in another devouring kiss. He responds with a low snarl of appreciation, hauling me closer until I’m half-supported by his powerful arm. My thighs clench around his hips.

We stumble backward, away from the wall, nearly knocking over the brazier. I break the kiss, gasping for air. “Bed,” I manage, not sure if it’s a demand or a question. He glances at the slab of basalt and the fur thrown haphazardly across it.

His grin is feral. “Better than the floor,” he growls, though I sense he’d have taken me there if not for the risk of drawing half the fortress to watch.

In one swift motion, he whisks me up, carrying me the short distance.

My breath catches as he deposits me onto the slab.

The rough surface is cold on my back. He follows, wings half-unfurled, bracing his arms on either side so his massive frame looms over me.

The fortress wards flicker, casting ghostly patterns across the walls.

My pulse thunders, uncertain if I can handle the intensity of what’s about to happen.

Still, my hands move of their own accord, fumbling at the fastenings of his carapace-like armor.

He hisses in frustration, batting my hands aside to free himself faster.

A clang echoes as pieces of plating hit the floor.

Beneath, his skin is all obsidian muscle traced by molten crimson veins, each pulse a reminder of his demonic nature.

I swallow, eyes drawn to the swirl of runic scars across his pectorals and lower abdomen. Battle marks from centuries of conflict. How many foes has he killed? The thought sends a twisted thrill and a shiver of caution down my spine.

“Do you fear me now?” he murmurs, reading the tension in my face.

I force my gaze to his. “Yes,” I admit, surprising myself with honesty. “But I—” My words die as I can’t face to confess the rest. I also crave you.

He dips his head, capturing my mouth again, as though that silent confession is enough.

The world narrows to the press of his lips and the scorching sweep of his hands.

In a blur, my shirt and trousers find their way off, baring bruised flesh that tenses under his exploring claws.

Each nip of his fangs, every rasp of his calloused palms, draws ragged gasps from me.

My mind buzzes with too many sensations, the lingering ache of magic, the warmth of his body, the insistent ache pooling low in my core.

Time distorts. We teeter between violence and a savage tenderness that’s wholly alien.

He’s no gentle lover. He pins my wrists above my head, ignoring my half-hearted struggles, and drags his mouth down my throat.

Pleasure and terror coil in a single knot, and I find myself arching into him, nails biting at his shoulders.

“You taste like mortal sweat and rebellion,” he growls against my collarbone, a twisted compliment that sets my nerves aflame.

I snarl back, raking nails over the ridged lines near his spine. “You taste like… brimstone,” I manage, biting back a moan.

He laughs darkly, shifting his hips to press intimately against me. The friction jolts a strangled cry from my throat. “Show me more of that rebellion, Valentina,” he says, voice threading my name with a surprising heat.

We collide again, tongues and teeth tangling.

My heart pounds so loud I’m sure the entire fortress can hear.

A swirl of chaos magic crackles around us, responding to Malphas’s excitement.

Sparks dance across the basalt, weaving illusions that flicker in and out.

For an instant, I see the shape of a monstrous demon with wings spanning the entire room, then it vanishes, replaced by the fierce, unyielding male above me.

He slides a clawed hand down my thigh, hooking my leg over his hip.

The pressure, the heat… it’s too much and not enough.

I grit my teeth, refusing to beg. My entire body trembles, anticipation mingling with an edge of fear at his otherworldly power.

Yet my pride crackles, defying him to do his worst. I won’t break.

His molten eyes blaze, reading me. Then with one powerful thrust, he claims me. A guttural moan wrenches free from my chest, echoed by a deep growl from him. The sensation sears every nerve, sending shockwaves that teeter on the border between pleasure and pain. My breath stutters, mind spinning.

He grips my hips, wings flaring wide. The motion intensifies, each clash of our bodies a raw testament to all that’s unsaid—rage, attraction, the war raging within us both.

My fingernails dig into his shoulder, trying to anchor myself.

The basalt slab creaks beneath our combined weight, the fortress wards humming in response to the chaotic energy swirling through the room.

“Malphas,” I gasp, voice ragged. He meets my eyes, and for a split second, I see something vulnerable behind the infernal glow—a flash of conflict. Then it’s swallowed by the storm, and he drives me higher, devouring my cries with bruising kisses.

Time fractures into half-formed sensations: the slap of skin, the rasp of breath, the swirl of demonic magic dancing at the boundaries of my eyesight.

At some point, we reach a crest where everything snaps taut, an eruption of pleasure that seizes every muscle in my body.

I cling to him with a broken sob, nails scoring across his broken horn, which drags a half-pained groan from his chest.

He shudders, wings trembling, tension pouring from him in a final surge that leaves him panting above me.

For a moment, we remain locked in that trembling aftermath, hearts racing in unison.

My skin is slick with sweat, pressed to the scorching furnace of his chest. A surreal silence descends, broken only by our ragged breathing and the muted flicker of the brazier.

Gradually, the fortress wards calm, illusions settling into faint embers at the edges of the chamber.

Malphas lifts himself, bracing on his forearms to avoid crushing me.

My heart lurches at the sight of his expression: triumph, confusion, a hint of something like shame.

He lowers his gaze, shutting down the swirl of emotion I glimpsed.

We separate, awkwardness blooming as reality returns. My body aches, consumed by a mix of spent desire and the bruises from our savage joining. He pulls back with careful detachment, slipping from me. The sudden chill hits, as though I’ve lost a source of unnatural heat.

Neither of us speaks right away. I push up on my elbows, mind reeling with what we’ve done.

Mix feelings batters me: I just had sex with a demon bound to kill or enslave humans—one who could have devoured me weeks ago.

The terror lurking beneath the pleasure swells.

Yet there’s also a bizarre sense of relief.

As if we shattered an unbearable tension that overshadowed every confrontation until now.

He stands at the slab, wings folded tight.

His bare skin gleams with the sheen of sweat, the molten veins across his arms and chest gradually dimming.

He appears unsettled, a scowl pulling his brows down.

I notice how he avoids meeting my eyes, focusing instead on retrieving pieces of his discarded armor.

I swallow, pulling the rough fur over my exposed body. My voice feels raw. “Malphas…”

He jerks his head up, a flicker of guilt or frustration crossing his face. “Don’t,” he snaps, though there’s a tremor in the command. “We needed to vent some tension. That’s all.”

My throat tightens at his casual dismissal. “So it meant nothing?”

A flicker of regret softens his glare for half a heartbeat. “It can’t mean anything,” he growls, voice fractured. “I’m not free to… to indulge whatever this is.”

I realize he’s talking about the contract, the vow that shackles him to the dark elves. The abrupt mention of that chain stings. I recall how I touched his broken horn, saw a hint of deeper pain. He’s as trapped as I am, in a way.

“Fine,” I whisper, hugging the fur around me. The sting of rejection warps into anger. “We’ll pretend it’s just a physical release. I don’t care.”

He tears his gaze away, finishing with his armor’s buckles. The tension in his body could carve stone. “We’ll leave for Vhoig soon,” he mutters. “Rest, gather your strength. This changes nothing.”

The finality in his tone sharpens the ache in my chest. “Understood,” I manage, voice hollow. “Let me guess—you’ll revert to your usual coldness.”

He flicks me a glance that’s half-apology, half-scorn. “Don’t pretend you wanted me gentle.” A forced chuckle rumbles in his throat, though it rings hollow. “That’s not who I am.”

I can’t argue. My body still burns with proof that gentle is the last thing we unleashed tonight. “Just go,” I say, exhaustion leeching fight from my tone.

He hesitates, horns casting a skewed silhouette in the flickering brazier.

For an instant, I think he might say something else.

Then he twists away, yanking open the door.

A swirl of cold corridor air rushes in, scattering the last vestiges of heat.

The door slams behind him, leaving me alone with my hammering heart and the stench of sex mingled with demonic power.

I lie back, staring at the basalt ceiling.

My limbs feel leaden, mind spiraling with confusion.

The memory of his touch lingers in every bruise, every scuff of my skin.

Part of me still trembles in the aftershock, uncertain how to label the swirl of emotions.

Fear, lust, animosity, sympathy… all of it tangles in a knot too tight to unravel.

Eventually, I force myself upright, limbs protesting.

I search for the water container he left me days ago, gulping it down to steady my nerves.

My reflection in the obsidian shard catches my eye—lips kiss-bruised, hair rumpled, eyes haunted.

A shaky laugh escapes me at the absurdity of it all.

I just had a savage encounter with a demon, and I’m… still wanting to do it again?

I scold myself, Get it together, Valentina.

He’s dangerous. And yet, the empathy I felt when touching his broken horn tugs at me, a reminder that maybe he’s not all cruelty.

He’s scarred, bound, furious at his own captivity.

We’re alike in that, at least. But there’s no place for softness in a fortress built on nightmares.

My gaze drops to the fur covering me, a meager shield against the fortress’s chill.

A sharp ache twists my chest, a mixture of shame and dark fascination.

I can’t let him see me falter. If he wants to pretend this was nothing, then I’ll let him.

Yet I can’t deny the raw, addictive spark that crackled between us. It might be the doom of us both.

I stand, forcing my exhausted body to move.

Pain lances through my thighs, a reminder of how thoroughly we clashed.

I gather my clothes—shredded in places—and pull them on.

Each movement stings. I grumble under my breath, half-cursing Malphas for his roughness, half-scolding myself for embracing it.

When I’m dressed, I stumble to the slab, deciding to do as he said—rest. My mind won’t shut off, replaying every searing moment. The fortress wards hum in the distance, as though murmuring secrets about the twisted bond forming under this roof.

Eventually, I sink onto the slab, burying my face in the fur. My ribs ache, my lips feel swollen, and my heart thrums with a maddening cocktail of conflicting emotions. Sleep is elusive, but I clamp my eyes shut, demanding my mind quiet so I can brace for whatever tomorrow brings.

Tomorrow, I think bitterly. We go back to Vhoig, where the elves want me dead and Malphas enslaved. The risk is monumental. If we’re caught, I’ll face a fate worse than any illusions. If Malphas succumbs to the contract’s agony, we both might perish.

But deeper than those fears, I sense a new worry: What if this clash of lust and loathing becomes a chain of its own? I tremble at how easily he unravelled my defenses, how I ache for more despite the terror that still clings to my bones.

No answers come in the darkness. Only the slow, pounding echo of my heartbeat as I drift into fitful slumber, replaying the memory of his broken horn under my fingers, the half-silent gasp of pain that escaped him.

A moment of empathy amid our collision. He is bound, too, I remind myself.

And part of me hates him for it, even as I can’t turn away.

And thus, night folds over me, heavy with secrets, forging a fragile respite before the next storm.