The heavy drapes of the canopy bed swayed lazily, as if stirred by unseen hands, while the scent of crushed roses and something darker…like burnt incense lingered in the air. My back arched involuntarily as Athan's claws traced the delicate curve of my waist, his touch deceptively light for a demon king. I was already breathless, my pale skin flushed pink where his fingers had wandered, my silver hair fanned out like a pool of liquid moonlight beneath me. The night dress had been discarded hours ago, left in a heap on the stone floor, and now I was bare before him, small and trembling, my eyes wide with a mix of fear and something far more dangerous.
"You're mine now," Athan murmured, his voice a rough purr that sent a shiver down my spine. His golden eyes, flecked with crimson, burned into mine as his massive frame loomed over me, wings folded tight against his back. The sigils on his skin pulsed faintly, casting eerie shadows across my trembling body. "Say it."
I bit my lip, my fingers clutching at the furs beneath me. "Athan, we were just gonna sleep—"
"Sleep huh?" His clawed hand slid up my thigh, parting my legs with ease. I was so small compared to him, my body dwarfed beneath his, but the way I squirmed, the way my breath hitched when his thumb brushed against my wet folds, made him smirk. "Sleep while I touch you like this?" His fingers teased my pussy, not pushing in, just circling, making me whimper. "Not supposed to make you beg?"
I should've known better. Should've known a demon king wouldn't be satisfied with just holding me. But the way his touch set my skin on fire, the way his voice wrapped around me like a spell…I couldn't think straight. My hips lifted instinctively, seeking more, even as my mind screamed at me to stop. "This isn't… we're supposed to just…"
"Sleep?" His chuckle was dark, amused. "Oh, little bird, I don't sleep." His fingers finally dipped inside me, just the tips, and I gasped, my nails digging into the furs. I was so tight, so wet, my body clenching around him as if desperate to pull him deeper. "Fuck, you're perfect." His thumb found my clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles while his fingers worked me open. "Tell me to stop."
I couldn't. The words died in my throat as pleasure coiled tight in my belly. My legs fell open wider, an invitation, a surrender. Athan's free hand gripped my hip, his claws pricking my skin just enough to draw tiny beads of blood, the sting only heightening the pleasure. "That's it," he growled, watching my face twist in ecstasy. "Take what you want."
I moaned, my head rolling back as his fingers curled inside me, finding that spot that made me see stars. I was panting now, my chest rising and falling rapidly, my nipples hard as pebbles. Athan leaned down, his hot breath ghosting over my collarbone before his teeth grazed my skin. "You're mine," he repeated, his voice a command. "Say it."
"I—I'm yours," I gasped, my body trembling on the edge. His fingers picked up speed, his thumb pressing harder against my clit, and I could feel it…the orgasm building, unstoppable. "Athan, please…"
"Please what?" His lips brushed my ear, his voice a sinful whisper. "You want my cock, little queen? You want me to fuck you until you scream?"
Yes. The word burned in my mind, but before I could say it, his fingers were gone, leaving me empty, aching. I whimpered in protest, my hips lifting off the bed, chasing the touch I'd lost. Athan chuckled, low and dark, as he loomed over me, his massive cock already freed from his trousers, thick and veined, the tip glistening with precome. "Beg for it."
My breath caught. I'd never seen anything like it…so big, so wrong..and yet my body throbbed with need. "Athan, I—"
His hand wrapped around my throat, not tight enough to hurt, just enough to make my pulse race. "Beg."
My lips parted, my mind foggy with lust. "Please," I whispered. "I need you."
Athan's grip on my throat tightened just a fraction, his wings unfurling slightly as he positioned himself between my legs. The head of his cock pressed against my entrance, hot and demanding. "Good girl."
He was just about to push in. I could feel the heat of him, the heavy weight of his body pressing me into the furs, and then—
I hit the floor.
It wasn't a graceful fall. I went over the side of the massive bed and landed on the purple rug with a thud that knocked the wind out of my lungs. I scrambled to sit up, my hands clutching at my chest, my heart hammering like a trapped bird.
"Athan!" I gasped, looking around the dark room. "I'm sorry, I—"
The room was empty.
The heavy drapes weren't swaying. There was no scent of burnt incense. There was just the cold, quiet air of the palace and the dim orange light of the Underworld morning creeping through the glass. I looked at the bed. The silk sheets were tangled, but they were flat. No demon king. No massive wings.
Athan was gone.
I sat there on the floor, my breath coming in ragged hitches. My skin felt like it was on fire. I could still feel the phantom ghost of his fingers, the way my body had arched toward him. I looked down at my hands. They were shaking. I touched my own thigh, almost expecting to feel the wetness from the dream, but there was nothing.
It was a dream. Just a dream. Oh gods, I am a pervert, I thought, buried my face in my hands. I am a wingless, black-blooded pervert who dreams about being choked by a devil.
"Well, you're awake. Finally."
I shrieked and scrambled backward, hitting the base of the bed. Argenta was standing by the window, holding a stack of black clothes. She looked at me on the floor, then looked at the tangled sheets, and then raised a silver eyebrow.
"The bed is on the other side of the rug, Your Grace," she said.
"I fell," I snapped, trying to pull my nightgown down. It was twisted around my waist. "I just... I had a jolt. A dream."
Argenta walked over and peered at me. Her white eyes seemed to see right through my skull. "A dream, huh? You're sweating. And your face is the color of a slapped butt cheek."
"It was just a nightmare," I lied. My voice was way too high.
"A nightmare that makes you moan 'Please Athan' in your sleep?" Argenta asked. She didn't laugh, but her voice was literally dripping with sarcasm. "Because I've been standing here for three minutes, and let me tell you, that didn't sound like you were being chased by a monster. Well, not the scary kind of monster, anyway."
I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me. I wanted to die. "I didn't say that. You're making things up."
"Sure I am," she said, tossing the black clothes onto the bed. "Anyway, someone was clearly trying to fuck you in your head, but in the real world, your husband has been gone since dawn. He's at the border. Apparently, your father's messenger left in such a hurry he forgot to take his dignity with him, and now there's a skirmish."
I felt a weird pang of disappointment. He was gone. The bed was cold. I looked at the empty pillow where his head should have been.
"Is he... is he okay?" I asked.
"He's a King, Celeste. He's fine. He'll be back by dinner to do whatever it is you were dreaming about," Argenta said. She pointed to the clothes. "Get dressed. You can't spend the day moaning over a ghost. You need to learn where you are."
"Where am I going?"
"The Library of Souls," Argenta said. "The King said you were curious. And frankly, you need to stop looking like a lost tourist. If you're going to be a witch, you might as well learn how not to blow yourself up."
The library didn't have books made of paper. Or at least, not many.
The walls were lined with shelves of black glass, and on those shelves sat thousands of glowing crystals. Argenta led me through the maze of towering racks. It was quiet here, the kind of quiet that feels heavy, like the air is full of whispers.
"This section," Argenta said, stopping in a corner that smelled like old dust and ozone. "This is the history of the Unseen. Your mother's people."
I reached out, my fingers trembling. I found a heavy, leather-bound book…one of the few real books in the room. The cover was scarred, just like my back.
"So let me get this straight…I am an Angel witch? A hybrid" I whispered. "The priests said the witches steal the light from the sun. That they ate the hearts of children.I had done any of that "
"The priests say a lot of things to keep people from realizing they're boring," Argenta muttered. She leaned against a shelf, crossing her arms. "Witches weren't evil. They were just... too much. Angels like order. They like everything in neat little boxes. Witches are chaos. You can't control someone who can move the shadows."
I opened the book. The pages were thin, like dried skin. There were drawings of women with silver hair…women who looked just like me. But they didn't look broken. They looked terrifyingly powerful.
The magic is not in the sky, one line read. It is in the blood. It is the weight of the earth and the pull of the moon.
I sat down on a stone bench, the book heavy on my lap. I read about the "Great Cleansing." That's what the angels called it. To the witches, it was a massacre. The angels hadn't killed them because they were bad; they killed them because they were afraid.
"They cut them," I whispered, my fingers tracing a drawing of a woman with her back flayed open. "They tried to take it out of them."
"They thought the magic was tied to the wings," Argenta said. Her voice was actually soft for once. "They thought if they took the flight, they took the power. But they were wrong. You can't cut the shadow out of a person, Celeste. You just trap it inside."
I felt a sudden, sharp heat in my back. I stood up and walked to a tall, dark mirror at the end of the aisle. I pulled the collar of my shirt down, looking at the silver lightning scars in the reflection.
"The magic isn't gone," I said. It was a realization that hit me like a physical blow. "It's trapped. Right here."
I touched the jagged skin. Usually, it felt dead. Numb. But now, it felt like it was humming. Like a thousand bees were vibrating just under the surface.
"Every time they hit me," I whispered, my eyes wide in the mirror. "Every time they told me I was nothing... they were just packing the power down deeper. It's been waiting."
"It's a lot of pressure," Argenta said, coming up behind me. "Like a volcano. If you don't learn how to let it out, it'll crack your bones from the inside out."
I looked at my hand. The shadow flickered around my wrist again. It wasn't scary anymore. It felt like a part of me. A part that had been screaming to get out for eighteen years.
"I'm not just an angel," I said. The thought made me want to laugh. "I'm the thing they were scared of."
"Exactly," Argenta said. "Now, stop staring at yourself. You're getting that 'I'm going to conquer the world' look, and I haven't had lunch yet."
I spent the rest of the day in that library. I read about the moon. I read about how to call the darkness without letting it swallow you. By the time the orange sky turned to a deep, bruised purple, my brain felt like it was melting.
But every time I closed my eyes, I didn't see the books.
I saw Athan.
I saw him looming over me in the dream. I felt his hand on my throat. I felt the way I had begged for him.
It was just a dream, I told myself for the hundredth time. It doesn't mean anything. It's just because he's the only person who hasn't tried to kill me lately. It's psychological. It's... it's science.
But my face was hot again. I kept thinking about his golden eyes. I kept thinking about the way he had fed me at dinner, like I was something precious.
Does he know? I wondered. Can demons tell if you've been thinking about them like that? What if he walks in and just knows?
I walked back to the bedroom, my legs feeling heavy. The palace was quieter now. The torches were low. I pushed open the door to our room, half-expecting to see him there, waiting to make the dream come true.
The room was empty.
A silver tray of fruit and bread sat on the table, but the bed was still made. The fire in the hearth was crackling, but the space beside it was lonely.
"He's still not back," I whispered.
I sat on the edge of the bed. I should have been relieved. I should have been happy that I didn't have to face him after having a dream about his cock. But instead, I just felt... itchy.
I lay down, staring at the ceiling. I thought about the library. I thought about the witches. I thought about the silver lightning on my back.
I reached out a hand into the dark. "Come here," I whispered.
A thin wisp of shadow curled out of the palm of my hand. It didn't flicker away this time. It stayed, coiling around my fingers like a pet. It was cool and soft.
I closed my eyes, trying to sleep, but the image of Athan's smirk kept flashing in my mind. I fell into a restless sleep, half-hoping the dream would come back, and half-terrified that it would.
I woke up a few hours later to the sound of the door creaking.
I didn't move. I kept my breathing steady, my heart racing. I heard the heavy clank of armor being dropped on the floor. I heard a long, tired sigh.
Then, the bed dipped.
Athan was back. I could smell the iron and the cold wind on him. He didn't say a word. He just slid under the covers and pulled me against his chest. He was freezing, his skin like ice against my warm back.
"You're awake," he muttered. His voice was gravelly and exhausted.
"I... I was," I whispered.
He didn't do anything. He just held me. But then, he buried his face in the crook of my neck and took a deep breath.
"You smell like old books and roses," he said.
I turned in his arms, facing him in the dark. I could see the glow of his eyes, faint but there. "Athan?"
"Mm?"
"The library... I found things. About my mother."
"I know," he said. He reached out, his thumb brushing my bottom lip. "I saw you there on your way out. You looked focused."
I bit my lip. The memory of the dream flashed through my head…the feeling of his mouth on mine. I looked at his lips, then back at his eyes.
"Are you okay?" he asked. He sounded genuinely concerned. "You're shaking."
"I'm fine," I said, my voice cracking. "I just... it was a long day."
He looked at me for a long moment. I thought he was going to kiss me. I wanted him to. I wanted to see if it felt like the dream. I wanted to see if I would still be scared.
But he just leaned forward and pressed his forehead against mine.
"Go to sleep, Celeste," he whispered. "We have a lot to do tomorrow. Your father isn't going to stop at one messenger."
He pulled me closer, his arms locking around me. I stayed there, tucked against his cold armor and warm skin, feeling the pulse of the Underworld all around us