Page 2 of Demon's Dark Love

Calm down, I tell myself.Survive.

His head goes to one side and he looks into my eyes. I drop mine instinctively, hoping I haven’t made a mistake.

"What are you called?"

"Lily, my lord."

"Very nice manners," Bethana coos and moves toward me.

She smells both sweet and smokey and the power that radiates off her makes my knees wobble. Her hand, strong as iron, feels my bicep and lifts a lock of my hair.

"Humans are great maintenance workers," she says, looking back at her son. "This one is no exception."

"Cleaning, then?"

"I assume scrubbing floors, emptying chamber pots, tending the fires to start. Griselda will know exactly how to utilize this one.” Bethana smiles in a way I don’t like.

Enoch shrugs. "I have no opinion when it comes to humans."

Bethana nods then turns.

"You!" she calls into the darkness.

Something faceless and formless detaches itself from the shadows and moves toward us.

I feel my heart squeeze in fear.

"Take this one to the slaves' quarters."

The form solidifies into a guard and I begin to breathe again. It moves away, beckoning like something out of the grave.

I glance back, my mouth dry, my heart pounding at the idea of following this frightening figure.

Enoch is watching me, his wine-colored eyes curious and appraising rather than cold and impersonal.

"Come on," I hear the guard say, but it's more a disturbing whisper than a voice.

The guard leads me down a series of narrow, twisting staircases, each step colder and damper than the last. I can feel the chill seeping into my bones and yet I’m glad to have control of my limbs for the first time in days.

My breath comes out in visible puffs, and I wrap my arms around myself in a futile attempt to retain some warmth. It is, I think, like following a spirit into the underworld.

We reach a heavy wooden door bound with iron. The figure produces a large key and unlocks it with a grating screech that echoes through the stone corridors. He pushes the door open revealing a cell.

The walls are rough stone, slick with damp. A small, barred window high up on one wall lets in just enough flame from the courtyard to cast eerie shadows. The floor is bare, save for a thin straw mattress that looks more like a pile of hay than something meant for sleeping.

“Welcome to your new home,” comes the guard's harsh whisper.

The door slams shut behind me, the sound echoing throughout the high-ceiling chamber.

I move to the mattress and gingerly sit, feeling the prickly straw through my dress. A shiver runs through me, not just from the cold but from the sheer hopelessness of this place.

I had assumed I would stay with whatever other slaves they owned. In a place like this, there had to be many.Perhaps this was how they kept our spirits low, by not giving us any comfort including that of our own species.

The realization sinks in that this cell is meant to break me, to strip away any remaining shred of dignity or spirit.

I pull my knees to my chest and rest my head against them, closing my eyes for a moment. I can’t afford to lose myself here. Survival means more than just enduring. It means finding strength in even the darkest corners.

The distant sounds of the castle filter down to me, the muffled clatter of footsteps above, the faint hum of voices far away. Up there, life continues unabated while I sit here in this cold, damp cell.

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