Page 4 of Court of Heathens

She is very beautiful for a human.

It’s something I realised as she grew up. That fact became hard to ignore, and my own desire for her made it that much harder not to take what I want. Demons are not patient creatures, but for her, I am, so instead, I resigned myself to watching her pleasure and feasting on it with others, until she took that away from me too.

Cruel little witch.

She turns her gaze to me, and as usual, I am lost in her beauty.

Her heart-shaped face screams of innocence, and her dark eyes, almost bordering on black with flecks of purple within, are captivating. Her long black hair always smells of wet earth in the best way, and those thick locks are my new obsession. There are natural purple streaks throughout, which I love. Her cheeks dimple with every smile, and I ache to lick the creases within her cheeks. Her lips are plump and always painted black, and her eyes are sharp and lined with makeup. She’s small, even for a witch, barely five feet, but her curves make my mouth water—delicious plump breasts, thick waist, and round hips.

She is the epitome of nights well spent, sweaty and fucked.

Her skin is as pale as the moonlight, something she constantly moans about and tries to change with her magic, but if she knew how she would glow while I fucked her under a blood moon, she would never complain again.

It is the darkness in her gaze, however, that draws me, speaking of death and decay. It is the taste of her magic, of blood and ruin, that makes me obsessed.

My little witch does not know the truth, but she will soon enough, and I cannot wait to watch.

She will be magnificent.

Gods, save me.

CHAPTER 3

I’m ignoring him. I will ignore him. I’m ignoring him?—

I reel back as the demon appears on my workbench, forcing himself between the carved wooden edge and my body. Sitting back heavily, I glare at him. It’s hard, it really is. I narrow my eyes and try to look annoyed, but as they trace over his grinning face, I have to acknowledge that he is pretty.

He has curved black horns, fangs that hang over plump, gold-dusted lips, and a wicked tail, which is currently sweeping across my ingredients, but under those differences, he’s fucking beautiful, and his attributes only add to the otherness that is the demon. He looks obscenely wicked.

His hair is a mixture of blacks and browns, hanging to his shoulders. I swear I sometimes see hints of red within his locks, but maybe that’s a trick of the light. It’s thick and slightly wavy at the ends, and he usually wears it pushed back. The top is tied in a braid that reaches his shoulders. Wisps escape, curling in front of his pointed ears adorned with bones. His eyebrows are the same colour as darkness, slanting over his pitch-black eyes. There are no irises or sclera. They are just black, slightly upturned, and pointed. I swear they are lined with goldsince they seem to shine with it. His nose is thick and regal, and his cheekbones are high and would look feminine if it wasn’t for his rugged jawline which sports a black, carefully maintained beard. Hell, I once caught him conditioning it with my expensive herbal shampoo made from pixie blood.

Despite the weather, he’s wearing his usual fur coat. It drapes down to his thick thighs, the worn leather scarred. The white-tipped fur surrounds his neck and falls open, exposing his massive, bare chest. Muscle is stacked upon muscle there, creating the image of perfection in the form of a wicked demon.

His leather trousers cling to his thick thighs, which are as wide as tree trunks, and I once asked if he had to cut a hole for his tail to fit through. His hands are strong as he grabs the wooden carving I was playing with, and he throws it around without looking as his nipple bar catches the light. I swear gold dusts his muscles too, catching my eyes.

I remind myself he’s evil.

He’s a psychopath, a walking red flag, but red is my favourite colour, and I’m noticing just how attractive the demon who never leaves me alone truly is.

Evil,I hiss in my head.

Evillyhot, a wicked voice whispers back.

“Stop,” I mutter, knowing it’s him. Stupid fucking demon.

“Stop what, little witch?” he murmurs, tilting his head in a human fashion, but there’s a wicked smirk dancing over his lips that tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing. He realised I liked his muscles and decided shirts were no longer necessary.

Asshole.

“Want to see my new piercing?” he teases as he leans forward, the wooden sculpture floating mid-air as if he hasn’t realised he froze it there. I snatch it away before his evil power infects it and carefully lay it down. He doesn’t look away from me the whole time.

His black eyes observe the world around me as my house seems to darken despite the fire burning and the candles shining brightly.

“New piercing?” I ask curiously, which is exactly why hementioned it. One day, he turned up with a nipple bar, and I figured he’d got bored. He doesn’t go to a piercer, that’s for sure.

“I saw something I thought you might like.” He slides from the table, and before I can protest, he shoves his trousers down.

I jerk my gaze away, but curiosity gets the better of me, and my eyes go back to him despite my conviction.

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