Page 29 of The Demon's Due
Suddenly the air felt laden with electricity. The blanket moved as though guided by unseen hands, a brush against her thigh, light as a tease. Ashmedai’s presence enveloped her, not as heavy as when he manifested in flesh, but palpable and strong. His claws weren’t there, but she felt them - the impression of strength, the heat of somethingother. Her thighs parted under the pressure.
“Good,” he purred. “You have chosen. Now I will show you what my vessel never could.”
Under the blankets, a thick finger slipped underneath her skirt to pull her panties to the side. It traced her clit with a featherlight touch to then sink into her and move in and out sluggishly. Her lips parted, a soft gasp slipping free. She turned her face toward the window, hiding behind the blanket as her body arched into invisible touches.
Ashmedai’s voice deepened, resonant inside her. “Yes… give me your moans. Give it to me.”
Morgan shifted in his sleep, murmuring something unintelligible, but didn’t wake.
Síofra gripped the armrest hard, trembling. Her inner muscles clenched, each wave of pleasure tearing through her more sharply than the last.
At last, she sagged back into the seat, chest heaving, her skin damp. The blanket clung to her legs.
Ashmedai’s chuckle reverberated low and triumphant. “Sweet flame. Remember this. You asked and I delivered.”
She swallowed, eyes fluttering shut, exhaustion pulling her under. But even as she drifted, the mark of him lingered, undeniable.
The drive west through the Irish countryside should have been peaceful - rolling green hills, stone walls, sheep scattered across pastures. But the atmosphere in the little car was tense.
Síofra pressed her forehead to the cool glass of the window, watching the scenery blur past. Morgan’s grip on the steering wheel was tight, knuckles pale. And in the back of his skull, Ashmedai sighed like a king forced to travel in a dung cart.
The trip was fraught with incidents.There was a delay at the airport and they were both taken to separate rooms to be checked for illegal substances. It had taken them hours to find a company willing to rent a car to them. Once on the road, there was a black car that followed them most of the way before disappearing at a roundabout.Then Ash insisted on stopping at a store and bought the only mirror there.Morgan grumbled as he handed over his card.
They had stopped at a roadside chippy. They managed to find a hidden alcove so Ash could come out.
“This… fish and chips,”the demon sneered after they stopped at a roadside pub.“You call this food fit for mortals? Oil and grease. A disgrace. Where is the venison? The blood still warm?”
Morgan bit into his battered cod with deliberate exaggeration. “Welcome to the twenty-first century. Get used to it.”
Síofra muttered, “Some of us like chips,” just to see Ashmedai bristle. He did.
By the time they reached Leap Castle, dusk had fallen. The fortress loomed black against the bruised sky, its jaggedsilhouette bristling with history and unease. The air was colder here, unnaturally so.
Ashmedai stirred, eager,as if smelling blood.“Yes. Here. Take me inside.”
They moved through the ruin cautiously, footsteps echoing across stone halls.Most of the halls were empty of visitors this late in the day. Dust and shadows clung thick, as though the place itself was listening. Morgan’s wolf prowled restless and uneasy in a place where the very stones had soaked with so much blood.
Ashmedai led them unerringly to the infamous oubliette. It yawned like a black throat in the floor, narrow and deep.
“This was no ordinary prison,” Ashmedai said, his voice curling through them both. “Victims were thrown down, left to starve or break upon the spikes hidden below.”
Síofra shuddered. “There’s nothing here now.”
“Nothing to see,” Ashmedai agreed, his voice dark with memory. Then his eyes flared gold. “But much toremember.”
Morgan’s body stiffened, and he felt the pull of Ashmedai sliding into the driver’s seat. Smoke curled around his shoulders as the demon spoke in a language that scraped the air raw. Ancient syllables buzzed through the air, heavy with power.
From the slit of the rille, a shimmer made it through. And then a pale hand held on to the bar.
Síofra gasped, stumbling back.
“Do not look directly at her. Look in the mirror,” Ashmedai warned sharply, his tone formal, commanding. “Her gaze binds, even diminished as she is.”
Síofra peered into the mirror that Ashmedai had handed her. A woman’s face framed by thick locks of blonde hair, eyes luminous with doe-like beauty. Her lips curled into a sensuous smile.
“Hello,” the Gorgon purred, her voice as rich as honey and just as dangerous.
Morgan’s pulse thundered as Ashmedai purred. “Stheno, charming to see you again”
