Page 3 of His to Break
"She can serve me. Anyone else, I will slaughter until you have no breathing workers."
One of them smirks, his violet eyes glinting with mockery. “Even a slave deserves a slave, I suppose.”
They burst into laughter again, but I ignore them—my gaze locks onto Kara as she hesitates at the threshold. There’s something beneath that layer of grime and fear; it pulses just below the surface like an untapped reservoir waiting for release.
She glances up at me briefly, and for a moment, our eyes meet—an electric connection igniting between us. In those fleeting seconds, something inside me stirs—a strange desire unfurling like flames licking at dry wood.
I want her.
The thought hits hard enough to make me momentarily forget my captivity. An instinct deep within urges me forward—to possess what’s been denied to me for too long.
The human woman swallows hard, taking a tentative step closer as if drawn by an unseen force. My heart races with each breath she takes; there’s vulnerability etched in every line of her face yet resilience dances in those haunted eyes.
3
KARA
The dark elves’ laughter rings in my ears, their arrogant chuckles slicing through the heavy air. I flinch at the sound, a reflex born from years of torment and punishment.
"You are to serve him, human wench. That is your new purpose," one of them sneers, his voice dripping with disdain. Their cruel eyes linger on me as they start to leave, their contempt palpable.
As they walk away, I feel the weight of their disdain settle on my shoulders like a lead cloak. But then the demon speaks again, his voice deep and haunting. "I need unchained to eat."
A shiver races down my spine as I glance up at him. There’s something in his gaze—an intensity that unnerves me but also draws me in, like a moth to flame. I can’t help but wonder if this creature, this demon, has the power to obliterate everything that holds us captive.
Suddenly, a magic chain materializes around his neck while the chains binding him to the wall vanish like smoke in the wind. The dark elves’ taunts echo in my mind as they warn him of his limitations: “Your magic is of no use here. If you kill the human slave, you won't be getting another.”
Their laughter fades into silence, and I find myself alone with this being of darkness and fury. A demon! The very idea sends chills through me—not just from fear but from an inexplicable thrill that flutters in my chest.
I swallow hard and focus on my task: preparing his food. I’ve seen slaves bring meals before—nothing more than scraps thrown together hastily—but somehow it feels different now with him watching me.
"What is your name?" he rumbles as he settles onto a nearby stone bench, muscles taut under obsidian skin.
“Kara,” I manage to say, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Kara.” He rolls the name over his tongue like it’s foreign yet tantalizing. "I am Azrael."
I try not to stare as I gather what’s left of their meager offerings—a stale piece of bread and a thin slice of meat that smells faintly rancid. My hands tremble slightly as I set them before him; each motion feels weighted by uncertainty.
His violet eyes study me closely. “You’re afraid,” he states simply.
“I—” My breath catches in my throat. How can he see right through me? “It’s not just you.”
He tilts his head slightly, assessing me like a predator sizing up its prey. “Fear can be useful,” he says softly.
I can’t help but wonder if this demon is more than just an instrument of chaos—if there’s something lurking beneath all that anger waiting for release…
I'm still reeling from the weight of his gaze when I muster the courage to ask, “Do you need anything… else?” My voice barely rises above a whisper, shaking despite my efforts to keep it steady.
Azrael’s lips curl into a dark smile, a wicked twist that sends shivers up and down my back. He steps closer, towering over me like a shadow threatening to swallow the light. “I want you,”he says simply, his voice a low rumble that reverberates through me.
My heart skips a beat, caught in the web of terror and something I can’t quite name. I’m frozen, caught in his gravitational pull as he reaches out and brushes a lock of my hair behind my ear. His fingers trail down my neck, igniting sparks along my skin. I shiver involuntarily at the contact—each stroke feels electric.
He touches me lightly at first—his fingers grazing my collarbone, skimming over my back, tracing the delicate curve of my shoulders. Each caress sends ripples of heat coursing through me, setting my senses ablaze.
“Azrael,” I breathe, feeling vulnerable and exposed under his gaze.
“Do not speak.” His tone is commanding yet laced with an undercurrent of desire that sets my nerves on edge. Then he grows bolder; his hand slips beneath my tunic, fingers exploring the bare skin underneath.
