Page 2 of The Demon's Due
He didn’t answer right away. He picked up a stray chip, rolled it between his fingers. “I’m saying,” he murmured, “sometimes the game isn’t just the cards.”
Heat rose up the back of her neck.The dreaded curse of redheads-the blush that betrayed every thought.
“You’re just saying that because you lost.”
“And yet…” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees now, eyes locked on her pouting lips. “You’re still here.”
The room seemed to shrink to include just the two of them. Someone passed behind him, offered a casual “hey, man,” and left again. He didn’t even look up. His attention was a weight, pressing and thrilling all at once.
***end of flashback***
Later, she’d find out the truth-that the first win hadn’t been skill at all, that his “generosity” had been part of the game. But in that moment, flushed with victory and the way he was looking at her, she felt invincible.
Morgan had moved to sit next to her with his bare thigh pressed against his. His voice dropped to a murmur meant only for her. “You are the only one for me,” he had whispered, his breath hot against the shell of her ear. His large hand had slid up, teasing a sensitive breast through the thin cotton of her T-shirt as he pulled her close to crush her lips.
Síofra had shivered as she kissed him back, the poker chips forgotten, and wondered who exactly was winning now.
Afterwards, they'd exchanged texts night after night: flirtatious banter, whispered promises, the heady thrill of feeling like the only woman on the planet. He looked at her like he was constantly trying to hold himself back.I see noone but you ,he had whispered into her ear as he had pulled her onto his lap and kissed her breathless .
It all culminated in a late-night visit to his dorm room, where the candles he'd lit cast dancing shadows on the walls. Their laughter had grown urgent, and soon they were entangled on his bed, clothes shed in a frenzy of hot and heavy petting. He'd coaxed her confidence by asking 'shyly' if he could take a picture of her.
‘Just your beautiful breasts,”he'd said, flattering her into stupidity. She'd trusted him, believing him when he said her fuller figure had captivated him. She had believed the way his blue eyes had focused on her like she was the only one with him in a room-full of people.That he couldn't get enough of her. She had been surprised when he called a halt to their lovemaking even as she was ready to do the deed.
Lies. ALL LIES!
Now, every extra pound felt like a shackle. Those same images were everywhere: whispered in lecture halls, posted to group chats. She'd endured cruel commentary on her love-handles-"jiggly donut," someone had sneered-and even the size of her nipples became a topic of public discussion. Each snide remark was a fresh betrayal, a reminder that to Morgan Dane, she had never been anything more than a bet to be played and discarded at his pleasure.He was the better poker player after all. Her only saving grace was it had never gone beyond petting, only because he said he wanted their joining to be truly special. In retrospect, it was probably just his way of saying he had tolerated her to the max.
Candlelight danced across the mahogany shelves of the Old Library, sketching skeletons in the flickering glow. Síofra curled her fingers around her mother's silver ring, its surface cool against her palm. In her pocket, her smartphone lay dormant, but she knew the next ping would come soon enough. When it did, she knew without checking that it would be a new notification- probably Morgan Dane in a smug selfie beside a blurred screenshot. Síofra closed her eyes, tasting bile. The image had been unmistakable when she first saw it. Her own face framed by shadows, her collarbones and the curve of her shoulders bared, stolen from a trust she'd barely known how to refuse. She had been sick for hours, refusing to come out of thebathroom. Curled against the cool tile, her body finally gave way, and darkness swept her under.
And then something happened that might lead to her being carted off to the loony bin just like her mom.
When her eyes opened again, she was no longer on the bathroom floor. Two blinding suns scorched her skin, the heat like fire in her veins. Burning red sands stretched in every direction, endless and empty. She had stood abruptly but there was nothing but red sand in all directions.She picked a path and started walking,each step sinking her deeper into exhaustion. There was no water, no shade, no sign of life-only the oppressive weight of a desert that seemed intent on swallowing her whole.
Her throat burned as she tried to call out, but her voice condensed into a croak in the shimmering air. She staggered forward on blistered feet, desperate, though she had no idea what she sought. Just before her knees buckled, she thought she saw movement at the horizon-dark shapes rippling through the haze before everything had collapsed back into black. And when she came to, Cam was looking down at her with worried violet eyes. She had to call security when Síofra did not open the door.
Strangely her feet and palms were raw, as if she had been walking on hot coals.And there was a coating of red sand all over her that she couldn't explain. Cam just shook her head and said there were many secrets in this university that she wasn't privy to.
Síofra straightened her spine, shaking off her depression. She had feverishly scrolled her phone for days, devastated by the comments. Tonight, though, she told herself she would pretend to be someone else.This was not the worst thing that had happened to her. She would endure.
Chapter 2
Inside, the Halloween Ball was a swirl of masked revellers and torchlit arches. Music thumped like a distant heartbeat. Síofra's pulse picked up as she felt eyes on her. Every glance felt loaded: disgust and morbid curiosity in a dark nauseating mix. She dared not look for Morgan. She'd seen enough of his vicious, handsome face in her nightmares. A drink had materialised in her hand, probably Rand. Clutching her drink like a lifeline-a blood-red punch that smelled of spiced rum-she followed her friends toward the dimly lit corridor at the back Flickering candles invited her deeper into the night's mysteries.
They stepped through another arched doorway into a crush of swaying bodies and torchlight. Cam was immediately pulled away by her childhood sweetheart. Cam and Drako had been together forever and were nauseatingly in love. Síofra's heart dipped with alarm when she spotted him: Morgan Dane, all broad shoulders in his torn tuxedo, leaning by the punch bowl as one of her worst bullies chattered away while running her nails down his arm. A crooked silver crown, bent and cracked like it had been pried from a grave, sat on his dark hair. His face waspainted with pale corpse-makeup, shadows sunk deep beneath his cheekbones, his lips smeared with a touch of grey, a jagged scar drawn across his jaw. He seemed to be half listening while his eyes scanned the crowd. He was every bit the rugby captain she'd obsessed about in her dreams. Six feet six of hard muscle, he was a business-administration student one year ahead of her. As she moved into the crowd, icy pale-blue eyes flicked toward her as if assessing a wager. Which she was,in the end.
As soon as her pictures went viral, he flooded her phone with messages. She had deleted every one of them and blocked him with a trembling hand.
She felt Rand’s hand on her elbow. “Come on,” he murmured, concern in his light brown eyes which saw too much. He had done his best to take most of her pictures down but even a talented hacker like him had limits. Rand towered over her, all long limbs and awkward angles, softened only by the glasses perpetually sliding down his nose. To anyone else he was just the geeky linguistics student who loved obscure dialects, but Síofra knew better. Behind his mild manner and faintly crooked smile was the warlock blood of a powerful line, the shadowed gift of scrying threaded in his veins. He’d once confessed in a hushed voice that he was also a master hacker, able to pry open secrets with code as deftly as he could find a missing earring in a forest.
Morgan's pale roving eyes followed her as she downed the punch in one go .They narrowed at the hostility in her green eyes before they slid away from him.He abruptly stepped away from Debbie mid-sentence and was heading purposefully towards her. He opened his mouth to speak as he closed in, probably to dish out more pain, but Síofra slipped away, hating her cowardice but still not ready to see the disdain in his eyes. Veering toward a corridor draped in black velvet, she picked up the pace with Rand at her heels, ever her protector. She stopped in an alcove and Rand slid in next to her. Before she couldprotest, he pressed another goblet of punch into her hand. The sticky liquid smelled more of rum than fruit, but she took a small sip anyway, letting its warmth steady her nerves.
“Dutch courage”, he whispered, watching with adoring eyes that brought tears to her eyes. Why could it not be Rand? He would never hurt her. Instead, after all he had done, one glance from Morgan sent her heart thundering like a drum and the soft place between her thighs moist with welcome. Chemistry did not take into consideration the personality of a toad.
They found a half-hidden door at the end of the hall. A small cluster of students stood around a low table, candles sputtering, a Ouija board laid out like an invitation. One of them,a third-year art student with moon-white makeup,beckoned her in. Next to her , Triston, a fourth year senior in astronomy vied for her attention only to be rewarded with a cold-shoulder. He had the reputation of being a manwhore. Hesitantly, Síofra crossed the threshold. Behind her, Rand hovered. She caught Morgan's sharp glare through the doorway, fury etched in his sculpted features as his eyes seemed to settle on Rand's hand on her shoulder.
Inside the dim room, with nowhere else to go, she sank onto a battered armchair. Rand perched at her side, but when the circle was about to close, she saw Morgan slip in and deliberately take the chair directly opposite. His eyes were on her with laser focus but she couldn't bear to hold his gaze.She slid a nervous thumb over the silver ring on her right index finger, the only thing her mother had left her. The band was blackened with age, etched with the words "Ahayah Ashar Ahayah" -the Highest Name of God. In her research, she'd learned Solomon himself had used the phrase to bind demons; tonight, the metal felt strangely warm, pulsing against her skin. Touching it was a way she self-soothed when things got rough.
As the candles guttered, the planchette hovered at rest. The girl with the pale white makeup was chanting but there were two in the circle who were only focused on each other. Morgan's pale-blue eyes bored into her, silent and strangely possessive. She finally met his gaze, conveying the rage and betrayal in her heart while gripping the ring like a talisman. Blending in the shadows of the room, a towering figure watched while flashes of gold illuminated the darkness under the hood and unfamiliar runes decorated his pale skin. Across the table, the others whispered an invocation, and the first faint click of the planchette echoed through the hush.
