Long before the first body fell, the night carried the sharp, metallic scent of blood. Rain poured in thick sheets, drenching the narrow alley and darkening the crumbling red bricks. Beyond the storm's roar came a man's scream, sharp and ragged, cut short in a way that could only mean death. Isabella Cruz stood her ground, eyes steady and unblinking. She grew up in the underworld, where the stench of damp stone clung to her skin, and death spoke to her more fluently than love ever could. Tonight, though, she was a stranger in hostile land, the air thick with the smell of smoke. Her boots splashed through cold puddles, each step carrying her farther into the Devil King's dark domain. She hadn't come by choice—no one in their right mind would step into Lucien Drax's territory, where even the air tasted of rust and danger, unless they were courting death. To outsiders, the man was a whispered myth; to his enemies, the shadow in the doorway; to those who knelt, a god. They called him the Devil King not only for his cruelty, but because there was something in his eyes—cold, unblinking—that felt less than human and more than mortal. People whispered that his soul had been bargained away years back, and that he commanded the Blood Oaths—grim, ink-dark contracts signed in blood, binding beyond the power of any mortal or demon to undo. And now Isabella had gone and broken one—a sharp crack still rang in her ears. I didn't mean to do it. When her father died, he left her nothing but debts and enemies. She's been on the run from both ever since, the sound of footsteps behind her never far from mind. The old man never told her about the bargain he struck before he was killed—an oath bound in blood with the Devil King himself. That oath should've died with her father—unless it clung to his bloodline like a shadow that wouldn't lift. A jagged flash tore across the sky as she stepped out of the narrow alley, and there stood Lucien Drax. He rested against the hood of a black car, rain sliding off his tailored coat like beads of mercury that refused to cling. His hair was black as a brewing storm, and his eyes—an uncanny crimson—caught the faintest glint, like embers stirring in the dark. No bodyguards walked at his side; he didn't need the shadow of protection. Power rolled off him in waves, hot and heavy as the air beside a blazing furnace, impossible to ignore."You've been trespassing," he said, his voice low but carrying over the rain. "Do you know what that means here?"
Isabella's breath caught, but she lifted her chin. "I'm not here to cause trouble. "You've been trespassing," he said, his voice low yet sharp enough to cut through the patter of rain."You need to explain why the blood of a man who owed me his soul is still breathing without my consent."
Her pulse thundered. "I didn't make any deals with you."
"No," he said, stepping closer, "but your blood did. "Do you know what that means here?" Isabella's breath hitched, but she raised her chin, the faint scent of dust in the air sharp in her nose. I'm not looking to stir up any trouble."I'm not yours. "I just need—"
"Need?" His mouth curved, but the shape held no hint of a smile, only a thin, cold line."Defiance is admirable," he said softly. "But here's your reality, Isabella Cruz — you are already bound to me. "Tell me why the blood of a man who owed me his soul still runs warm without my say." Her pulse hammered in her ears."I never made a deal with you."
"No," he murmured, taking a slow step forward, "but your blood did.""What happens if I refuse?" she asked, though the answer was already clawing at her spine.
In my world, blood tells the truth—sharp and certain, like the scent of iron in the air."Then you'll learn what it means to break the Law of the Oath. "That means you're mine." She staggered, boots scraping over the slick, rain-dark concrete."I'm not yours," she said, her voice flat as cold stone."I'm not anyone's." Lucien's eyes darkened, and the air between them grew heavy, like a storm pausing mid‑roll. He spoke softly, almost like a secret, and said, "I admire your defiance.""One cut," he murmured, "and your life changes forever. "But here's the truth, Isabella Cruz — you're already tied to me, as surely as a knot pulled tight."safeThey moved with an almost unnatural grace, circling until she was boxed in, the air itself pressing cold and tight against her skin."What if I say no?" she asked, though the thought was already curling cold fingers along her spine. Lucien's voice sank to a whisper, soft as the rustle of paper."And if I sign… what then?"
Lucien stepped into her space, close enough for her to feel the heat radiating off him. "Then you become part of my world. "Then you'll find out exactly what it means to shatter the Law of the Oath."Believe me, Isabella—some things are far worse than dying. The shadows pressed in, thick as smoke. One figure pulled free and took shape—a man-shaped shadow with molten-silver eyes and teeth so sharp they caught the light like glass splinters. Her instincts shouted for her to run, but her legs stayed rooted to the cold ground."And if I try to run?"
His smile was slow, dangerous. "No one runs from me. Lucien slid a hand into his coat and drew a dagger, its red blade glinting like it had just come from a pool of fresh blood."One cut," he whispered, his breath warm against my ear, "and everything you know is gone."Sign the oath, and you get to walk out with a heartbeat still in your chest. If you say no, you're not going anywhere. Isabella's heart thudded in her chest. She'd dodged bullets, endured betrayals, and walked away from back-alley executions, but nothing hit her with the cold weight of this moment. The storm crashed above, thunder pounding the air like distant war drums. The moment her hand touched the dagger, the storm went silent — and the ground beneath her feet began to bleed.