Page 17 of Stolen By the Demon

And that’s when I saw her, riding high on the top of the cliff overhanging the forest, searching for me; she was trying to figure out the best route back to her home by avoiding me.

She was a sight to behold; I had never seen a more beautiful figure on a horse. They seemed to be one as she nudged it into another gallop when she realized I had spotted her. The ensuing chase made my blood boil with desire for her. I'll always remember the thunderous sound of hooves pounding the forest floor, the way my steed snorted, just as caught up in the chase as I was. The sense of victory as my horse pulled closer to hers, the scent of fear that came off her only increased my primal drive to make her mine.

The moment I was close enough to wrap my hands around her waist and her tiny shriek, were seared into my memory and how it had felt placing her body in front of mine in the saddle. I closed my eyes, reliving that very moment, feeling myself harden.

I would have taken her right there on my horse had I not known that my father required a virgin. He had made it perfectly clear to Adramalech that he was not to touch her. For a moment, I considered defying him in this, too, but I didn't. Something I was eternally grateful for because she would have fought me tooth and nail. Taking her against her will was something she would have never forgiven me for.

After I chained her to the wall in the cave, her first question rattled me. “Is Austice alright?”

“Austice?” The thought of one of her guards having been precious to her enraged me. “They're all dead.”

“My horse,” she said through weeping eyes.

“Your horse?” I nearly laughed. She was my prisoner, and I was going to take her to Satan himself. I had killed her guards, and she cared about her horse?

“I know my guards are dead, and I will pray for their souls. But Austice, is he alright?”

“As far as I know,” I answered after a brief pause.

Only to find myself spying on Sir Jonathan's castle later to make sure the damn horse was indeed safe.

When I returned, I noticed her chafed wrists from the chains. A low curse escaped me, I had impaled men, had hacked them to pieces and taken their heads off without feeling the slightest remorse, but seeing her scraped wrists did something to me. It stirred something in me that I had never experienced before—guilt.

“He's alright,” I said gruffly.

She looked up, startled. She was such a pitiful sight, all huddled up in the corner with her arms stretched high above her, her skirts surrounding her like a flower who had hung its head. I closed my eyes.

“Who?” she asked.

“Your damn horse,” I answered, stepping forward. What I was about to do was the stupidest thing I had ever done.

With the flick of my wrist, the locks on the chains opened, and gravity pulled her arms down. Her mouth opened into a wide O as she looked up at me. “Thank you.”

I knelt beside her to see the damage the chains had done to her tender skin and winced. There wasn't any blood, but her beautiful skin was red and angry. Carefully, I moved my fingers over them and watched them disappear.

“How did you do that?” she asked in amazement.

“How come you're not afraid of me?” My question popped out before I had a chance to think about it.

She seemed a bit taken aback by my query as if the thought hadn’t occurred to her. “Our lives are all in God’s hands,” she intoned devoutly.

I rose an eyebrow at her mockingly, and she relented. “I don’t know.” She finally answered honestly. “But from the moment I saw you, I felt… felt…”

I waited patiently. “That you would never hurt me.”

“I killed your guards.” I pointed out.

Her face flushed. “I know, and I feel terrible about that, I truly do, but…” helplessly, she stared at me. “It feels as if fate brought us together.”

Fate, I mused. Fate was something I would rather believe in than her God. It was true that I was the son of Satan, and if Satan existed, one could argue so did God, but I had never seen Him. During my long life, I had witnessed many atrocities and saw the things humans could do to one another, or my father’s creatures to them, but no divine power had ever intervened. No divine hand had ever stopped me from tormenting a human or slaughtering them on the battlefield.

Fate though?

Was it fate that made me foil my father’s and brother’s plans?

I could have never hurt her; just the thought of doing so clenched my heart and stomach, and I knew I would rather cut my hand off than use it to harm her.

But, that was the beginning of us. I don't know how long we sat there talking until darkness crept in from the outside, and I made a fire to warm our food. We ate and talked some more as if we were old friends.

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