Page 63 of Bargain with the Demon King
"My chambers. To think. To process that I carry demon blood inside me. That you've been in my dreams. That I just had your cock in my mouth and liked it." I move toward the adjoining door. "Tomorrow we pretend this didn't happen."
"Can you pretend?"
"No. But I'll try." I pause at the door. "You saved me today. Killed for me without hesitation. Healed me with your own blood. That matters more than stolen dreams."
"Does it?"
"Ask me tomorrow when I'm not still tasting you."
I leave him in his bed, surrounded by sheets that smell of sex and blood and complicated truths. In my chamber, I touch the healed skin again. Perfect. Unmarked. But changed at some fundamental level. His blood runs through me now, changing me from the inside.
Through the wall, I hear him moving. Restless. Hungry.
Good. Let him hunger. Let him wonder what I'll do with the knowledge that he's been in my head. Let him question whether I'll use it against him or let it bring me closer.
The truth is, I don't know yet. But I know I carry his blood now. Know his control breaks when I take charge. Know he enters dreams he has no right to because he can't stay away.
That's power. Different from soul ownership. More dangerous.
And tomorrow, I'll decide what to do with it.
Chapter 21
Adraya
The taste of him burns my tongue—salt and power and something darker that pools heat low in my belly. I slam through the adjoining door hard enough to crack the frame, needing distance from his bed, his scent, the words that keep echoing: "You feel better than in the dream."
"The dream." I press my palms against my eyes until stars burst. "The fucking dream."
Every dream where he touched me without touching. Where he knew exactly what I wanted before I did. Where he pulled back right before our lips met, leaving me gasping and desperate and thinking my subconscious was torturing me. But it wasn't my subconscious. It was him. Actually him. In my head without permission, watching me reach for him, hearing me beg, witnessing every moment of vulnerability I thought was private.
"Fucking demon kings and their fucking boundary issues." I grab the nearest book—some ancient demon text about proper genuflection angles—and hurl it at the wall. The spine cracks, pages scattering. Good. "Chad tried to kill my body. You colonized my mind. We're going to have to debate which one is worse."
The comparison sends a laugh tearing out of me. My boyfriend who shoved me toward death is somehow lessinvasive than the demon who saved me. Chad took my soul through manipulation. Azzaron took my secrets through violation. Which betrayal cuts deeper? The one that killed my body or the one that invaded my mind?
A crystal goblet follows the book, shattering against stone. Then another. The sound of breaking things almost drowns out the memory of his voice confessing so casually, as if dream invasion is standard demon courtship.
"Miss?" A servant's voice through the door, nervous. "Is everything—"
"Peachy!" I throw a chair at the door. It splinters. "Just redecorating! Turns out violation chic is very in this season!"
Footsteps retreat quickly. Smart servant.
I pace, counting steps because counting keeps me from screaming. Twelve to the window. Twelve back. The twilight necklace sits heavy against my throat, reminding me of his gifts, his attention, the way he notices things about me no one else bothers to see. Even that feels tainted now. Did he notice because he cared, or because he was studying me through dreams, listing my desires for future use?
My hand finds the crystal vial on my nightstand—trapped starlight from my own world, caught because I'd whispered once about missing stars. The contents swirl, pure white against the eternal twilight, proof that he stood in a mortal field catching light for someone too broken to properly thank him. Real stars. Not memory, not illusion. He crossed realms to bottle light because I mentioned missing it during a dinner when I thought he wasn't listening.
But he's always listening. In dreams. In waking. Always there, always watching. The starlight pulses in its crystal prison, beautiful and trapped, and I wonder if that's what I look like to him—something bright he caught and keeps in a bottle for when the darkness gets too thick.
"Did you catch these before or after you invaded my dreams?" I ask the vial, watching the light swirl. "Was this guilt or genuine care? Can demons even tell the difference?"
The starlight offers no answers, just continues its endless spiral, foreign light existing in a realm where it doesn't belong. Exactly like me. Except the stars didn't choose to be here. They were taken, bottled, gifted as proof that someone paid attention. The gesture feels different now, knowing he was in my head, knowing every gift might be calculated from dream-knowledge he stole.
Another knock interrupts my destructive spiral. Firmer. Authoritative.
"Go away."
"The King insists you eat—"
