Page 29 of Bargain with the Demon King
"About what specifically?"
"Your hands." She drops her hands, meets my eyes with startling directness. "The way you held me. Like I was yours, completely. No hesitation. No shame. Chad gets nervous holding my hand in market squares, but you—" She swallows. "You claimed me in front of every high demon lord."
"That was performance."
"Was it?" She shifts closer, the dream bedroom growing smaller around us. "Because your beast emerged. I've never seen that happen before. Do you lose control for performances?"
The accusation lands precisely. In dreams, she's sharper, less willing to accept comfortable lies.
"You terrify me," she continues, but she's moving closer still. "You're everything wrong and dangerous and destructive. You own my soul. You humiliated me. You're probably going to destroy me completely."
"Probably."
"But you also protected me. Killed for me. Carried me when I couldn't walk." Her hand rises toward my face, hesitates. "No one has ever made me feel valuable enough to kill for."
"Chad wouldn't kill for you?"
"Chad wouldn't raise his voice for me." The admission breaks something in her expression. "I shouldn't want you. He loves me. I saved him. I should be dreaming of him, but instead—"
"Instead?"
"Instead I dream of monsters." Her fingers find my collar, curling into the fabric. "Of you."
The space between us evaporates. She pulls herself closer, or I pull her—in dreams, causality blurs. Her breath mingles with mine, and she smells of hope despite everything. Her lips part, pink and soft and begging for destruction.
"This is wrong." But she doesn't pull back. "I love Chad."
"You love the idea of Chad."
"Same thing."
"Not even close."
She makes a sound—frustration, desire, defeat—and rises up on her knees, bringing our faces level. "If this is just a dream, it doesn't count, right? Dreams don't mean anything."
"Dreams mean everything."
"Then I'm already damned." Her mouth hovers near mine, words spoken against my lips. "Kiss me. Please. Just once, so I know what choosing darkness tastes like."
I cup her jaw, thumb brushing across her bottom lip. She sighs, eyes fluttering closed, tilting into my palm with complete trust. The beast in me roars to claim, to take what she's offering, to make her forget Chad exists. Her mouth opens slightly, tongue touching my thumb, and a tremor runs through me—a fault line opening between will and want.
One taste. Just one. In dreams where it doesn't count, where tomorrow she'll paint it as subconscious processing. My mouth descends toward hers, and she stretches up to meet me, fingers tightening in my collar—
No.
I rip myself backward, out of the dream, out of her mind. The violence of withdrawal sends me crashing back into my own body, gasping. My cock throbs painfully, and my claws have shredded the sheets. The beast howls inside me, furious at the denial.
Through the wall, I hear her whimper in her sleep. The dream dissolves without me there to anchor it, leaving her with only the impression of almost. Of reaching for something that disappeared just before contact.
Better this way. Let her think her subconscious created the whole thing. Let her wake confused, aching, wonderingwhy she dreams of monsters instead of wildflower boys. Let her paint whatever silver lining makes it bearable.
But I'll know the truth. She wanted me. Begged for me. Would have given herself completely if I'd allowed it. And I almost did. Another second, another breath, and I would have claimed her mouth, her dream, her everything.
The soul-mark on my chest burns, spreading another inch toward my heart. At this rate, it will cover me completely within days. She's claiming me as thoroughly as I've claimed her, and she doesn't even know it.
Next time—because there will be a next time, we're both too far gone to stop this—I won't have the strength to pull back. Next time, when she reaches for darkness, I'll give her exactly what she's begging for.
And we'll both be damned for it.
