Page 125 of Demon Monster's Little Human

Or maybe he is fighting. Fighting the need to devour me every time we’re in the same space.

I smirk. “Are you just going to watch me all morning, or?—?”

He’s in front of me before I can finish, his clawed hands caging me in, gripping the wooden post behind me. Trapping me.

My breath hitches, my pulse hammering.

His voice is a low, dangerous growl. “Do you have a problem with the way I look at you, Purna?”

His breath is warm against my skin, his lips a whisper away from my throat. He’s teasing me. He’s baiting me.

I let him.

I trail my fingers over the ridges of his chest, tracing the scars, the battle wounds, the lines of a body built for war but softened by me. He shudders, his wings twitching at the contact.

“I like it,” I murmur. “I like it when you watch me.”

A deep, rumbling sound escapes him, something between approval and hunger.

“I should’ve marked you the moment you returned to me,” he breathes, his lips grazing my jaw. “I should’ve claimed you so that every creature in this cursed world knew exactly who you belong to.”

Heat pulses low in my stomach.

“You already did,” I whisper.

He freezes.

Slowly, he pulls back.

Dain doesn’t often hesitate. He is a creature of instinct, of violence and desire, a being who acts before he thinks. But now…

Now, he’s thinking.

A storm brews in his gaze, something weighty, something final, and I realize whatever he is about to say, it matters.

He releases a slow breath, tilting his head, studying me like he’s about to jump off a ledge and isn’t sure if I’ll follow.

“Be my mate.”

I blink, my lips parting. My heart stops, stumbles, races.

Dain’s jaw clenches, but his eyes burn with certainty, with possession. Not just any possession. Ours. A choice, a claim, a bond that can never be severed again.

“We’re already bonded,” I whisper, searching his expression.

“Yes.” His voice is gravel, raw edges and quiet devotion. “But I want you to choose it.” He tightens his grip around my wrist, rubbing his thumb against my pulse point. Steady. Strong. “I want to bind you to me in the old ways, not just by fate, not just by magic—but by choice.”

The ritual.

It’s more than a bond. More than a vow. It’s forever. It’s a promise written into blood, sealed in spirit, eternal.

A mate in the truest sense.

My chest tightens.

Not with fear. Not with uncertainty.

But with something deeper.

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