Page 7 of Demon's Dark Love

I force myself back to my feet but can’t shake off the feeling of his eyes on me, even as sweat drips down my back and fatigue clouds my mind.

I drag the next stone toward the wall, my muscles screaming in protest. The heat of the day wraps around me like a suffocating blanket, each breath a laborious effort. Sweat trickles down my brow, and I can barely see through the haze of exhaustion.

“Come on, human! Is that all you’ve got?” Mistress Bethana’s voice cuts through the air, sharp and relentless.

She stands with her arms crossed, eyes narrowed as if she’s waiting for me to crumble under the weight.

“Just a little faster!” she snaps again.

I bite back a retort, pushing my limits even further. The rough stone digs into my palms as I grip it tighter, determined not to show weakness. With a grunt, I hoist it up once more.

The stone feels heavier today than it ever has before. I know I'm strong. But each step feels like I’m trudging through mud, and I can feel the fire in my muscles threatening to turn to ash.

“You’re pathetic!” Bethana shouts, stepping closer now, her eyes alight with malice. “Is this what your kind is made of? Weakness?”

My heart races as shame floods my veins. It ignites something deep within me—anger mixed with despair—but all I can do is focus on lifting the stone again.

Then something shifts in the air around me—a subtle change that catches my attention.

Enoch appears at the edge of my vision, watching with that inscrutable expression he wears so often. As Bethana’s laughter rings cruelly in my ears, I feel an odd lightness tugging at the stone in my grip.

“What’s wrong? Can’t handle a bit of labor?” Bethana jeers again.

But I can handle it. Or at least, I can now. Somehow, against all odds, it feels like there’s less weight pressing down on me now. The stone shifts more easily in my hands.

I look up at Enoch—his gaze steady and intense—and for a moment, disbelief washes over me. His lips curve into a faint smirk as he subtly gestures toward the heavy block with his fingers tucked against his side.

“You should try harder,” he says while his eyes flicker with something deeper than mockery.

I don’t know if it’s magic or simply an illusion created by fatigue, but for now, the burden lifts just enough for me to keep moving forward without collapsing entirely under its weight.

Each day, Enoch’s presence becomes harder to ignore. I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to him than the cruel facade he wears.

When he watches me struggle, something flickers in his dark eyes.

I focus on my tasks, burying myself in chores and avoiding his gaze whenever possible. But the moments when our eyes meet spark something and I have to remind myself of the chasm between us.

He’s a demon, and I’m just a human servant. Any softening in his expression is just a fleeting curiosity, nothing more.

“Why do you keep looking at me?” I snap one afternoon, my voice sharper than intended as I kneel to scrub a floorboard.

He leans against the wall, arms crossed and that damn smirk playing on his lips again. “Because you’re entertaining.”

“Entertaining?” I scoff, scrubbing harder as if my anger will erase any trace of what’s building between us. “I’m not a circus act.”

His laughter rumbles low in his chest, sending a shiver down my spine.

I need distance from him—from whatever this strange connection is blossoming between us like an unwanted weed among fragile flowers.

“Stop being such a coward,” I chastise myself quietly while scrubbing away grime and dirt, desperate for clarity amidst the chaos of emotions swirling inside me.

But even as I attempt to create barriers between us—physically and emotionally—I find myself drawn back into those moments of stolen glances and charged silences where uncertainty lingers like smoke in the air.

The ache of longing flares up with each shared glance or accidental brush of our fingers while reaching for tools. A reminder of what could never be, a human and a demon intertwined in anything other than hostility or servitude.

But part of me wants to push through those barriers, to explore this wild curiosity Enoch stirs within me. To uncover the truth behind those crimson eyes that hold both danger and allure.

As I scrub blood stains from a carpet, my hands aching from the repetitive motion, Griselda’s voice slices through the air like a knife, sharp and relentless from the next room.

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