Page 52 of Bargain with the Demon King
Through the wall, I hear him moving. Not pacing—something slower, more deliberate. The sound of someone handling glass carefully. Or perhaps crushing something that shouldn't break.
I turn the page, lose myself in fictional demons who are somehow less dangerous than the real one separated from me by a single wall. In stories, broken things become beautiful through suffering. In reality, maybe they just become sharp enough to cut anyone who tries to hold them.
The book holds my attention until my eyes burn with exhaustion. For the first time since Chad destroyed everything, I fall asleep thinking about tomorrow's dinner. About the way Azzaron's claws almost touched me. About the weight of choosing to seek the monster's company when I could have chosen solitude.
It's not hope. Hope is for girls who believe in wildflower boys.
This is something else. Something with teeth.
And tomorrow, I'll feed it again.
Chapter 18
Adraya
The summoning cuts through breakfast with the subtlety of a blade through silk.
Azzaron's entire posture shifts—spine straightening, head tilting toward something I can't hear. His horns catch the soul-light as he turns, casting wicked shadows across the table. The piece of bread in his hand pauses halfway to his mouth, and for three seconds he's perfectly still. Predator hearing prey.
"Another desperate mortal?" I push eggs around my plate, counting the movements. Seven clockwise. Three counter. "Let me guess—dying soldier? Betrayed merchant? Someone who thinks their tragedy is special?"
"Close. Aging merchant who can't accept his son's fiancée finds him repulsive." He sets down the bread, claws clicking against the plate. "And you'll handle it."
My fork clatters onto my plate. "Excuse me?"
"You'll conduct the bargain." He rises, his form seeming to pour upward from the chair, a single unbroken motion like water pretending to be flesh. "You've watched enough. Time to learn."
"I've watched you be terrifying and efficient. That's not the same as knowing how to extract someone's soul." The eggs congeal on my plate, suddenly nauseating. "Besides, I don't have demon powers. I can't actually—"
"You don't need powers to negotiate. Just presence." He extends his hand toward me, claws catching the soul-light. "Come."
"This is a terrible idea. I'll mess it up. The mortal will probably laugh at me, which honestly would be fair since I'm basically a cautionary tale about bad bargains walking around in a dress."
"All the more reason you'll excel at this." His hand remains extended, patient and inevitable. "You understand desperation intimately."
"Understanding it and exploiting it are different things."
"No. They're the same thing viewed from different angles." His fingers flex, claws extending another fraction. "Take my hand, Adraya."
I stand because sitting suddenly feels vulnerable. "If this goes badly—"
"It won't." He steps closer, close enough that I smell char and dark spice. "I'll be there. Watching. Enjoying the show."
"Enjoying—"
"You in control. You with power. You making someone else feel small." His voice drops to that register that makes my spine remember it has nerves. "I have specific interests."
"Your interests are showing." But I take his hand anyway, his heat searing into my palm. "Also, traveling between realms makes me want to vomit, just so we're clear on potential complications."
"Noted." He pulls me against him, arm locking around my waist. The twilight necklace presses between us, warm metal trapped against his chest. His other hand slides to my hip, thumb pressing through fabric. "Don't let go."
The world tears apart, then rebuilds itself in the wrong colors. My stomach drops through my feet while my lungs forget their purpose. I bury my face against Azzaron's shoulder,breathing in char and metal until reality stops spinning. His arm tightens, thumb stroking my spine—deliberate, slow, possessive.
"Better?" His voice rumbles through his chest where I'm pressed against him.
"Define better."
"Not vomiting on my coat."
