Page 18 of Bargain with the Demon King
Adraya
The summons cuts through breakfast—a violent pull. Azzaron goes rigid, the casual slump of his shoulders snapping straight. The boredom in his eyes vanishes, replaced by the focus of a hawk spotting prey.
"What is it?"
"A summoning. Close. Desperate." He rises, already calculating distance and time. "The mortal is dying."
"Take me with you."
He pauses, gold threads brightening in those black eyes. "Why?"
"I want to understand how this works. How you work." I stand, meeting his gaze. "I've only seen my own bargain. I need to see what normal looks like."
"Normal." He tastes the word, finds it amusing. "Very well. Take my hand."
His grip burns—not unpleasant, just overwhelmingly present. He pulls me against him, one arm locking around my waist with practiced efficiency.
"This will be disorienting. Don't let go."
The world tears apart. My stomach drops into nothing while pressure threatens to crack my ribs. I bury my face against his chest, fingers digging into his shirt, trusting him to navigatewhatever space exists between worlds. His arm tightens, anchoring me through the chaos.
Then—solid ground. Forest clearing. Sunlight that feels wrong after the demon realm's eternal twilight.
The soldier destroys any other thought.
Young, maybe twenty-five. Wedding ring glinting through blood. A locket clutched in one fist—children's portraits inside, probably. Three wounds that should have already killed him. The worst spills intestines onto forest floor.
"Please." Wet, desperate. "My children. My wife. The farm—they can't manage alone."
Azzaron approaches as if he's crossing his own throne room to sign a decree. His steps are even, his expression unreadable. His focus isn't on the dying man, but on the glimmer of soul waiting to be collected.
"Your soul for your life. You heal enough to survive. You make it home." No comfort. No negotiation. Just transaction.
"Will I see them grow up? Will I—"
"You'll survive today. The rest depends on you." He extends his hand. "Ten seconds before organ failure. Decide."
"Yes! Please, yes!"
The extraction happens brutally fast. The soul fragment tears free, condensing into dull blue crystal—desperation without passion, survival without glory. Azzaron pockets it before the soldier's wounds even begin closing.
"Go." Already turning away. "Crawl home if you have to."
The soldier staggers into the trees, sobbing gratitude that Azzaron doesn't acknowledge. I watch until he disappears, a cold knot tightening in my stomach. That wasn't a rescue. It was a harvest.
"Ready?" Azzaron extends his hand again.
"You didn't hesitate." I accept his grip, step back into his embrace for the return journey. "Not for a second. Just business."
"That's what this is. Business."
The world tears again. This time I'm ready for it, using his solid presence as my anchor point. When we materialize in his chambers, I immediately step back, needing distance to think.
"You hesitated with me." The words come out soft. "When I sold my soul, you asked if I was sure. Twice."
Something flickers across his face. "Did I?"
"You know you did. In all your centuries, all your bargains—why did you pause for me?"
