Page 15 of Bargain with the Demon King
"The Demon King wants to observe mortal eating habits." But there's something that might be fondness if demon kings did fondness. "For research purposes."
"Research purposes." I grin. "Of course. Very scientific."
"Go to bed, my little optimist."
My stomach does something ridiculous at the endearment. "Goodnight, Azzaron. Sweet dreams."
"I told you, I don't dream."
"Maybe you just haven't had the right inspiration yet."
I leave before he can respond, but I swear I hear him exhale—soft, amused, perhaps even fond.
Back in my bed, I stare at the ceiling that shifts between purple and black like a bruise healing in reverse. Through the wall, I hear him moving. The soft sound of clothes being removed. The creak of his bed accepting his weight.
He's listening. I know he's listening, and somehow that makes me feel less alone. My body hums with something I refuse to name—not fear, but something warmer. Possibility, maybe. The Demon King invited me to dinner. The Demon King has a favorite color. The Demon King almost touched my hair with something close to tenderness.
Chad would laugh if he knew. My romantic, perfect Chad who's probably writing verses about my sacrifice right now. I should feel guilty for enjoying Azzaron's company, but I don't. There's room in my heart for appreciating both—my true love in the mortal realm and my fascinating captor here.
A soft sigh escapes me as I shift against the silk sheets.
Through the wall, an answering sound. Low. Attentive.
He heard. Of course he heard. But tonight, that feels less like invasion and more like connection. Two lonely souls (well, one soul and one soul-owner) finding comfort in proximity.
Tomorrow I'll bring my dinner again. Maybe I'll ask him about demon music, or if flowers grow here, or what he thinks about when he's alone. Maybe I'll make him laugh again—that rich, unexpected sound that transforms his face.
Maybe I'll find more proof that even demon kings have hearts hidden somewhere beneath all that beautiful darkness.
The thought fills me with ridiculous, unfounded hope.
But then again, hope is what I do best.
Chapter 6
Adraya
Sleep pulls me under wrong.
Not the gentle drift I'm used to, but a sharp tug downward into something too warm, too real. The darkness behind my eyelids shifts, takes shape, becomes a room I don't recognize. Stone walls that breathe. Firelight that moves without flame. And him. Azzaron stands at the edge of whatever this is, but wrong. No armor of arrogance. No calculated smirk. Just him, stripped down to something rawer. His horns catch light that doesn't exist, and his eyes burn gold-bright in the dark.
"You think about me." Not a question. He circles me, slow, predatory. "When you're alone in that big bed, you wonder."
"I think about Chad." The protest comes out breathless. My body knows this is wrong—too vivid for a dream, too real for imagination.
"No." He stops behind me, close enough that his heat brands my spine through the thin nightgown I don't remember wearing. "You think about what my claws would feel like."
His hand trails down my arm, claws barely grazing skin. Not cutting. Just present. The threat of sharpness without the pain. My breath catches, and I hate how my body arches into the touch.
"Stop."
"I haven't started." His hand finds my hip, grip firm but not claiming. Just holding. Considering. "This is what you want, isn't it? To know how monsters touch?"
His other hand traces my waist, mapping curves through fabric that feels too thin, too much like nothing. Each point of contact leaves a phantom echo of heat, a brand that lingers even after his claws move on.
"Even in dreams, you burn for monsters." His laugh rumbles against my ear, low and knowing. "Your body tells truths your mouth won't."
I gasp—at the accusation, at his thumb pressing into my hip, at the way my pulse hammers everywhere he touches. He pulls me back against him, solid chest and controlled strength, and I feel every rigid line of him.
