Page 1 of Demon's Claim

1

ELARA

The museum has a hush over it tonight, an eerie kind of stillness that wraps around everything. In the dim, silent halls, I feel like a ghost myself, drifting between lives long gone. The artifacts seem to watch me as I pass, ancient things clinging to secrets I’m determined to uncover.

“Can you feel it?” I murmur, trailing my fingers along the edge of a display case. “It’s just you and me tonight.” I chuckle, hearing my voice echo back. “Look at me—talking to artifacts. They don’t pay me enough for this.”

Shaking my head, I push my cart of documents down the hall, the wheels squeaking in protest. It’s quiet, but tonight it’s…different. There’s something in the air, thick and almost electric, like a held breath waiting to be released. I shiver, though the temperature hasn’t dropped. Maybe it’s my imagination, or maybe I’ve been working too many late nights.

My thoughts are interrupted by the clatter of my elbow knocking over my tea. I stare in dismay as the dark liquid spreads across the floor in creeping, slow rivers. “Just perfect,” I mutter, grabbing my now-empty cup.

Mumbling to myself, I head for the storage closet at the far end of the hall. “They can put priceless artifacts on display, but no one thinks to stock a paper towel in the exhibit hall.” I yank open the closet door, peering into the dimly lit space. Stacks of forgotten boxes and dusty shelves crowd the room.

“There has to be something here…” I mutter, rummaging around. My fingers close around an old rag, and I shake it out, sending a cloud of dust into the air. But as I turn to leave, something catches my eye—a small, ornately carved crate tucked in a corner, half-hidden beneath a pile of boxes. I pause, frowning. Why hadn’t I noticed it before?

“What are you hiding?” I wonder aloud, stepping closer. The impulse to open it feels irrational, but I can’t resist. With a quick glance over my shoulder, I lift the lid.

Inside lies a bracelet, black as midnight and glinting in the faint light. Intricate carvings twist across its surface, and small, dark jewels are embedded at intervals, like silent eyes watching me. My hand hovers over it, drawn inexplicably.

“Don’t be an idiot, Elara,” I murmur, but my fingers are already moving. I can’t explain why, but the bracelet calls to me, like it’s meant to be mine. My heart pounds as I slip it onto my wrist, and a shiver races down my spine.

The bracelet warms instantly, the metal heating against my skin like it’s alive, recognizing me. I gasp, pulling my hand back. The sensation isn’t entirely unpleasant, but it’s…unnerving. I glance around, the hair on the back of my neck prickling as though someone’s watching.

“Hello?” I call out, my voice echoing through the empty halls. Silence. Just the museum and me. I shake my head, half-laughing. “Great. Now you’re talking to yourself. Wonderful, Elara.”

Yet the feeling lingers, heavy and unsettling. And then, for a fleeting moment, I see them—two blazing red eyes, staring backat me, intense and unblinking. My heart skips a beat, and I suck in a breath, wrenching my gaze from the bracelet. It’s gone, just as quickly as it appeared, but the image is seared into my mind.

“Must be exhaustion,” I mutter, rubbing my eyes. “Or maybe I just need more coffee.” I laugh softly, but it sounds hollow, even to me.

Despite my better judgment, I can’t bring myself to take the bracelet off. I try to convince myself it’s silly, just some trinket tucked away in the storage closet for who knows how long. But something about it feels…alive. The carvings, the warmth, the strange, pulsing energy that seems to emanate from it—none of it feels ordinary.

I head back toward my desk, feeling the bracelet’s weight on my wrist, almost as though it’s become part of me. “Well,” I murmur, “looks like you’re stuck with me now.” The warmth of the metal is strangely comforting, though I can’t shake the memory of those red eyes.

A thought flickers in the back of my mind—a warning, perhaps, or just intuition. I try to push it away, but it clings to me, settling in like a weight on my chest. As I sit down at my desk, I find myself speaking aloud again, as if the bracelet is listening.

“You’re not some ordinary artifact, are you?” I whisper, turning my wrist in the dim light, watching the jewels catch and reflect faint glimmers. “Where did you come from?”

I half expect a response, a whisper in the shadows or a pull in the pit of my stomach. But there’s only silence, thick and unyielding. Still, the bracelet’s warmth lingers, thrumming with a life of its own.

I try to focus on my work, but my gaze keeps drifting back to the bracelet, my mind racing with questions. A part of me wants to rip it off, toss it back in the crate and pretend none of this ever happened. But another part—a hidden, restless part—wantsto keep it. There’s something alluring in its mystery, something that whispers of power and secrets untold.

“Well,” I say with a wry smile, “guess we’ll see where this goes.”

As I gather my things to leave, the sensation returns—that prickling at the back of my neck, like eyes are watching me from the shadows. I glance around, but there’s nothing, just the empty hall stretching out before me. I try to shake off the feeling, but it lingers, and as I step outside into the cold night air, I can’t help but look over my shoulder one last time.

The night is silent, and yet… I swear I hear something, a faint whisper carried on the wind, too quiet to make out. I shake my head, pulling my coat tighter around myself.

“See you tomorrow,” I murmur to the empty museum, casting one last glance at the building before heading home, the bracelet’s warmth still pulsing against my wrist. Whatever I’ve unleashed tonight, it feels as though it’s only just begun.

2

LUCIAN

I’m in the depths of my keep, savoring the silence, the calm before the relentless duties of tomorrow. This world may be dark, but it’s mine. Here, shadows coil like companions, filling the grand halls with stillness. In this solitude, there’s power. Control.

Then, suddenly, a sharp tug—a sensation like iron chains wrapping around my chest. It pulls, tearing me from my sanctuary, and I stumble forward, claws scraping stone as I resist. “What…?” My words die on my tongue as understanding crashes over me. The curse. After all this time, it’s been triggered again.

A snarl forms in my throat. Whoever they are, they will pay for this trespass.

---