Page 33 of Bargain with the Demon King
Tonight, I'll dream of markets and monsters and the dangerous gift of being truly seen.
Chapter 12
Adraya
I wake before dawn, too excited to sleep.
Chad. I'm going to see Chad today. A frantic energy buzzes just under my skin, making it impossible to stand still. My own pulse is a hummingbird against my ribs. He's probably been writing terrible poetry about my sacrifice, maybe even practicing it out loud to the chickens. That's such a Chad thing to do—rehearsing romance with livestock because he's too shy to say it perfectly the first time.
The dress takes forever to choose. The green one he said brings out my eyes? The blue that makes my skin glow? I settle on the soft yellow—his favorite color, though he pretends it isn't because apparently men aren't supposed to like yellow. But I've seen him smile every time I wear it, that special soft smile he saves just for me.
"He's going to cry when he sees me," I tell my reflection, adjusting the twilight necklace so it sits perfectly against my collarbone. "Happy tears, obviously. The kind that make his nose red and splotchy but somehow endearing. Then he'll hold me and say something wonderfully inadequate like 'I missed your face' because he's terrible with words when emotional."
I practically skip to Azzaron's chambers. He's already dressed, all sharp edges and darkness, watching me with those impossible eyes that hold no warmth today.
"Ready?" The word scrapes out flat, emotionless.
"Beyond ready. I rehearsed what I'm going to say—'I'm okay, I'm surviving, I miss you but I'm being brave.' That sounds properly tragic but not so tragic he feels guilty forever, right? I want him to pine romantically, not develop a complex."
Azzaron says nothing. Just extends his hand for transport. His grip feels different today—tighter, almost protective. The journey through shadows seems longer, or maybe that's just my anticipation stretching time.
When we materialize in the mortal realm, familiar scents hit me—pine and earth and that particular smell of home that makes my chest tight with longing. Chad's cottage sits exactly where I left it, herbs still growing wild in the garden because he never remembers to tend them properly.
"Oh, I should pick some mint for him. He loves mint tea when he's upset—"
"Go." Azzaron's voice cuts sharp. "See him."
Something in his tone makes me pause, but excitement wins. I run toward the door, feet remembering every root and stone. My hand finds the latch—we never lock it, Chad says locks are for people with enemies—and I push inside, already smiling, already reaching for him.
The sound hits first. Wet. Rhythmic. Wrong.
Then the sight.
Chad. My Chad. Naked and sweating, mounting someone who isn't me. His hips drive forward with animal urgency, grunting with each thrust. The woman beneath him—blonde, pretty in that delicate way I'll never be—moans and clutches his shoulders, nails leaving red trails down his back.
"Yes, right there, don't stop—" Her voice breaks on a gasp as he pounds harder.
The same bed. Our bed. The one with the quilt his mother made for our future wedding.
"hells, you're so much tighter than her," Chad groans, and the sound in the room seems to warp, the words hitting me with a physical weight that makes my vision swim. "So much better."
"Mmm," the woman purrs, wrapping her legs around him. "When are you going to tell people she's gone for good?"
"Already did." Another thrust, another grunt. "Told everyone she sold her soul. The naive woman actually did it—traded everything to save me." He laughs, the sound ugly and breathless. "She's never coming back. Probably getting fucked by demons now."
The woman giggles. Actually giggles. "Her loss. More of you for me."
"Thank fuck for that." His hands grip the woman's narrow hips, fingers meeting easily around her tiny waist. "No more pretending those thick thighs and soft belly are attractive. You're perfect—actually small enough to handle properly."
"She was that big?" The woman's voice drips fake sympathy.
"Had to close my eyes most of the time. Kept trying to touch her in the dark so I wouldn't have to see so much... flesh."
"Fuck, yes—"
I can't move. Can't breathe. Can't exist. Every atom of my body rejects what I'm seeing, but my eyes won't close, won't look away from the brutal truth of it. A single tear slides down my cheek—hot against skin gone numb. The yellow dress I chose so carefully suddenly feels like it's strangling me. The twilight necklace goes ice cold against my throat, all warmth fleeing.
Maybe she's helping him grieve, maybe this is how he processes loss, maybe—
