Page 2 of Chained to the Devil's Daughter

His muscles were icy-hot, and they jumped and twitched under my touch. My fingers ran through his long, shaggy, ash-littered hair. The uneven stubble on his chin prickled as I swipedaway the grime coating his angled cheekbones, leaving streaks of gray.

“Ash. I’m here, Ash.”

The door swung open, and Filaris pressed an open jar into my shaky hand.

Where usually a demon’s conduit lines were like external veins, a river system for their fire magic and orange blood, Ash’ren’s were devoid of color.

“Please, Ash! You can’t leave after an entrance like that,” I teased through tears.

Other than his spasming muscles, he lay still as a corpse while I worked the goopy substance into all the rifts I could reach. His chest was bare, but this was not the time to admire his impressive physique. His threadbare trousers were burnt away below the knee. His feet, the canine-like paws and hooked ankles of a demon, were filthy. When the jar was empty, I wiped my hands on my skirts and gathered him in my arms.

He woke with a ragged gasp. Cinnabar eyes shot to mine, their intensity urging my flight mode to take charge. Bad as my body wished to scramble away, I cupped his cheek.

“Hi,” my voice eked out, sounding as small as I felt.

“What—what happened?”

“Nothing a little crack couldn’t fix.” I gestured toward the empty jar.

Ash’ren blinked a couple times before his brows furrowed. Yeah, it most decidedly was not the time for bad jokes either.

“Firefly.” Either my poorly timed joke or my wince at the nickname shook him from his trance, and he stood. “When did you get so crass?”

He held out a hand. I hesitated before accepting, doing my best not to put any actual weight on him.

“I’ve always been crass.” His laugh bolstered the safety of this tentative truce between strangers, and I allowed myself asmile. “What?” Not cursing aloud was the first mini-rebellion I ever waged on my father. “I’ve never beendemure. Just because I choose not to voice certain words, doesn’t mean I don’t think them.”

“I know, my coy little bug.”

“Don’t.” Heat seared my chin where he caught me between two knuckles, stopping me from turning away. Forced to meet his gaze, I searched for signs of resentment in his blood-red stare. “Don’t call me that,” I repeated, though my tone had lost its bite. “I’m not who you think I am.”

“Yes, you are.” He ran his thumb over my trembling lip. “I don’t need to know you to know I love every iteration of yourself.”

His gaze dropped to my mouth, and my chest fluttered like I was a teenager again.

I unclenched my fists and snaked my arms around his neck. Softening against him was no chore at all, his groan an echo of the sob that had broken from me when I thought he’d arrived only to die on my doorstep. Equal parts relief and despair.

He ducked his head into the curve of my neck, his hard body pressed against mine like he hadn’t been touched for nine years.

Oh, rings. Nine years without a kind touch. It’d been hard enough to live without his touch, but I’d hugged many people over this season of my life. Ash’ren’s body trembled in my arms, tears sizzling through the fabric of my sleeve.

The levy broke. Tears falling, I stumbled further into the room until my knees hit wood, then used his all-encompassing form as leverage to shimmy my booty onto the table and wrap my legs around him.

“Ash, I—I’m so sorry. For letting him—”

“Enough.” His voice was sturdy despite the tears searing my sleeve. “Never apologize to me.”

“But I—”

“You did nothing.”

“Exactly.”

Ash straightened to his full height. I had to tilt my head up to meet his heated stare, black fire swirling from the tips of his long lashes. I fought every instinct to look away in shame. I’d done nothing to stop Devil. Begged, sure, but words were not actions. I’d been so. . . hopeless. Useless. Then he was gone. Since that failure, I’ve made many more.

“Firefly.” My gut seized. “There was nothing you could have done. The two of us, here, now. That is who we focus on.”

“You don’t know me.”

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